“Does everybody know what time it is?” Lia asked brightly. The group of adorable three- and four-year-olds bounced eagerly in response.
“Story time!” they yelled collectively. One precocious boy jumped up and did a little dance of excitement.
“Okay, settle down.” She lifted the book from her lap so that they could all see the cover, and everybody squealed like giddy teens at a pop concert.
A little girl lifted her hands to her mouth, her eyes brightening with excited tears. “Hungwy Capilla.” Her breathless voice was filled with reverence.
“That’s right, Bongi, it’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar! Poor Caterpillar is so, so, so, sooo hungry.” The little ones settled back down and waited in anticipation as she cracked open the book. Lia started reading, using everything in her bag of tricks to keep the kids hooked and engaged by inviting them to count along with her. They all knew the story but gasped with every page turn as if it was their first time hearing it.
Lia loved this. She wished that she hadn’t stupidly listened to her ex-fiancé and given up her job as a teacher’s assistant at the preschool before her nonevent of a wedding. She should have known when he told her to quit—told, not asked, mind you—that their union would never work. But she’d been so stupidly keen to marry and start a family that she’d ignored all the warning bells going off in her head.
Her position had been filled at the school, but she happily substituted when she could. Today this group’s teacher had to pop out for a doctor’s appointment and Lia had been keen to step in for an hour or so. She wasn’t yet properly qualified, but it had always been her dream to obtain her bachelor of education degree and become a foundation phase educator. She’d kept delaying, thinking that if she married and had her own children, this need to work with kids would go away. So stupid. She loved working with children—it had little to do with her maternal instincts, she just enjoyed watching them grow and learn. The ridiculous sense of achievement she felt when she taught a little one something new was a fix she’d need long after she’d birthed and raised her own children.
After breaking it off with Clayton, she had looked into obtaining an online degree and unbeknownst to her family and friends was now just starting her second year of the four-year BEd degree. Once she graduated she would be qualified to work with newborns to nine-year-olds. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t told her family yet—fear of failure, perhaps. They would be nothing but encouraging, she knew that, but she wanted to do this on her own. To prove to herself that she could.
She finished the story just in time, because some of the kids were looking drowsy. Definitely nap time. Lia got them all settled down and was busy neatening up the kitchen area when Aisha Yusuf, their teacher, returned from her doctor’s appointment.
“Hey,” Lia greeted her longtime friend and colleague. “How did it go?”
“All good, baby’s doing well, I’m doing well.” Aisha’s hand went to the slight swell of her tummy, and Lia suppressed a small surge of longing. It was Aisha’s first pregnancy, and the woman was positively beaming with joy and good health.
“I could have told you that,” Lia teased. “You look amazing.” She gathered up her purse, and Aisha frowned.
“Leaving so soon? I thought we could have a cup of tea and chat.”
“I’d love to, but I’m meeting Daff for a late lunch.”
“Why don’t you pop around for story time again tomorrow? This lot complains when I do story time—they say my voices aren’t as good as yours.” Lia laughed at that bit of nonsense.
“Liar. They pretty much adore anyone who reads to them.”
“Well, I don’t think my voices are as good as yours,” Aisha said, and Lia gave her a hug.
“Thanks, Aisha. I’ll make time to come around tomorrow morning.” Lia literally had nothing but time at the moment. She tried to keep busy with her numerous charity projects, but her schedule was definitely flexible. Even though they would never say it, she was sure her parents were probably sick of her lounging around without any true purpose. Luckily she had some savings and a generous trust fund that their maternal grandparents had set up for all three sisters, which was paying for her degree and some measure of independence at the moment.
Lia had dreamed of perhaps renting her youngest sister Daisy’s house, but, even with the trust fund, it would strain her budget. She needed a job. Their town of Riversend was small and offered few employment opportunities. She would have to venture out to Knysna or farther for a decent job, but she’d been in a complete funk since her failed wedding nearly two years ago and couldn’t seem to find any focus.
God, she felt completely useless at the moment. Maybe that was why she had fallen into bed with Sam Brand so easily. Such behavior was completely uncharacteristic for Lia. She didn’t sleep with strange men. In fact, nobody knew it, but Clayton had been her first lover. Lia had been all for saving herself for marriage—or engagement, as it were. She’d never dreamed that her wedding would fall through. She’d thought Clayton would be her first and last lover.
