Page 52 of Edge of Whispers

“I promise, I’ll be in company the entire day,” she said. “And I’ll take car services, taxis, rideshares. I have to drop by Peter and Enid’s place this morning, and they’ll go with me for our appointment in midtown by nine-thirty, and I?—”

“I’ll take you to your appointments.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “No way. That would be stressful and uncomfortable. I’ll be racing from pillar to post, and I can’t concentrate if you’re watching my every?—”

“Deal with me. Or come back to Latham.”

That was my father’s voice, coming out of my mouth. That overbearing, cringe-inducing, bullying tone. She was responding to it badly, and who could fucking blame her. It was unbearable. I should know.

“To Latham,” she repeated, incredulous. “With you. While my livelihood goes to hell. What do I do there, Liam? Spend my days lolling in your bed, legs in the air? It would be fun, but it’s not a long-term solution!”

“I never said it was,” I snapped.

Aw, shit. Wrong thing to say. The hot color drained from her face. “I see,” she said. “Of course. Since this is just a temporary thing. We’re fuck buddies, right?”

Shit. “Nancy, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that you can’t?—”

“I can do whatever I want, Liam. The meeting this morning is with the biggest production company I’ve ever done business with. If I flake out on them, they’ll never take me seriously again.”

I gathered my clothes and pulled them on. “Don’t try to justify yourself to me,” I said. “You can’t convince me that your professional appointments are more important than your safety.” I pulled on my shoes. “Get dressed. I’ll take you to your client’s apartment. But you are not walking out of this place alone.”

Her chin went up. “It’s not up to you. I can get a car.”

Two strides put me in her face, tilting her head back. Words came out that I was powerless to stop. “Don’t push me,” I snarled. “You will give me this one. You owe me that. Actually, you owe me more than that. But you will do me this courtesy today.”

Or else. Her throat bobbed. They both felt the menace in my tone.

I’d never tried to intimidate a woman. Never even dreamed that I would be capable of it. But look at me, throwing my weight around like an asshole. Actually wondering what I’d do if she called my bluff.

My aching dick had some good ideas.

She wrenched her chin away from my hand, turned away and started getting ready.

My bluff had worked. She’d backed down.

And the predatory beast inside me was as disappointed as hell.

Chapter Seventeen

Nancy

“God, Nance. What was the point of you coming down here at all if you’re not even going to listen to me?”

I rubbed my eyes until Peter’s handsome face swam into focus. “Peter, don’t bug me. I haven’t slept. I risked death and abduction last night, so spare me the attitude.”

“I’m sorry you got mugged, but I highly doubt that anyone was trying to abduct you,” Peter said. “I mean, why would they? You’re having delusions of grandeur. Do I need to brew you some coffee? Or can you stay conscious long enough for me to run this new song order by you?”

I huffed out a breath and dragged myself to my feet. “Hit me with it,” I said grimly. “I’ll stand. It’ll be easier to stay awake.”

“Good idea. So anyhow, my thought was to put ‘Glory Road’ at the top. Hit ’em with everything we’ve got, bada-boom. Once we’ve got their attention, we go with ‘The Slippery Slope.’ Then Enid’s intro to ‘The Far Shore.’ And then, we’ll put ...”

Despite my best efforts, Peter’s voice faded into background noise. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, thinking of Liam’s eyes when he left me outside Peter and Enid’s apartment building. It made me want to howl.

But I couldn’t just throw my whole life up into the air and leap into his pocket. I’d worked too hard and too long for this.

I pushed the image of Liam’s desolate eyes out of my head and studied Peter’s face. Those refined, ethereal good looks that had so attracted me back in college.

We’d met our freshman year and formed a band: Peter on lead vocals and guitar, me on acoustic bass, Henry on drums, Chad on keyboards. I’d worked like a maniac finding the band local gigs, planning spring break tours. After a while, I’d begun to fancy myself in love with Peter. He loved me, too. At least, he had assured me he did—even on that unforgettable day when he, Henry, and Chad sat me down and told me they were looking for a new bass player. Someone with a more primal, savage rhythm. A more dangerous vibe.

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