Page 93 of Masquerade

Maybe I should take her to bed and talk later?

And maybe I should go back outside and cool down?

He rubbed himself down then threw the towel over the back of the chair, his gaze never leaving her. Dragging a dry shirt from his bag, he pulled it on.

Desire wasn’t enough anymore. Probably never had been.

“Would you like a drink or something?” She crossed her arms, defensive still.

Or something would do just fine. Because now he was here, all his prepared scripts sounded unconvincing.

“Coffee smells good.”

She almost bolted to the kitchen, and he wanted to ease her anxiety, to give her his support even if she didn’t answer his questions.

“Can we talk about the book first?” he asked.

The sound of grinding coffee beans shattered the air. He listened for thekerchunkof the machine as water and beans blended, and the trickle of the brew into a single cup. The aroma of fresh coffee swirled around him. The hum of tension roared around them.

“Why?” She set his coffee on the table in front of the sofa, placing her own beside the single armchair.

“It’s terrific.” He took his allotted place.

“Thank you.” Her robin-egg-blue gaze studied him, and he couldn’t guess her thoughts.

“You believe me?” Now he understood why he’d started with talking about her book. To differentiate himself from those who wouldn’t.

Tucking herself into the chair, she heeled off her boots to draw her feet under her. He allowed himself to be distracted by the homeliness of her thick, hand-knitted striped socks in shades of grey, until she delivered her sucker punch. “You wouldn’t lie to me.”

Her simple statement catapulted them back into unfinished business. The book couldn’t be separated from the secrets between them.

“I have lied to you.”

She blanched.

“By omission, rather than a deliberate action.” His forearms were braced on his knees. The crackle of the logs in the fireplace drew his gaze, the softer notes of Aretha on another sad love song slid into his mind, and Kate’s floral scent snuck past his defences. “Except omission is a deliberate act. I was furious with my father for dying. Furious with him for dying before his time.”

“Niall said he died of a heart attack”—she began, her brows drawing together in a frown.

“I believed”—he met her gaze—“part of me still believes, he knew he’d been conned out of every penny he owned by a woman posing as a cousin, and the shock killed him. He was bankrupt when he died.” Liam’s hands formed fists, but by the time he’d discovered the theft there’d been no one to fight. “For a while, I thought Mum would lose the house. Everything else was gone.”

“You worked in intellectual property law for the money.” Her brow cleared as she solved the puzzle. “All your money goes to paying his debts.”

“Let’s say I won’t be buying an apartment anytime soon.” A mouthful of the unsweetened brew burned his throat.

“You didn’t tell Niall.” She was smart as well as lovely. “That’s the reason you and he were estranged.”

“Niall would have given up his mentorship in Ireland.” Liam counted Niall’s time in Ireland as a small victory.

“His decision to make.”

“He agrees with you,” Liam sighed. “But I found out about Dad’s debts within days of Selina’s betrayal. I needed Niall to live his dream. Money was my only focus, until George gave me a chance. He treated me more like a son, than an employee.”

“Where are you going with this, Liam?” She studied him with raw intensity.

“I saw a blonde bombshell, a Futureproof operative, George’s reputation on the line and my world imploded. I couldn’t stomach that Dad died the victim of a scam. I was as grief-stricken and disillusioned as the day Dad died.” Admitting he’d been disillusioned with his father shamed him anew. “I wanted to smash something.”

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