She shook her head as she walked toward MJ’s in the center of town. She should be grateful that he wasn’t. Even though she’d had no prior experience, she’d always felt he was a bit lacking in the sex department. And after Sam Brand, she was sure of it. Clayton had been too fast, clumsy, and definitely selfish. Even in her inexperienced state, she’d known how selfish he was. He’d left her nearly there more often than not, which had been completely frustrating. And he’d constantly blamed Lia for the lack of fireworks in bed. Calling her cold and frigid and boring. It had been cruel and had made her feel inadequate and belittled. But she had believed that things would improve after marriage. Looking back, Lia couldn’t believe how naïve she had been. And definitely much too desperate to get that ring on her finger.
MJ’s was usually close to empty this time on a Thursday, and she could immediately see that Daff wasn’t there yet. She smiled at the waitress and made her way toward the back of the room, to her and Daff’s usual midweek lunch table. This was a fairly new ritual, since Daff had quit her job only a few months ago, but it probably wouldn’t go on for much longer. Daff, who was doing an online course in marketing, would be temporarily managing her boyfriend’s sporting goods store while Spencer focused on launching his new store in the neighboring town of George. Her ultimate goal was to handle all the marketing and advertising for Spencer’s business.
Lia had already put in an order for two coffees when her sister stepped into the restaurant. She made a beeline for their table, stopping to exchange a few words with the waitress before sitting across from Lia.
“That man is going to be the death of me,” she complained without preamble, and Lia grinned. Daff liked to bitch and moan about Spencer, but Lia couldn’t recall ever seeing her older sister happier.
“What’s up?”
“He’s still being really stubborn about me moving in with him,” Daff said, her eyebrows furrowed and her face dark with displeasure. “I’ve already given Daisy notice.” Daff had been talking about moving in with Spencer for months. The only problem was that Spencer seemed to have other ideas. He was more traditional than Daff and uneasy about the message living together would send to his fifteen-year-old half sister, Charlie.
“He’s worried about Charlie,” Lia said. It was really sweet how concerned Spencer was about appearances and making sure his sister had proper role models in her life.
“Charlie’s a savvy girl—it’s not like she doesn’t know what Spencer and I get up to when he’s at my place. Especially since he gets home close to two every morning. I’m getting fed up with sleeping apart. But he absolutely refuses to stay over. And do you know what he asked me the other night? He asked, ‘What would your parents think if we moved in together?’”
Lia stifled a smile at her sister’s absolute disgruntlement. It was a familiar rant, and Lia let it wash over her as Daff continued to huff and puff.
“It’s just the way he is, Daff. You have to respect that about him,” she said when her sister finally ran out of steam and Lia could get a word in. Daff’s face softened.
“I know. And I love him for it. So damned much. I mean, the man is perfect. I just want us to move forward. I wish he’d hurry up and propose already.” Lia snorted at her sister’s words. Last year Daff would have run screaming in the opposite direction if anybody had mentioned marriage to her. But she was eager to take the next step with Spencer.
“Why don’t you propose to him?” Lia asked curiously. It wasn’t like Daff to sit around waiting for something she wanted.
“He absolutely forbade me to. Told me he was going to ask me, but only when he feels the time is right. The time was right four months ago. All of this now is just wasted time.” Lia tried hard not to laugh. Her prickly older sister wasn’t the most patient of people, and it was funny to see her like this.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come shopping with Charlie and me on Saturday.”
“Charlie was invited to a friend’s sixteenth birthday party. And Spencer is being dumb about it—he actually tried to tell her she couldn’t go. Because there’ll be boys at the party.” Daff rolled her eyes. “I had a long private chat with him about trusting her and allowing her to spread her wings, blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera. I’m so grown-up these days, it’s sickening.”
Lia laughed. Their waitress, an older woman named Suzy, brought the coffee and a huge glass of red wine for Daff. Lia eyed the glass with a raised brow, and Daff glared at her.
“Give me a break. I just went five rounds about cohabitation with my stubborn boyfriend, my lease is up in three weeks, and if Spencer won’t let me move in with him, I’ll have to move back home. So I deserve this glass of wine.”
“Daisy will let you stay longer if you ask her.”
“I know that, but Spencer doesn’t, and I told him she’s already found a new tenant for the place.”
“Mason might tell Spencer the truth.” Daisy’s husband was Spencer’s younger brother.
