Page 29 of Fraud
I studied her for a quiet moment, recalling the intensity of her words and the passion in her voice. It was the first time since meeting Katelyn O’Malley, I could actually see a sliver of Laura Stone, the author, somewhere inside.
“I do believe you are a bit of a romantic at heart,” I replied.
She smiled sweetly. “Maybe a hopeless one.”
My hand reached out to hers, a needless gesture since we’d already achieved our goal for the evening and sold everyone on our false marital status.
This time, I touched her because I wanted to.
“Definitely not hopeless,” I said softly, knowing that instant that I was crossing the line between business and pleasure.
And heading straight to the land of hell.
“So, tell me about technical editing,” she said, shifting topics. “How does one get into something like that?”
I suddenly felt like I’d been hit in the face with a bucket of ice water. Here I was, in a dimly lit room, romancing the hell out of a woman I’d just met, and then reality hit.
I was lying to her.
Flat-out lying.
I needed to remember that.
“There’s not much to tell,” I said, straightening slightly in my chair. “Rather boring really.”
We continued to chat about our lives. She told me more about her work at the college. I rambled off more lies about mine until the check came around.
I was feeling quite good about myself as I led us outside.
My head was clear.
But then I saw the way the moonlight highlighted her golden-blonde hair. I became mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the soft curves of her body.
Katelyn O’Malley was casting a spell on me, and she didn’t even know it.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted her to stop.
“You’re an asshole, Killian.”
I’d been awake for a total of ten minutes.
Ten minutes of peace before the phone rang.
Ten minutes of wondering exactly what I was going to do with Katelyn O’Malley and my unexpected interest in her.
“You’ve been saying that since we were kids, Liam. Come up with a better line,” I said, holding my cell phone to my ear as I yawned.
My younger brother had always been fond of that particular saying. He’d heard our father say it one evening when he was about five, and I guessed it stuck.
Back then, Dad had been the asshole.
He had taken away the toys. He had given the time-outs and the curfews when we got older.
Now that it was just Liam and me left?
Guess who was the asshole now.
“I’m letting you stay in my apartment, rent-free, while I’m away. What more could you want?”
