Stirling’s mood didn’t change during the thirty minutes it took her to lock up and drive over to Liam’s house. She double checked the number on the front of the brick duplex against the text message and parked in the empty space on the street.
Backpack in hand, she jogged up the sidewalk. She’d held her rage, disillusionment, and self-recriminations at bay until that moment when she could let her fists fly.
A set of wide stone steps led to a small porch, surrounded on three sides by a wrought-iron railing. An enormous lilac bush separated the duplex’s entrances, offering additional privacy. In this older section of Denver, the well-established vines climbed the bricks and twisted around the fence. This house looked exactly like the kind of place that a stuffy professor—or a tight-ass scientist—would call home.
None of that. A truce means no name calling, no matter how funny some of the names are.
She poked the doorbell.
Immediately the curved wooden door opened, almost as if he’d been standing there, anxious for her arrival.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Her fingers tightened on the strap of her backpack as she followed him into the foyer.
Liam pointed up the stairs. “The workout room is the first door on your left. There’s a variety of gloves and hand wraps. Feel free to hook your phone up to the stereo system and play music as loud as you want. My neighbor is hard of hearing and this old house is solidly soundproofed.”
“Even against screams?” she blurted out.
Those silver-hued eyes of his softened and he reached out as if to reassure her.
She’d start bawling if he showed her kindness. Right now she needed to give her anger an outlet. Civility would have to wait. “Uh, thanks.”
“Take as much time as you need. Come find me in the kitchen when you’re done.”
* * * *
Everything blurred together—the repetitive thud of her gloves, the speed metal blasting from her phone, the creak of the chain holding the heavy bag, and her harsh grunts breaking free with each hard punch. Uncertainty, and anger drove her until exhaustion had her clinging to the heavy bag. She inhaled. Exhaled. Letting her tears fall down her face to mix with the sweat dripping from her chin. She needed to get it all out of her system now, break down in solitude.
Once she’d regained control, she collected herself as she mopped her face with a hand towel. What was that old adage? Never let them see you sweat?
Wrong. Better to show them sweat and blood than tears.
Stirling returned downstairs, confident in her ability to be rational and remain cool-headed and professional.
Holy shit.
She froze in the open doorway to the kitchen.
How in the hell was she supposed to remain professional when she finally got to see Dr. Liam Argent without his trusty lab coat?
Talk about giving “tight ass” a whole new meaning. Had his jeans been custom made to perfectly mold that bitable backside?
Her gaze moved up, skimming across his wide shoulders. The dark gray T-shirt was contoured in all the right places, showcasing his impressive biceps. His tattoo started at the knuckles of his right hand, continuing up the front and back of his forearm until the colorful ink disappeared beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt.
Just how much of his surprisingly buff body was inked?
Liam chose that moment to turn around. Unlike her, his gaze didn’t leave her face. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you. I’ll warn ya… I probably reek since I don’t have a change of clothes.”
He shrugged. “After dealing with terpenes all day, nothing bothers me.”
“I had no clue what terpenes were until a guy in my freshman year took me to his place and turned me loose in his grow house. I’ll never forget how surprising it was to pick out those individual aromas—terpenes—when I rubbed on different plants’ leaves. I always thought pot was pot and all marijuana plants smelled the same. Even now that I’m educated on the scent of different terpenes, I don’t understand how smokers seek out weed with that cheesy funk smell. My gag reflex kicks in. I prefer varieties with a floral, fuel, fruit, or pine aroma.”
“Hence why terpenes are so important and why we need to educate consumers on the impact their cannabis choice will have on them. What smells good to you will taste good when you smoke. Scientifically speaking, all the cannabis compounds interact synergistically to create an ‘entourage effect’ that magnifies the therapeutic benefits of the plant’s individual components—so we can see that the medicinal impact of the whole plant is greater than the sum of its parts. That is what fascinates me.”
Stirling blinked at him.
He groaned. “I apologize in advance for slipping into lecture mode. I drift into that when I’m passionate about something and I tend to go into excessive detail…or so I’ve been told.” He blushed. “Not that you need me to explain things to you, since you have a scientific background.”
The man was so damn cute when he was flustered.
“Put me out of my misery, please, and let’s eat.” He pointed to an alcove which held a round table and four chairs. “Dinner is done.”
