Stirling took Liam’s suggestion to make herself at home by rummaging through his closet while he showered. So his shocked look when he found her barefoot in his kitchen wearing his shirt made her laugh.
“What? I was cold.”
“Aren’t you supposed to strut around in my shirt the morning after?”
She shrugged. “I’m not so much with following societal norms anymore.”
“And she gets an ‘atta girl’ for that.” His rapt gaze roamed over her as he crowded her against the counter. “Dreadlocks suit you. There’s nothing to detract from this beautiful face.”
I can’t wait to wrap this hair around my hand as I’m fucking you from behind. Remembering the sexy, matter-of-fact way he’d stated that still gave her shivers. Had she truly found the man who accepted—and approved of—all parts of her? Physical and intellectual?
His rough-skinned knuckles followed the curve of her jaw. “I was really looking forward to our Friday night together.”
“Me too.”
He shifted his head, intending to kiss her, but she pushed against his chest.
“Hold on, Dr. Eager Beaver. I’m dying to feel those hot lips of yours on mine, but give me your word that you’ll stop at just one kiss and you won’t hoist me onto this counter and do all sorts of depraved things to me.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, don’t look butt hurt. I need your promise to stop because I know once I get in that lust-addled state, I’ll say yes to anything.”
“And that’s bad…?”
“Not normally. We will get down and dirty until we’re both hoarse and half dead in a sex coma. But first I need to feed you.” She kissed the inside of his wrist. “You’ve subsisted on coffee and beef jerky for two days. You need real food to fuel up. It’d be a shame if this amazing body would peter out at the magic moment, wouldn’t it?”
“Are you questioning my stamina, Miss Gradsky?” His fingers slipped down to cup the back of her neck. “The first round might be lightning fast. But I promise you rounds two, three, four, and five won’t be.”
Holy shit. He planned to fuck her five times?
Yes, please.
Then Liam took her mouth like a conquering hero, caging her body with his, gripping the nape of her neck to keep her head where he wanted it, gifting her with a head-swimming kiss that satisfied any qualms about how well the man used his lips and tongue.
She was embarrassingly breathless—and wet—when he released her with a nuzzle below her ear.
He stepped back and smiled. “Only one kiss, as requested.”
“Thank you. Now park it on the other side of the breakfast bar.” She propped her hand on her hip and challenged, “Or do I have to banish you because you’re the type of guy who’ll freak out when I rummage in your fridge and make a huge mess on the counters and the stove?”
A horrified look crossed his face.
“I thought so.” She pointed at the living room. “Go. And no smoking the good stuff while I’m slaving away.”
“Why are you bossing me around in my own kitchen?”
“Because I’ll let you boss me around in your bedroom later.”
He flashed a wicked grin. “Excellent trade-off.”
Stirling whipped up veggie omelets with cream cheese and capers, and a pile of toast.
Liam ate slowly, despite how hungry he must’ve been.
“You have great manners. Not that I’m surprised,” she added.
“Thank you. My gramma would’ve been happy to hear that her nagging all those years hadn’t been for naught.”
Then he didn’t say anything else.
She sighed. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”
“Ask what?”
“Why your grandma would be proud and not your mother.”
Liam wiped his mouth with a napkin and then knocked back the last of his coffee. “Because my gramma raised me. My mother ditched me with her when I was five.”
“Oh. Well, I can skip the question about whether you have any siblings and go straight to the others I have.”
“Stirling—”
“Uh-uh. I blathered on about my life history; it’s only fair that I hear yours.”
“No, you shared your work history and how it related to you getting into the cannabis industry. You didn’t talk at all of your childhood.”
“Fine.” She snatched his last piece of toast. “I’ve heard some of your work history, so tell me how a brilliant man with a doctorate in microbiology opted to specialize in cannabis.”
He wrinkled his brow. “You really want to do this now?”
“Why not? Is there somewhere else you need to be?”
No response.
Great, he’d reverted to Dr. Aloof. Stirling picked up the dishes and headed to the sink. “That’s right. You have unicycling club tonight. Or is this the night you’re rounding up the posse to track Bigfoot? I can’t keep your hobbies straight.” She squirted soap into the stream of hot water and reached for the sponge.
A tattooed hand shut off the water. Then warm, strong arms encircled her. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I suck at this stuff, Stirling. Like epic-level suck. Some events in my past are embarrassing.”
“Liam, everyone has embarrassing moments in their past they’d rather forget. That’s not what I asked you to share with me.”
His breath fanned across the top of her head. “What if they’re one and the same?”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning…getting busted for possession at age seventeen is also why I pushed myself to get through college, with an eye on earning a doctorate so I could focus my plant-science research solely on cannabis, so I could help people like my gramma.” His arms slipped free and she heard him walk away.
