“Hmm.”
“What?”
That hmm had been decidedly pleased, but she merely shook her head in answer.
“Plus,” he said, “Nutritionist Rebecca’s food plan is legit. I don’t think I’ve had this much energy . . . ever.”
“Nutritionist Rebecca?”
He shrugged. “Not so funny story, we have two Rebeccas in the organization. They’ve titled themselves.”
Mia’s lips twitched. “And what’s the other Rebecca?”
“PR Rebecca.”
“The nicknames don’t exactly flow off the tongue now, do they?”
“No.” He laughed lightly. “Can’t say it does.”
She polished off the rest of her bagel, crumpled the wrapper, and took his and the empty bag to the trash then surprised him by not kicking his sorry ass out the door and instead sitting back down next to him, albeit still with the two empty chairs between them. Her eyes locked onto his. “Why are we here, Liam?”
“Here in a proverbial sense?”
A roll of those warm brown irises.
“Ah,” he said lightly. “Why in the literal sense then.”
“Liam,” she warned.
“I wanted to apologize, okay?”
Her stare hardened. “So, you did that by showing up at eight in the morning at my place of business?”
Round and round in circles in his mind. Round and round in this conversation with this woman. What to say? What to hide? How to explain? How not to scare her off? He didn’t have any great answers to any of it. All he knew was—
“I like you, okay?”
So not smooth.
Would probably scare her off anyway.
Would certainly have his ass bustled to the door.
Except . . . she didn’t bustle him to the door. Instead, she remained sitting two chairs over from him, mouth agape, and went mute.
Totally, utterly mute.
“What?” he finally asked.
She blinked. “You.”
“Me, what?”
She exploded to her feet. “You can’t like me!” Her steps were quiet as she paced away. “You hardly know me. Y-you—”
He stood and crossed over to her.
Not touching, because she’d drawn that boundary, but near enough to catch a whiff of soap, the slight spice of exertion from her exercise.
“You saved my life,” he said. “I think that’s a good place to start.”
“So, this is some sort of Stockholm Syndrome?”
“Well, no, because you didn’t kidnap me.” He reached a hand out, wanting to lightly tug the end of her ponytail, to pair the teasing with touch, but then he remembered the whole no-permission-to-touch thing and pulled back. Which meant he looked like some sort of strange lobster puppet creature, reaching out thumb and forefinger, pulling back and shifting back to his heels.
Her lips pressed flat, not seeming to notice, or maybe it was less that and more not acknowledging his weirdness. Either way, she just stayed in place. “Right.” A scowl. “That’s for kidnapping. I wonder what the term for falling for your rescuer is.” She tapped her chin, turned away. “There’s got to be something.”
Liam was frozen in place, struck by the lean lines of her legs encased in her sweats, the shining hair tugged into the ponytail, its end just caressing the top of her ass.
He wanted to touch that hair.
He wanted to touch her.
To demonstrate exactly why he could like her, why he’d dreamed about her, why he’d gotten up on a rare day he’d been able to sleep in, and why he’d been thrilled to see her cleaning through the window.
Hint. It was the same reason he’d forced himself to keep walking, to go down the block and pick up food and coffee.
Also, why he’d come back and then been stunned into stillness by the way she moved across the floor. Graceful as a dancer, liquid as water, strong as a check coming right for him.
He’d lifted his hand without realizing it, his fingers less than an inch from her hair.
Coming back into himself, he jumped back.
Of course, Mia caught the movement in the mirror.
She spun, plunked her hands onto her hips. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I—” He shook himself. “You said no touching. I’m trying to abide by that.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I-I mean, that sounds stupid, but yesterday you set the boundary. I pushed it, and I shouldn’t have.” He thrust a hand through his hair and spun away, knowing he sounded like an idiot and was blowing his chance with her. “You were uncomfortable, and it was inappropriate, and even though I’m wildly attracted to you and think you’re the coolest person I’ve met in a long time, I won’t cross that line.” A sigh as he clenched his hands into fists. “I won’t betray the trust you’ve given me this morning by letting me into your studio.”
Silence.
Long enough that he’d actually taken a step toward the door, knowing it was time to show himself out.
This was . . . too much for a day’s interaction.
That was the fucking understatement of the year.
“Liam.”
He rotated to face her.
“I’m not what you think,” she said. Not gentle, not soft. Just clear and concise, as though she were trying to convince both herself and him. “I can’t be what you think.”
“I think you can.”
“No,” she said, more firmly. “I can’t.”
Fuck. He had blown it. “I’ll go.” Regroup. Come back when—
Gentle fingers on his jaw, a firm hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her.
A lithely muscled female body pressed to his.
“I’m not any of those things you said. I’m not cool or special or exceptional. I’m just . . . Mia.”
He was barely breathing, had to force out the words. “Just Mia seems pretty great.”
A shake of her head that ponytail swinging again. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
He covered her hand with his own, wanted to say something to convince her she was wrong. Instead, he ended up saying the only thing he could think, “Your skin is like silk.”
She shivered. “Yours is scalding hot.”
“Let me take you out to dinner.”
A statue in his arms, flush against him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What can I do to convince you?”
Those brown eyes flared with heat, speared him in place, a shuddering breath sliding between her lips. Statue no more, her body softened, breast brushing his chest, thighs tangling with his. A red haze appeared in the corners of his vision.
Then she rose on tiptoe. “Come home with me.”
That red haze spread . . . and consumed him alive.
Six
Mia
The words were hardly out of her mouth before panic slipped in.
What was she doing? Dear God, what in the fuck was she doing?
She didn’t invite men upstairs, certainly didn’t sleep with men she didn’t know.
But then again, she also didn’t let strange men into her studio in the early morning, didn’t eat food they’d brought, or drink the sugary coffee. Well, she didn’t have men showing up bearing gifts, either.