He’d laid out two place settings. She sat near the counter and checked out his living room. A gray, black, and red plaid couch, a black leather recliner, a metal coffee table, and a gray wingback chair were arranged on a vivid scarlet rug. Art decorated the walls. Impressive and not at all what she’d expected.
Liam slid a plate in front of her. “Linguine with pesto and parmesan.”
“Looks and smells delicious.”
“Thanks. It’s my go-to dish when I want a fast meal.”
They ate in relative silence.
Stirling snuck looks at Liam, wondering what caused his brow to furrow behind his glasses. She probably should’ve been organizing her thoughts for their impending conversation, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from tracking over his ropy forearms, his broad shoulders, and the muscular definition in his chest. Seeing him in street clothes reiterated the fact that Dr. Liam Argent was hot as fire.
“Stirling? You okay? You look flushed.”
Busted. “Lingering effect from my heavy bag session.”
“I’ll get you a glass of water.” He picked up both of their empty plates and retreated to the kitchen.
Who was this solicitous hunk? What happened to Dr. Condescending, Calculating, and Contrary?
He froze next to the table when he caught her eyeballing him. “What?”
“It’s really strange that we’re basically strangers and we’ve worked together for ten months.”
He relaxed. “I agree.”
“I’m not being sarcastic when I ask… How do we do this? Drop the shields and the preconceived ideas we’ve had about each other and really get to know each other?”
“We talk about our life’s triumphs and failures.” Liam’s grin was nothing short of dazzling. “But I say we get high first.”
“Omigod, I knew it! You invited me to your place to get me stoned out of my mind so I’d have sex with you.”
His smile died and his cheeks flushed.
The man was adorable and delectable. She was totally fucked.
“Umm, actually—”
“I was just giving you shit, Dr. Strangelove. That’s what friends do.”
“Just for that, Miss Gradsky, I’m making you go first.” He set down her glass of water. “And I’m not talking about who gets the first hit.”
Smiling, she followed him into the living room.
He perched on the edge of the couch and pulled out a plain wooden box from the lower shelf of the coffee table. As soon as he opened the lid, the sweet, pungent scent of cannabis drifted out.
“So what variety is our dessert?”
“Guess.” He popped the top of the small glass container right under her nose.
She sniffed. “Definitely fuel based. Slight hint of lemon on the back end. I’m guessing…Sour D?”
Liam smiled at her. “Close. Sour Amnesia. The back end of this one is a skunky spice, not citrus. This one is more uplifting than brain fogging.” He bumped his shoulder into hers. “Good nose. Maybe you should keep running the retail store.”
“Piss off.”
He laughed.
She tried not to react to that sexy, husky deep laugh.
And she really tried not to notice how dexterous his long fingers were as he prepped the pipe. But every motion seemed overtly sexual. How lovingly he stroked the glass. How firmly his thumb pressed into the flint on the lighter as he adjusted the level of the flame. How reverently he broke up the bud and then lifted his fingers to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled that unique fragrance.
Stirling imagined those long fingers of his sliding down between her legs. Teasing. Stroking. Fingering her with the same adept touch. Then bringing proof of her arousal between them. Holding his damp fingers coated in her essence, right there for her to see and for him to breathe in. For him to taste.
God yes. Please. It has been so long…
What was wrong with her? She hadn’t even taken a hit…and yet she felt that telltale buzz.
“Liam? What kind of herb did you use in your pesto?”
“Basil. Why?”
“Cause I feel…a little fluffy.”
“That would be from the cannabis-infused olive oil that I mixed in with the basil.”
The man had the audacity to smile at her. Then he brought the pipe to her lips. “Ladies first.”
She flicked the lighter, lit the load, and breathed deep into the bottom of her lungs. As she held in the smoke, she passed the pipe to Liam and sank back into the cushions.
Immediately on her exhale a punch of happiness washed over her. She watched him take his turn and then he relaxed into the couch.
After a stretch of silence, Liam said, “You want another hit?”
“Not now. I’m good.” She sighed. “Much faster acting than the stuff you snuck into my food.”
“Honestly, I grabbed the oil without thinking.”
“It wasn’t a part of your nefarious plan to seduce me?”
“No.”
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Well, that’s a damn cryin’ shame.”
“Right.” He snorted. “You’re definitely high.”
“That’s the goal.”
After a bit, she snickered.
“I knew ganja would make you giggly, Gradsky.”