“I told Daisy I would mail her ugly caterpillars back to her, one broken piece at a time, if she or Mason let it slip.” Lia laughed again. Daff was currently holding Daisy’s ornamental—and sentimental—caterpillar collection hostage. Daisy had nowhere else to store them but in a cabinet at her old house, and Daff took full advantage of Daisy’s fondness for her collection. But everybody—including Daisy—knew that Daff would never really destroy her baby sister’s prized possessions.
“Anyway, so Saturday? Shopping?”
“Sure, count me in.”
Suzy returned for their food orders, and both women gave the menu a cursory scan before ordering, steak and a baked potato for Daff and pasta for Lia.
“Hey, have you heard about Mason’s buddy Sam Brand?”
Lia froze and slanted her sister a wary look. Daff was taking another sip of wine and didn’t notice the look.
“What about him?”
“He’s coming to Riversend for his convalescence.”
Convalescence?
“Convalescence for?”
Daff choked on her wine and gaped at Lia. “You’re shitting me, right?” Lia suppressed a sigh at the overreaction. Her sister could so often be both dramatic and crude. “Have you been living under a rock the past week? It’s all over the news.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what? Reorganizing your underwear drawer? Needlepoint? Baking cakes?”
Wow. That was scathing even for Daff.
“I volunteer at the animal shelter, you know that. And at the youth center. And the retirement home. I’ve been helping Mrs. Salie with her Books Are Fun campaign.” Mrs. Salie was the librarian. “And I help out at the day care center when I can.”
“Yeah, yeah. You should start charging those people for your services,” Daff said with a dismissive wave.
“That’s not how volunteering works,” Lia corrected primly, blowing on her hot coffee to cool it down. “Now tell me why Sam Brand is convalescing.” She took a sip of her coffee. Still too hot. She blew on it again and took another mouthful.
“He was stabbed last week. Stabbed saving Laura Prentiss’s life, can you imagine? I mean, I don’t like the guy at all, but that’s pretty cool. And so romantic, apparently. Jesus, Lia!” This last as Lia’s coffee spewed from her lips and dribbled down her chin, fortunately not messing anywhere else. Daff chucked a napkin at her, and Lia dabbed at her face. Gosh, how embarrassing.
But the news that Sam Brand had been horrifically injured while saving a pop star was disturbing and unexpected.
“Daisy says he was in the ICU for three days—punctured lung, shattered bones in his right arm, and one of the stab wounds nearly nicked his femoral artery. The footage is all over YouTube. I watched it last night. Brand completely wrecked the guy, despite being stabbed in the process.”
“Why did you say it’s romantic? Isn’t it his job?” Lia felt nauseous, and when Suzy chose that moment to bring their food, her stomach very nearly revolted at the sight of it. She doubted she’d be able to eat. The thought of a vital, healthy man like Sam Brand nearly dying so needlessly was repulsive.
“Sam Brand rarely does the bodyguarding thing anymore. He tends to work behind the scenes these days, but he made an exception for Laura Prentiss, and there have been rumors that they’re an item. Neither of them has denied it, and now it’s come out that when he heard she was being stalked, he insisted on being there to protect her. And he was.” Daff, not the romantic type at all, sighed wistfully, and Lia stared at her. Falling in love had really done a number on her cynical sister.
“Anyway, Brand’s asked to stay at Mason’s cabin during his recovery, and Mason has obviously agreed to that. So he’ll probably be here in the next month or so.” Lia barely registered Daff’s words, her mind on everything that she’d just learned.
Laura Prentiss. Well, she was certainly the kind of woman with whom Lia would have pictured Sam Brand: very beautiful, perfect body, perfect hair, perfect everything. She wore daring little outfits and was notorious for her controversial performances and her wild-child persona. Lia knew that Sam Brand hadn’t exactly been spoiled for choice when he visited Riversend for the wedding. Lia had been one of the few young, single women around, but if he’d met her anywhere else, he would never have looked twice at her. She wasn’t sexy, didn’t dress anywhere near as provocatively as the Laura Prentisses of the world, and she didn’t have the same sexual reputation as the other woman, either. Balance had been restored to the universe. Sam Brand had found his perfect match and Lia, who had only recently started dating again, would soon find hers.
She was sure of it.
“Another date?” Millicent McGregor exclaimed five weeks later when she saw her middle daughter come downstairs dressed to the nines for the third time in less than a week. Lia self-consciously straightened her lightweight pink cardigan. It was a pretty, lacy thing that she had knitted herself. “You look lovely, my dear. Doesn’t she look lovely, Andrew?”