Since Liam needed to cool down or nut up before they resumed the conversation, Stirling took her time washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Then she checked her phone for messages, looked at cute pictures of kittens on Instagram, and drank three cups of coffee.
Forty minutes later and Liam still hadn’t shown his face.
All right, he wasn’t ready to let her in—which seemed a more positive way of phrasing it than he’d shut her out—so she’d go home and chalk this up to a bad idea.
After folding the flannel shirt and setting it on the counter, she grabbed her satchel. As she passed through the hall to the entryway, she didn’t bother to peek into the living room to see if Dr. Detached had conked out on the couch.
It was just her luck that she lost her balance as she slipped on her cowgirl boot, falling sideways into the coat tree, knocking it over with a spectacular crash.
So much for her stealth exit.
Liam raced around the corner. “Stirling? Are you…”
“Leaving? Yes. Get some rest, Dr. Argent. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re pissed off at me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You called me Dr. Argent.”
“It is your name, as you’ve repeatedly reminded me over the past ten months. Anyway, I’m not pissed off because you don’t want to discuss your past with me. It’s your choice. I’m not the type to nag or beg. But relationships require a level of trust from both parties, otherwise it’s superficial. I’ve had enough of that, so I’ll pass if that’s all you’re prepared to offer me.” She bent down to retrieve her boot….and found herself airborne with Liam’s shoulder in her stomach as he carried her in a fireman’s hold into the living room.
Stirling was so stunned by his caveman behavior she couldn’t speak.
Liam laid her on the couch and stretched out on top of her, preventing her escape.
The smart man had pinned her legs so she couldn’t knee him in the balls, either.
So she glared at him. She’d said her piece; in fact, she’d probably said far too much.
“Did you mean it?” he demanded.
“Mean what? Mean to leave? Yes.”
“No. Did you mean it that we’re in a relationship?”
The vulnerability in his eyes just…slayed her. “The pranks, the bickering, the one-upmanship… We’ve been in a relationship since day one, Dr. Dumbass. An adversarial relationship, sort of fucked-up, to be honest. But in that time… Have I permeated your thoughts to the point you aren’t sure if you want to strangle me or if you want to fuck me? Do you have entire conversations in your head about what clever remarks you’ll toss off the next time you run into me? Or maybe you plan to cross my path just so we can have a snarky back and forth? Does your heart race when you see me? Do you imagine shutting my smart mouth with a steamy kiss? Do you fantasize about storming into my office, locking the door, bending me over my desk, fucking me in silence until we both explode, and then leaving without saying a word?”
“Yes.”
“Yes to what?”
“Yes to all of it.”
That’s when she noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He looked less haughty. Less closed off. But still so sexy she couldn’t catch her breath.
Or maybe you can’t breathe because the man is squishing you.
But Stirling wasn’t about to complain.
“You believe that us fighting, playing practical jokes, and acting like mortal enemies has been some kind of prolonged foreplay?”
She snorted. “Dude. It’s still foreplay since we haven’t fucked.”
“Yet.” Liam kissed her. Not with hunger but with sweet seduction. Soft, teasing nibbles, followed by the slick slide of his lips. Tasting her. Tormenting her. Finally, he slowed the sensual assault on her mouth.
“Please tell me that kiss was the last bout of foreplay before you fuck me mindless.”
He chuckled and planted a lingering smooch on her lips. “No. That was a thank you for voicing everything I couldn’t kiss.” Another smooch. “A you understand me and aren’t running away yelling freak at me kiss.” A longer press of his lips. “An I’m ready to talk honestly about my past kiss…” His eyes gleamed. “But let’s have a couple of hits first.”
Stirling laughed. “Good plan. As long as there’s hair-pulling fucking afterward.”
“You truly are the perfect woman, Stirling Gradsky.” He pushed back and stood.
She scooted around into a sitting position.
He looked over his shoulder at her after he pulled out his weed box. “Where’s my shirt?”
“On the counter. Why? Did you think I stole it?”
“No. I liked seeing you wear it. Never had anyone do that before.”
That he’d admitted such a sweet sentiment… She felt oddly honored.
Like before, Liam arranged the cannabis essentials in a precise row. Stirling noticed he’d pulled out a vaporizer pen—one that used concentrated oil instead of bud or wax.
He caught her watching him. “Don’t know if I can deal with any more smoke today.”
“Understood. What tasty concoction are you creating for us?”
“Just a mix of oils I’ve found that don’t gum up in this thing.”
“Cool. That’s probably why I don’t mess with oils. I had a pen like that for buds.”
“We all have our likes and dislikes.” He placed the mouthpiece on.
“What is your dislike?”