“You rock at alliteration.”
“I kill at Scrabble too.”
“We’ll have to play sometime.” Stirling turned her head and looked at him. “Wanna hear something funny and ironic?”
“Besides usage in the general populace of the phrase ‘soft abrasive’? What advertising genius coined that idiotic axiom? I can guarantee it wasn’t a chemist.”
She laughed. “You’re toasted.”
“Like a bagel on Sunday morning. Anyway, continue with funny and ironic.”
“I didn’t touch weed until I was in grad school.”
Liam kept his eyes closed but he quirked his brow. “Why?”
“I had too much ambition and I feared marijuana would dampen that drive.”
“A logical observation, but a wrong assumption.” He sat up and moved to the corner of the couch, stretching his legs across the cushions. “Do you mind?”
She mimicked his pose on the other end, making room for his long legs. He wasn’t wearing socks, and she couldn’t help but notice he had sexy feet. Or maybe seeing him so obviously relaxed, barefoot and wearing casual clothes, was what made him so approachably sexy.
“Ah. Thank you. So where were we now that the truth serum is kicking in?”
“I was detailing my sordid past about how trying pot just one time led me to co-owning a marijuana marketplace.”
There was that wicked grin of his again. Her stomach did a slow flip. “How did you wind up on the road to ruin, Miss Gradsky?”
“I did my grad work at UC Boulder.”
“Enough said.”
“Hey now, not nice.” She bumped her knee into his. “Anyway, some of the smartest people I studied with were recreational smokers. I figured if it hadn’t hurt their brains then I’d try it. Because I was paranoid, I did some research and selected a guy who knew his weed to pop my pot cherry.”
Liam frowned.
“He gave me a crash course and I tried different varieties until I found a couple I liked.”
“What did you like about it after purposely staying away from it for so long?”
“That I could choose the level of high. It doesn’t work that way with booze. And I never felt like crap the next day, unlike doing tequila shots. With booze, I overshot that happy buzz more times than not. I like to be in control.”
Those silvery eyes widened behind his glasses. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
She knocked her knee into his again.
“So you became a regular smoker?”
“For a while, when I had a source I trusted in Boulder. After I got the position with GenAgra and moved to Denver, I stopped smoking entirely. Not because of company drug-testing but I was the only woman at that management level and I had it in my head that I needed to set a good example.”
After he asked, “How old were you?” he nonchalantly straightened the bottom of her legging and rested his hand on her ankle.
Not a big deal that he’s touching you. Keep talking. “I finished my undergrad degree in three years so I was twenty-three when I graduated from UC with my masters. I considered myself lucky to get that job.”
“I’ll bet you did, with the dreads and the piercings.”
She blinked at him. “Oh, God no. Back then I looked like I’d walked straight out of the ‘how to dress for corporate success’ handbook. Sleek blond bob, business suits—not too tight—in neutral colors. My blouses were feminine—but not low-cut—because heaven forbid my cleavage would ever show.”
His gaze slid down to her chest and lingered. “Good riddance to the Amish work wear.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks. “So for the next five years I worked a minimum of sixty-hours a week. I made myself indispensable—or so I believed.”
“I’m familiar with that mindset.”
“A few things pushed me into questioning my quality of life. My sister London had a baby. I had to cancel a vacation I’d booked a year in advance because of some crisis at work, which turned out to be nothing but the big boss passing the buck until it hit me. I was a frazzled, angry mess and I needed to find a way to de-stress. About that time medicinal cannabis dispensaries started popping up all over Denver. On a whim I ducked into one far away from my work and my apartment.”
He chuckled. “I’m imagining you skulking around, wearing a trench coat and a fedora, trying to be inconspicuous.”
“Ha ha. No. I dressed in a lab coat and bullied my way in like a know-it-all scientist.”
He pinched her. “Not nice.”
“I got my diagnosis and my prescription.”
“Did your…prescription affect your job performance?”
She shrugged. “No. Except maybe I had more clarity.”
“About?”
“My life. Myself. My role in the company. I couldn’t deny my disillusionment. I’d been unable to implement the ideas I’d brought as that gung-ho grad student. I’d started to wonder if they hired me to fill a quota. I began to see and hear the sexism, and once you’re aware of it, you can’t be unaware again. It’d spilled from my work life into my personal life and I hadn’t realized it.”