Her father looked up from his book, and his salt-and-pepper brows furrowed.
“If you put as much effort into finding a job, you needn’t be so concerned about finding a husband,” he said bluntly, and Lia winced.
“Andrew!” her mother gasped, and he had the grace to look slightly shamefaced.
“I want what’s best for my girls, you know that, Dahlia. And I’d rather you focus on finding a job and becoming self-sufficient than a man hunt. You don’t need a man to take care of you. You’re quite capable of being the captain of your own fate.”
Wounded, Lia swallowed heavily and lowered her gaze to the floor. Did her father really see her as some kind of man hunter, looking for a mate to take care of her? When he looked at Lia, did he only see a deadbeat daughter without a job or prospects, searching for a man to mooch off?
“She still needs a social life,” her mother defended. “You can’t expect her to sit at home with us every night.”
“She’s thirty-two and she hasn’t had a job in more than a year. Lia, I love you, you’re beautiful and intelligent. But you have to take command of your life, my girl. Stop waiting around for things to happen for you and go out and make them happen.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“You’re husband hunting.”
“It’s just a date, Daddy,” Lia said quietly, not even able to admit the truth of his words to herself.
All her life, Lia had been programmed to believe that marriage and kids were the keys to emotional fulfillment. Not by her parents but by teachers, her great-aunts, and other “well-meaning” adults. They had all lauded her prettiness but not much else. She’d grown up thinking that all she needed to complete her life was a husband and a family. It had been her sole goal after high school, finding the right man to grow old with. Teaching had been something she’d fallen into, a time filler while she waited for Mr. Right to come along and sweep her off her feet.
Her father was right—she was looking for a husband, but not because she needed a man to take care of her. She was lonely; she wanted a husband and children. She was a nurturer and needed to take care of people, not the other way around. It was one of the reasons she found such joy in doing her charity work. She felt needed, important when she was helping others . . . like more than just a pretty face.
“You’re husband hunting,” her father reiterated, interrupting her grim train of thought. “I don’t want you to have to depend on anybody for anything. Not your mother and me, not your sisters, and definitely not a man. Take a leaf out of Daff’s book—further your studies, aim higher.”
He was using Daff as an example of model behavior? Lia’s world really had flipped upside down in the last year and a half. She had always been the example for Daff. And now it seemed her position as the good daughter had been usurped by her foulmouthed older sister. How bizarre. She was tempted to tell her father about her studies, but she didn’t think now was the right time.
“That’s enough, Andrew.” Lia was only vaguely aware of her mother’s quiet voice and blinked rapidly to clear the blurriness from her eyes. Her father sighed heavily.
“Have a good time, sweetheart,” he said, getting up to give her one of those wonderful bear hugs that had always comforted her so much as a child. She clung to him for a moment, and he dropped a kiss on her head before stepping back to chuck her chin gently. “You’ve been so unhappy lately and I just want you to be happy, Dahlia.”
“I know, Daddy,” she said with a small, sad smile. She went up onto her toes to kiss his craggy cheek. “Thank you.”
Gregory Marsh was a quiet, studious-looking man. He was very tall and almost skeletally thin. He had thinning, sandy hair, an overbite, and an Adam’s apple so pronounced he reminded her of Ichabod Crane. He was the bank manager at one of the small branches in Riversend and always wore ill-fitting gray suits and bow ties. She imagined he thought the ties were dashing, and that was true for some men. But because his huge Adam’s apple poked out above the knot, Gregory’s ties looked like they were strangling him.
After a series of disastrous dates with horribly abrasive and overly familiar men, she found Gregory’s retiring personality relaxing and was willing to see where this could lead. Single men in her age group were few and far between, and Lia couldn’t afford to be picky anymore. She had chosen to stay away from dating for more than a year after her non-wedding, and before that she’d been with Clayton. It was tough getting back into the swing of things.
This was her third date with Gregory, and he wasn’t exactly a scintillating conversationalist—he had a monotonous voice and enthused about his stamp collection a lot. As usual, Lia found herself surreptitiously checking her watch after about an hour. One hour with Gregory tended to feel like three. But he was nice. Very nice. And polite. And nice. So pleasant.
Okay, in all honesty, he was boring. Really, really boring. And if he once again spoke of his rare 1876 one-penny Cape stamp—the pride of his collection—and the “exciting” online bidding war he’d won to obtain it, Lia was going to scream. Or pull her hair out. Or maybe (probably) she’d just grin and bear it and listen to the tedious story for the fourth time in three nights, because he was nice.