“Dabbing.”
“Why?”
“Using a blowtorch to vaporize concentrates is a complicated and dangerous process when there are so many other options. Plus, I get way high, way too fast.” He handed her the vape pen first.
The taste remained citrusy smooth, even through her exhale. “I like that.”
Liam indulged in a huge hit and passed the pen back. “I’ve found two tokes to be the perfect ratio.”
“I’ll stick with one.”
After he finished his second hit, he set the pen next to his eyeglasses on the table. Then he stretched out on the couch, tugging her down with him so the side of her face rested on his chest. “Are you comfortable?”
She tried not to let it bother her that he’d chosen this position so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye when he talked of his past. Turning her hips, she threw her leg over his. “Now I am.”
“Good.” Liam began lightly dragging his fingertips up and down her arm. He brushed one soft, warm kiss up high on her forehead before he spoke. “I don’t remember my mother at all. She ditched me at her mom’s when I was five. My earliest memory was sitting at Gramma’s kitchen table, eating a deviled ham sandwich. It’s still my comfort food. Anyway, I attended public school until I was twelve. After taking a standardized test, my teacher, the school counselor, and the principal called Gramma and me in for a meeting.”
“Let me guess. Your scores were off the chart.”
He chuckled. “The highest they’d ever seen. Apparently the highest for my grade level in the entire state. They urged Gramma to enroll me in a private school for the academically gifted. Keep in mind that my sixty-five-year-old gramma worked as a daytime janitor. We barely scraped by. There was no way she could afford private school. But the school counselor was determined to find the tuition. And she did. Scholarships up the wazoo. We needed to ‘only’ come up with an extra two hundred dollars.”
“For the entire year?”
“No. Two hundred dollars per month. So Gramma switched to the nighttime janitorial crew since it paid more. I enrolled in private school that fall. I hated the uniforms, hated the hierarchy, hated being the skinny poor kid. It didn’t help that I academically outpaced my fellow students so they had an excuse to make my life hell. Whenever Gramma asked about school, I lied and swore it was awesome. On an academic level it was challenging. That part I loved. The social aspect? A nightmare. One thing I hadn’t known? Working the night shift paid more because there was more work to do. It wore my grandmother down. She already had arthritis and she developed chronic pain syndrome. Her insurance wouldn’t cover high-priced pain meds, so she sucked it up and suffered.” His fingers stopped moving on her arm. “That’s what I hated most of all. She’d given up so much to raise me. It killed me to see her curled into a ball in her bed because her body hurt so badly. I felt helpless and guilty and told her I’d go back to public school, but she refused to consider it.”
“How old were you?”
“At that time…fifteen.”
“Did you have anyone to talk to?”
“I’d made one friend—Dougie—we social outcasts stuck together. He’d landed in private school after being expelled from public school for smoking pot. So I confided in him. He suggested I get a nighttime job to help out financially. He also mentioned that marijuana had medicinal properties and gave me a joint. Of course, I balked. Gramma wouldn’t consider getting high, right? But one day the pain was so bad I bucked up and asked her if it would help.”
Stirling felt him swallow.
“After I convinced her I wasn’t doing drugs—I’d done research on cannabis to find a way to help her—she finally tried it. It eased her pain, but she didn’t like the smoking part. I tracked down a water vapor heavy bong, hoping it delivered on the promise of less smoke but equal medical benefits.”
“What about edibles?”
“Edibles…inconsistent information at that time. It was more of a joke. ‘Hey, you want my Aunt Ginny’s recipe for pot brownies?’”
Stirling snickered. “And she’d probably have to eat an entire pan of them.”
“Exactly. Since she didn’t have another option, she kept lighting up.”
“Dougie was your dealer?”
“No. At first he’d supplied me out of his own stash. When I learned how much Gramma needed and how much it cost, Dougie set me up with a dealer.”
“Wait… Dougie. Why is that name familiar?”
“Because he’s the cannabis specialist who helped me deal with the plants Friday night. I’ve never met anyone who knows more than he does.”
“You’re still friends with him?”
“We kept in touch over the years. He’s a brilliant guy, but the crazy kind of brilliant.”
“Like attracts like. He’s a perfect friend for you,” she teased.
Liam lightly tapped her ass.
“What does he do for a living?”
“He won’t admit to it, but I’d lay odds he’s a hacker.”
“Wow. He’s not in the cannabis industry?”
“He grows his own. When we were teens he turned his closet into a grow house.”
“Enterprising.”
“Selfish with his product, but not his knowledge. So when I discovered cannabis could be ingested in pill form, he helped me learn how to make them. We screwed up a bunch of times before we got the viscosity right.”
“Were pills easier for your grandma?”