His gaze turned sharp. “Details.”
“At the time I had a boyfriend, Nick, who worked for the same company but in a different department. He was one of those good-looking, smooth-talking sales guys. The type of man who never looked twice at a woman like me. So when he lavished attention on me…”
“You fell for it.”
“Hook, line, and sinker. My higher position meant I earned more money than he did. He claimed it wasn’t an issue and I believed him, even when he expected me to pay for things since my paycheck eclipsed his. Outside of work, I took on the traditional role of cook and housekeeper. His role was appreciating all I did for him as he parked his ass in front of the TV.”
“Sounds like a real prince.”
“Did you say a real prick?” She sneered. “Why yes, he was.”
“I’m sure Nick the Prick didn’t understand your need to de-stress.”
“No. And he was very condescending about my juvenile excuse to be a pothead. But drinking bourbon three or four nights a week until you pass out is so much more mature.”
“Same old argument we’re hearing even now, when cannabis is a legal, adult choice,” he grumbled. “But go on.”
“For the last year Nick and I were a couple, my male bosses kept asking when ‘Nick was gonna make an honest woman of me.’ I laughed it off—good-old-boy, old-school attitude I’d learned to deal with, right? Then it all came crashing down at a company cocktail party. Booze was flowing, lips were loose. I spent the majority of the evening dealing with a supplier issue so the big bosses could get hammered on free top-shelf liquor and brag about the size of their bank accounts and their dicks. Somehow I ended up overhearing my direct supervisor and my boyfriend discussing my future. Nick practically guaranteed that after we were married and he knocked me up I’d become a stay-at-home mom. That betrayal was bad enough. But when my supervisor said he’d have me start training Nick to take over my position? I had a reality check.”
Liam swept his thumb across her ankle bone, creating a tingle of awareness that zipped all the way up to the nape of her neck. “I hope you beat the fuck out of Nick the Prick right there, in front of all your big bosses, so they saw firsthand what a loser pussy he was.”
“I hadn’t grown a pair of balls yet.” She paused to catch her breath. “You know…have you ever really thought about that phrase? How derogatory it is? Like women are inferior because we don’t have a hairy nut sac? Like that wrinkly, dangling thing between a man’s legs is a source of power? And we somehow need a pair of them to be strong?” Her indignation grew. “As of right now I’m banning that phrase. Women don’t need to grow balls to be tough. We grow human beings. Inside our bodies. So from this point on, when a dude pisses me off? I’m gonna tell him to woman up and grow a goddamn uterus. Balls are for pussies.”
Liam started laughing. His laughter was sexy. And contagious.
Stirling joined in and it was several moments before they regained control.
She was wiping her eyes when Liam said, “You kill me, bulldog. You have since that first day.”
“You have an odd way of showing it.” She cocked her head. “Bulldog? Is that a nickname?”
“Yes, because you are tenacious.”
“But…bulldogs are ugly, mean, and slobbery.”
He studied her until she became self-conscious.
“What?”
Then he blushed. “Once again I utterly fail at the nickname game. My last girlfriend always made a kissy face in selfies. So in my need to come up with a term of endearment for her, I called her duck lips.”
She gasped. “You did not.”
“I did. Just that one time. I never bothered to try out any others.” He shook his head. “Stoner segue. Back to you. Finish your story. What happened next after Nick the Prick made his declaration to your boss?”
“I did the typical girly thing and ran home to my mother.”
“And?”
“And she listened. She asked the questions I’d been too afraid to ask myself. When I returned to Denver, I broke it off with Nick. I did my job but I didn’t put in nearly the hours I had before. So we got behind schedule. When management tried to blame it on me, I pointed out the obvious: I’d been overworked and underpaid for years. I knew they were looking for an excuse to can me. And they found one when we had a random drug test.”
He squinted at her. “Is that even legal?”
“Turns out it wasn’t. I tested positive for marijuana. When I met with my supervisor, he claimed he’d ‘heard’ I’d become addicted to pot and my recent poor performance proved it.”
“I presume Nick the Prick brought his concerns about you to his new buddy, your boss?”