And he was single.
MJ’s was crowded. He always brought her to MJ’s. He saw no need to leave Riversend for dinner when they had a perfectly good dining establishment right there in town. Never mind that MJ’s was a family restaurant with little variety to their menu. And that most nights the place was brimming with people they knew. She suspected the latter was the reason he enjoyed bringing her here. He always chose a table in the center of the huge room, where everybody could see them. She was Dahlia McGregor—not too long ago she’d been engaged to the heir to a multimillion-dollar family-run diamond company. She had been popular in high school, and had never exchanged more than a polite greeting with Gregory. Not until her friend Tilda had set them up on a date last week.
Lia didn’t believe in false modesty; she knew that people often referred to her as the pretty McGregor sister. They had believed that she would be the one to settle down and marry first. She had believed that. She’d been on course to do that, before discovering that her fiancé was a low-life snake who had harassed Daisy. That news, added to his arrogance and selfishness and controlling behavior, had forced Lia into making the bravest and scariest decision of her life and canceling her wedding the day before the actual event.
People had been treating her like a broken doll since then and, until Sam Brand showed up and displayed not one iota of sympathy or concern for her “fragile” state, she had allowed it. Had felt like it was her due. Until she recognized that it was doing her more harm than good.
Brand had been the catalyst to release her from the depths of self-pity. His response to the news that her engagement had been broken had been so refreshing: “Good to know you’re a free agent, sweetheart. Married women are off-limits.”
That pragmatic and unsympathetic sentiment was all it had taken to lure her into bed with him. It would have been easy to blame the alcohol for her lowered inhibitions, but in all honesty, she had never made a more clearheaded or cynical decision in her life. And the rewards had been unforgettable and phenomenal. But at the same time, she had felt embarrassed by the tawdry encounter. And to repeat the mistake at the wedding? She shuddered at the recollection. Allowing him to take her in a filthy barn had been so sordid.
And yet the very memory of it had the power to bead her nipples and . . .
“Are you ready to go?” Gregory asked while Lia was still caught up in her confusingly raunchy and scandalous memories of Sam Brand.
“Yes,” Lia said with a quick smile. He scrupulously added up the bill before telling her what her half would be and generously informing her that he would cover the tip. Lia tried not to cringe when he circled a possessive arm around her waist and steered her through the restaurant. She couldn’t help feeling like a prized possession that he was showing off, an all-too-familiar feeling after Clayton’s posturing.
Clayton had outright referred to her as his soon-to-be trophy wife, and Lia had initially thought it was a term of endearment. Until she’d recognized it for what it was—a claim of ownership. He’d seen her as nothing more than a thing, a shiny object to shelve in his trophy cabinet and neglect until he wanted to show her off when he played his games of one-upmanship with his friends.
Gregory led her to her car door and then caged her in by draping one arm over the roof of the small, silver hatchback Fiat and positioning his body in front of her, while her back was to the driver’s door. He maneuvered her so quickly and expertly that she barely had time to react.
“Do you want to follow me home?” he asked softly. His free hand came up to cup her cheek, and she barely stopped herself from shuddering at the cold, clammy feel of his palm against her skin. His thumb ran over her lips, and she swallowed back a surge of actual nausea.
“It’s getting late,” she prevaricated. “I should get home.”
“It’s our third date, Lia,” he said with a small smile, pressing closer. She could feel every sharp angle of his bony frame against her front, and when he actually had the nerve to grind his pelvis up against her . . . yep, that was his penis.
If her instinctive reaction to feeling his hard penis rubbing up against her was eww, then he was probably not the man for her. She tried to move her own hips away from his, but the car door limited her movements, and what had been an attempt to get away from him instead felt like a reciprocal thrust. He groaned.
“Oh yes, babe,” he husked and mashed his lips up against hers. And then shoved his tongue down her throat. It took everything she had not to gag. Her eyes were wide open in horror and fixed on his passionate face so very, very close to hers. He had a fine smattering of blackheads on his forehead and a long, curly hair growing out of the mole just to the right of his left eye.
His hand moved down to her shoulder and then to her breast, squeezing too hard as he continued to thrust against her. When that cold, moist hand deftly slipped down her bodice and under her bra to cup her breast and thumb her unresponsive nipple, she finally snapped out of her horrified haze.
“Gregory, stop,” she said firmly, flattening her hands against his bony chest and pushing. He was surprisingly strong and resisted at first. “Stop.”