“Much. I kept a notebook detailing…well, everything. Especially how her body responded. Sometimes she got a head high and fell asleep. Other times she’d get an energetic full-body boost. But it worked. There wasn’t a chance she could OD, like with oxy. Pharmaceutical companies manufacture drugs full of dangerous and deadly chemicals. But cannabis, which is natural and nonaddictive, is illegal. Makes no sense on any level.”
“Preaching to the choir, Liam.”
He sighed. “I know.” His hand had drifted to her arm. The rough tips of his fingers trailed from the ball of her shoulder to the inside of her wrist.
“Your grandma didn’t have a problem sending her teenaged grandson out onto the streets of Denver to buy weed for her?”
“She had a serious issue with it. So I lied. I told her I was buying from Dougie, but she couldn’t ever let on that she knew.”
“Sneaky.”
“Not sneaky enough.”
She propped her chin on his chest and looked at him. “What happened?”
“I started working for my dealer. Partially because he gave me a discount on my biweekly purchase. Partially because it paid more than bussing tables and it allowed me more free time to apply for college scholarships and grants.”
“When you mean working for…?”
“I delivered packages a couple times a week. I had no idea what was in them—I didn’t want to know. But given what he did for a living… It was obvious. Anyway, I’d been his ‘errand’ boy for about a year. That day’s delivery was to a fitness club. I had the locker number and the combination memorized. But evidently a skinny, nerdy-looking kid with glasses roused suspicion among the body builders, so the front desk manager detained me. The cops came, searched my backpack, and found the unmarked package.”
“What did they find when they opened it?”
“Baggies of pills. Hash. Mushrooms. I didn’t have to feign shock because I was shocked. They cuffed me and dragged me to juvenile. I couldn’t get ahold of my gramma so the cops brought in a woman from social services. That allowed them to start grilling me. Even when I hoped it never happened, getting caught had always been a possibility, so I had a cover story.”
“Which was?”
“A big body builder dude stopped me at the end of the block and said he wanted to play a joke on his buddy. Said he’d pay me twenty bucks to take a package into the locker room, write ‘John’ on the outside, and leave it in an empty locker. The cops didn’t believe me and kept asking the same questions over and over. My answers never wavered. So they decided to book me for possession, figuring I’d crack when faced with jail time.” He fidgeted beneath her. “I cried. In fucking juvie. I was terrified to spend even one night in there, wearing inmate orange.”
“Did anything bad happen?”
“No. The other kids ignored me. The next morning I had an appearance in juvenile court and Gramma was there so they released me. The cops testified, calling my explanation a ‘total fabrication’. The front desk manager admitted they had several members named John.”
“Ah, the first seeds of doubt.”
He yawned. “I had two ‘character’ witnesses. The school counselor who helped me get into private school and my physics teacher. They touted my academics, my flawless disciplinary record, and my helpful nature. Neither of them had trouble believing I’d do a favor for a stranger. With no prior history of arrests, the judge dismissed the charges.”
“So nothing went on your permanent record.”
“Nope.” He stretched and rested his forearm across his eyes. “That’s the benefit of a dealer using underage couriers.”
“Did he know you’d gotten caught?”
“Of course. He cut me loose. But for not ratting him out, he left me five hundred grams of weed under my pillow.”
“Over a pound? Seriously?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“What did your grandma say about your stint in juvie?”
“She asked if I was dealing for Dougie.” Another jaw-cracking yawn. “I didn’t have to lie to her about that.”
Stirling nestled into his chest. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome. But it’s still embarrassing,” he mumbled.
“During my teen years I didn’t hang around with kids who bragged about juvie like it was a private club. Bad boys… I never understood the attraction. Not that they were attracted to me, a girl with braces and acne, not to mention my hard line of what was right and what was wrong. No gray areas in my world. My friends were like me—focused on academics and what came after high school. My sister wasn’t. At the time she made me feel like a loser for not running wild like she did. Looking back, I was too afraid acting tough and reckless wouldn’t make a difference in how other kids my age saw me. And looking like you were trying too hard to be cool was worse than just accepting that you weren’t and didn’t fit in, know what I mean?”
No answer.
His breathing had evened out, meaning he’d fallen asleep.
Stupid karma.
“Fine. I deserve this. But is the ‘payback’s a bitch’ smirk necessary, Dr. Dozed Off?”
No response.
“I’m really glad I didn’t take that second hit.”
She listened to his slow and steady heartbeat. It’d been a rough couple of days and he needed sleep more than sex. She disentangled from him and he didn’t move.
After she covered him with that butt-ugly crocheted afghan, she perched on the edge of the couch and watched him sleep. “Are we ever gonna get this right?”
Stirling grabbed her stuff—including his flannel shirt—and went home.