She nodded. Thinking about that now, even a few years later, still brought a lump to her throat. Nick, that rat bastard, a man she thought she’d loved…had betrayed her. “I suffered through my supervisor’s lecture on GenAgra’s ‘family values’ philosophy, which he followed up with airing his personal disappointment in my ‘illegal’ activities. Then the bullshit got deeper as he expressed his concern that I’d show up high for client meetings and that would reflect badly on the company. So I was being terminated, effective immediately.” She took a breath. “I let him blather, then I let him stew as I sat across from him and said nothing. If the smug look on his face was an indication… he thought he’d cowed me. But he’d forgotten I hadn’t reached that level of success by being nice. I pointed out that the department I worked in had issues before I took over, and I’d done the workload of my predecessors—which was two men—by myself.”
“Did that wipe the smugness away?”
“Yes, especially after I informed him there was nothing illegal about my positive drug test because I did have a doctor’s prescription for medicinal use of cannabis, so firing me would result in my attorney filing a lawsuit for wrongful termination.”
“I’ll bet Macon had a field day with that.”
“He did. It took a solid year before GenAgra agreed to the settlement, which was substantial.” That reminded her of the blowup with Macon earlier. Sometimes she thought going into business with her brother was the worst decision she’d ever made.
“You and Macon fight, but that’s how issues get addressed and resolved. That process works for you.” Liam squeezed her foot and moved to sit up. “We both need another hit. Something different this time.”
“Any more and I won’t be driving home.”
He prepped the pipe. “So crash here on the couch. The extra time together will result in us brainstorming a brilliant solution to present to Macon tomorrow.”
Stirling spun around and set her feet on the floor. “Us?”
“Why do you think I asked you to come over?”
Talk about a dash of cold water. Had she misread Liam’s signals entirely? This…dinner, sharing a smoke, and exchanging life histories was only about improving their working relationship? Why did that bother her so much?
Because you want this to be something different than it’s been with him. You’ve spilled your guts and he’s shared nothing.
She said, “What’s in it for you?” a little more sharply than she’d intended.
“Less tension in the workplace. It’s time I became a team player.” He sucked in a huge hit and passed the pipe to her.
For a moment she just held the pipe, wondering if she should set it down, make her excuses, and leave.
After he exhaled, he rested his hand on her thigh. “Stay. Please. This is the best night I’ve had since I moved to Denver. I like talking to you.”
Her heart raced. “Okay. But only if I’m not doing all the talking.”
“But I’d much rather listen to you.”
“Why?”
Liam handed her the lighter and watched her mouth intently as she lit up and filled her lungs. “It’s that husky timbre of your voice. It sounds like…”
She exhaled. “Like I just smoked some premium weed?”
“No. It sounds like sex.”
Her vision went hazy and pleasure suffused her entire body.
From the weed? Or from his words?
Through the rush she swore she heard Liam say, “Hot, dirty, sweaty sex. Makes me think that’s how you’d sound when your throat was raw from coming so hard, so many times.”
This shit was potent if she had hallucinations that Dr. Detached was murmuring in her ear about sex noises.
“What did we just smoke?”
“Something new I’ve been working on.”
“Jesus. We need to sell this. It’s fucking amazing.”
They sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, not speaking, but Liam hadn’t removed his hand from her leg either.
Don’t read anything into it. And for fuck’s sake, don’t bring it up.
But her brain and her mouth weren’t in synch. She found herself saying, “You have big hands.”
Grabbing her wrist, he pressed their palms together, holding them up and studying them. “Mine is big.”
She laughed. “That’s what all men say.”
His warm lips brushed her ear and he murmured, “Filthy-minded girl.”
The left side of her body broke out in goose bumps.
“Just another thing to like about you.”
Her mouth had gone bone dry. “I need some water.” She shot to her feet, lost her balance, and in trying to right herself, she tweaked her lower back.
“Ow. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Liam scrambled off the couch. “What’s wrong?”
Stirling remained bent over at the waist. “I pulled something in my lower back.”
“Do you need help straightening up?”
“No!” Oh, wowza. Hanging upside down after the head buzz from that last hit… Not good. Everything was spinning. She slowly dropped her hands to the carpet and then lowered to her knees.
“Is that better?”
She arched her back, trying to pop the muscle into place. The sharp, stabbing pain snapped her resolve to act tough, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Liam sank to his knees and peered into her eyes. “What can I do?”
“Rub the spot until whatever is caught snaps back into place.” She stretched out, facedown on the floor, and groaned. “But you’ll have to take my pants off first.”