He finally released his hold on her, and his hand thankfully oozed its way out of her bodice. He was breathing heavily, his garlicky breath washing over her face in rapid pants. If he’d planned on sticking his tongue down her throat by the end of the evening, he could at least have refrained from the extra garlic on his pasta.
“God, that was good. Let’s go to my place, babe.” If anybody had placed wagers on his endearment of choice, babe would have been the last thing Lia chose. It sounded odd coming from him. Then again, the entire evening had taken a turn for the surreal, and Lia just wanted to escape.
“I can’t. I have to go home.”
“What, you have a curfew? Will your daddy ground you if you’re home late?” he asked mockingly, and her eyes widened at the sarcasm. Well, Gregory had certainly devolved into an a-hole in no time at all.
“I—” Her phone tinkled discreetly, and she thankfully latched onto that excuse to look away from his flushed face. She kept her eyes carefully averted from the modest tent that was still pitched at the front of his trousers and opened her bag to retrieve her phone from its usual pocket. She peered at the screen and heaved a relieved sigh.
“It’s my sister. I have to get this.” She swiped at the screen. “Daff?”
“Lia?” Daff sounded completely harassed. “I have a huge favor to ask you. I bought some groceries to stock Mason’s cabin with and I meant to drop them off and freshen up the place a bit. You know, put on bedding and open windows and stuff? But I forgot about Charlie’s PTA meeting—why have a meeting during the school holiday anyway? If I was a teacher, I’d want the time off. Anyway, I promised Spencer I’d go with him. And it’s running late. I won’t be able to get it done tonight, and Sam Brand could arrive tomorrow or the day after. I don’t want any of the food to spoil, and I wanted everything to be ready for him. Please could you—?”
“Of course,” Lia said hurriedly. She caught Gregory’s eyes and shook her head in fake apology. “I’ll do it right now.”
“Oh my God, thank you! You’re a lifesaver.” Lia tried not to wonder why Daisy had asked Daff to do it for her. Lia was usually the reliable one, the one everybody recruited when they wanted to get things done, and she couldn’t prevent the small surge of resentment at Daff suddenly becoming everybody’s go-to girl.
“The groceries are at Spencer’s place. They’re still bagged and in the kitchen. The key to the house is under the porch swing canopy. The cabin is unlocked—I stopped by earlier to make sure the electricity and plumbing are working.”
“I’ll take care of everything,” Lia promised, just grateful for an excuse to get away from Gregory.
“Fabulous. Thanks, sis. You’re awesome. I’ve got to go, we’re about to speak with her math teacher.” She hung up before Lia could respond. Lia looked at Gregory with feigned regret.
“I’m so sorry to cut this short, Gregory, but I have to go. Daff has asked me to help her out with an urgent matter.”
“Anything I can do?” he asked, looking concerned, but Lia could see the impatience and anger in his gaze. Guy obviously thought he was going to get lucky tonight, and suddenly his date was bailing on him. Bummer. For him. Lia, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get out of here and away from him. She didn’t think she wanted to see him again. They definitely were not compatible. But a tiny part of herself couldn’t help but wonder if she would have been this picky before her experience with Brand. She hoped he hadn’t spoiled her for all men. He had certainly raised her expectations much, much higher than before.
“No. It’s something I have to do by myself,” she said quickly.
“You can come around to my place afterward,” he suggested.
“I’m pretty tired,” she said with a fake yawn. “I think I’ll head to bed afterward.”
He looked miffed by that information.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said with a polite, strained smile. She turned to unlock her car door and thankfully he stepped away, allowing her to climb into the car.
Charlie’s eight-month-old brown-and-white miniature pinscher/Chihuahua mix, Toffee, ran up to greet Lia enthusiastically when she let herself into the house. The dog ran for her tiny tennis ball, dropped it at Lia’s feet, and stood watching her with an expectant tilt of the head.
“Sorry, girl, I can’t play right now. Your family has left me a shedload of work to do,” Lia groaned, planting her hands on her hips as she took in the bags of groceries in Spencer’s kitchen. Daff had bought up an entire store. Somewhere in Riversend a store manager had finally paid off his business loans and was probably planning his retirement trip to a small island in the Bahamas, thanks solely to Daff’s extravagant spending today. Now Lia wondered if Daff actually had a PTA meeting or if she, Spencer, and Charlie were laughing their behinds off at getting Lia to do all this fetching and carrying in their stead.
She shook her head and, with Toffee—tennis ball in her mouth—dancing around her feet, started to lug the bags out to her car. It took four trips and ten minutes for her to get everything loaded up. After making certain that the forlorn-looking Toffee was safely inside the house, the drive was just a matter of taking a left turn and bringing the car to a stop a minute later. The places were only meters apart, but walking up and down the small incline with the bags would have taken a lot longer in the dark, on uneven terrain.
She let herself in through the kitchen door. The place had the musty smell of a home that had been unlived in for a few months. Mason and Daisy had moved to Grahamstown at the beginning of the year, just a couple of months after their November wedding. They were nicely settled into a pretty house outside the university town, where Daisy did locum work at a small veterinary practice and Mason had started his studies in March. Lia switched on the lights and opened a few windows to air the place out a bit. The mild late-April evening air had a slight autumnal nip to it, but nothing too extreme.
Lia got to work carrying the shopping into the kitchen, feeling like a scurrying ant with all the back-and-forth. She started unpacking everything, placing the groceries neatly in kitchen cabinets and the refrigerator. She was humming quietly to herself when the sound of a heavy tread behind her had her grabbing a knife from the block and whirling to face her would-be assailant.
“Great reflexes, princess,” Sam Brand observed in amusement. He was in the living room, his hand curled over the top of an easy chair, obviously for balance, because he looked seriously wobbly. “But I’m pretty sure even I could disarm you in seconds, and I’m definitely not in peak condition at the moment. The key is to look like you mean to use the weapon. You look like just a cough would have you scampering off in the opposite direction.”
“W-what are you doing here?”
“Well, I was taking a nap on the sofa. But you were making more noise than a herd of elephants,” he said, sounding strained. His grip on the chair tightened so much she could see the white of his knuckles. He looked pale and sickly and much too thin. His right arm was in a sling and cradled against his chest.
“Oh good grief, sit down. Before you fall down,” she said, finally overcoming the shock of seeing him here. And treating him like an invalid made her feel a little more in control of the unsettling situation.
“I’m fine,” he maintained stubbornly. He was very far from fine. She was shocked by his appearance. This vital man, who had epitomized masculine fitness and perfection just six months ago, looked weak and shaky. It was disconcerting. She had attempted to watch that clip of the attack but couldn’t get past the first thirty seconds. Just seeing that knife plunge downward and the look of shock on Sam’s face had been . . . disturbing. She had switched it off and never tried to watch it again.
“You don’t look fine,” she pointed out, and he glared at her. It was the first time he’d ever looked less than charming.
“I’ve been stabbed, for fuck’s sake,” he gritted. “Of course I don’t look fine. But regardless of how I look, I can damned well stand on my own two feet.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to do so right now,” she said matter-of-factly. She felt completely flustered by his short-temperedness, but even while she told herself it was to be expected, she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it.
“Don’t tell me what to do, princess,” he said cuttingly, and she heaved an exasperated sigh before going back to her former task. The sooner she got this done, the sooner she could get out of here and back home. This evening had been an unmitigated disaster from start to finish, and she just wanted to crawl into bed and forget it had ever happened.
“Why are you here anyway?” he asked nastily, and she paused in the act of shoving some steak into the freezer to glance up at him. She was startled to discover that he had moved closer. How had he done that without her hearing? How could such a badly injured man move so stealthily? He was now leaning on the kitchen island, but the movement had clearly cost him dearly because he was even paler than before.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her voice was scathing, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“I was led to believe your sister Daphne would be bringing me provisions on a weekly basis.”
“Daffodil was busy tonight and won’t be home till much later.”
“Well, you don’t have to unpack them. Just the delivery is fine. I’ll take care of the rest.” He pushed himself away from the island and swayed alarmingly for a few moments before gripping the countertop again.
Stubborn man. Lia shook her head in disgust before continuing with her task. She was about halfway through and would happily leave the rest for him to do if he didn’t look on the verge of collapse. She just wanted to get out of here and pretend never to have seen him.
“We weren’t expecting you today,” she said a few moments later, after the silence grew too stressful. Considering how much she’d always longed for him to just shut up during their past encounters, it was uncanny how very uncomfortable she found his continued silence.
“I had to get out of London, the fucking press wouldn’t leave me alone,” he said, his voice bitter.
“Because you saved Laura Prentiss or because you’re dating Laura Prentiss?” she found herself asking, then wished she hadn’t. His private life was none of her concern, and she really didn’t want to know about his relationship with the pop star. She kept her gaze averted but was relieved to hear a bar stool scrape back, followed by a few pained grunts as he settled into the high chair.
“Jealous, princess?” His voice oozed with smugness.
Ugh. She schooled her face into indifference before allowing herself to meet his eyes levelly.
“Of?” He winced theatrically at her cool rejoinder and clutched his hands to his chest.
“Ouch, the perfect pretty princess has some claws.”
“Stop calling me a princess,” she protested, and he merely smiled, if the grimace pulling his lips apart could be called that, and said not one word in response. She was relieved when she finally shelved the last grocery item and dusted her hands off in satisfaction.
“Well, that’s the last of it. I see Daff has left a few emergency numbers on the refrigerator for you. I’ll just shut the windows and leave you to it. Hope you feel better soon.”
“Is your number on the fridge, luv?” he asked with a shadow of his roguish grin, and Lia cringed at the new endearment. She appreciated this one even less than princess.
“Of course not,” she huffed, pushing a strand of hair back with the heel of her hand.
“Well, who am I supposed to call when I need a sponge bath?” He leered and she pursed her lips primly.
“I have to go,” she said. “Good night.”
“Before you leave, princess—” Lia paused, bracing herself for another lewd comment. “Where do you suppose I would find the bed linen?”
Crumbs! She remembered Daff mentioning that she hadn’t yet made the bed. She chewed the inside of her cheek. She supposed she could get the linen for him and leave him to make the bed. She risked a quick glance at him—his pale face was gleaming with sweat, and there were lines of strain around his mouth and eyes.
He would probably keel over before he got the sheet on. She sighed and shook her head before whirling and marching up the stairs to the loft that housed the huge king-size bed. She noted his luggage on the floor at the foot of the bed and wondered how he had managed to get the bags up here.
She found the linen in the padded storage bench at the foot of the bed. She made quick work of the task and had the bed made in less than ten minutes. She was surprised that he hadn’t followed her up the stairs and cautiously made her way back down, wondering why he was so quiet.
She found him seated in Mason’s comfortable easy chair, looking completely wiped out, his lips thin and his eyes screwed shut. His breathing was shallow, and he seemed to be in a fair amount of pain.
“Are you okay?” she ventured tentatively.
“What the fuck do you think?” he snapped without opening his eyes. He was so different from the charmer of six months ago. It was unsettling. She now saw that practiced charm for the act that it was and knew that the real Sam Brand lay somewhere between that smooth talker and this short-tempered man.
“You’re in pain, and in light of that, I’ll let your language and your rudeness slide, but please be aware I won’t tolerate it again.”
“Well, shit, Miss Prissy Panties, have I offended your delicate sensibilities?”
“Can you get up without assistance?” she asked, ignoring his goading behavior.
“Of course I can!” he snarled, a bear with a sore paw. He heaved a huge sigh and then grimaced before opening his eyes to meet hers. His clear blue gaze was still penetrating despite his red-rimmed eyes. “I-I don’t think I can.”
She could see how much the admission hurt his pride, and she said nothing, merely held out her hand. He hesitated before taking it, his own large hand engulfing hers.
She tugged but he didn’t budge, and she raised her eyebrows.
“You’re going to have to help, Mr. Brand. I can’t do this on my own.” His hand tightened around hers, and his jaw dropped incredulously.
“Did you just fucking call me Mister Brand? Are we back to that? In light of the fact that I know what you look like naked—”
“You do not,” she gasped. And he really didn’t. The first time they were together, after her sister and Mason’s mixed stag and hen party, they’d gone back to his hotel room, but like the encounter in the barn, they hadn’t initially made it out of their clothes, and later, when they had stripped, the room had been completely dark.
“Semantics. I’ve been inside you—silly formalities between us would just be ridiculous. Call me Sam, for fuck’s sake. Or Brand if that makes you feel better. Anything but mister. No point in pretending to be ingenuous.”
Pretending? She was hardly pretending. She was pretty unsophisticated. Sam Brand was never supposed to reenter her life, and she had no clue how to handle the situation. Yes, she had been intimate with the man, but on the understanding that it would never happen again and that he would leave soon afterward. Now here he was, and she didn’t know what to say to him or how to react around him.
Her hand was still in his; neither of them had a particularly firm grip on the other, but it was still alarmingly intimate. She tried to tug her hand free, but he tightened his fingers around hers.