a friend. She didn’t need to know the other reasons, the ones that made up the bulk of his present resistance.
So he’d tell a lie. But a white lie. A lie he wished was true. The loyalty part was there, but it still didn’t help him not consider her as anything other than a friend. He considered, he considered so much that sometimes he even got confused about who they actually were. It just wasn’t a situation he could pursue.
He’d spent years thinking of the incident in the only way he could minimize it: she’d been embarrassed but had then probably put it from her mind and moved on. Thinking about it any other way left him angry with nothing to fight against.
Twenty-four hours in her presence had brought a few other revelations he might never have come to on his own without seeing her again.
This mess wasn’t about her feeling humiliated because they’d both wanted each other but couldn’t go there.
She thought she’d been alone in that desire, and that’s what hurt her. If that were the case, it meant she hadn’t been smart enough to read him right. It labeled her dumb, clueless, or cocky that she knew but didn’t care how he felt about the matter. Mostly, in every incarnation of the situation where she felt alone in the desire, there was no making it better.
He’d have to tell her that he’d wanted to drag her to bed and that even now, years later, it had been the sexiest night of his life.
Then tell her that nothing could happen because of his loyalty to her family. If they were both shutting down the attraction with good reasons that had nothing to do with desirability, that might take the edge off the situation for her. It would help him were the situations reversed.
Last night’s conversation about the book had been way too revealing for his peace of mind, but maybe that reason was something she’d accept now. He just had to come up with some way to make this all right.
There were very few good things about never pursuing real, lasting relationships—but the one thing he would change right now was not having the tools to instantly know how to fix this. All he really knew was that he had to try.
When they were alone.
The pilot’s voice broke into his thoughts, announcing their clearance for takeoff. He had five hours to come up with the right words. And three hours to start hounding her for that other swelling pill.
* * *
“The wrap is getting looser,” Liam said, gesturing to the foot he still had propped up on pillows piled atop the footrest.
The jet had just landed, and they were currently taxiing away from the runway.
She stashed the last magazine back in the rack and leaned over to look at his foot. “The pill is working already.”
“Oh, it’s working...” he murmured, doing his best not to give her anything else to be angry about. All this nonsense, as she referred to it, didn’t make him happy either. He was getting his way, kind of, but it was hitting home that his way was stupid.
“I hope it means that some of the bruising is dissipating. Seems like that might make sense, there’s blood pooled there, and fluid is being whisked away by a medicine. Maybe it will take some blood with it. I really don’t know if it works that way, but it would be nice if it did. Might take some of the soreness,” she said, then turned in her seat to look at Tom. “Did you find a good cane for him to use and pretend is just for show?”
“I did. I have a friend in antiques, he called around and found something nice and the right length. It has a sword hidden in it.”
“So, if we’re set upon by bandits, I can defend you.” Liam smiled at her. She might not be trying to talk him out of his plan at every turn now, or telling him that it was stupid, but their conversation definitely hadn’t diminished her surliness over the situation.
“I think it’s more likely that if we’re set upon by bandits, they’ll be aiming to kidnap you. Ransom you for shiny baubles.”
And she was grumpier the closer it got to the premiere.
“Is there any way you can do the carpet prowl thing and then come back here and skip the actual movie?”
“We’ll skip the early movie in Virginia, go strictly red carpet, then fly back to New York,” he answered quickly, then redirected her attention back to his ankle and away from worrying about tonight. “The bandage is loose enough to feel irrelevant. Think you could wrap it again before we disembark?”
She leaned over to look out the window. “I guess there’s no flight attendant to tell me to stay buckled in until we get to the gate. So, sure.”
She unbuckled to head for the other side of his seat. He watched her flick the tape off and then unwrap the loose dressing. “How does it look? Think you can still tape it like before?”
“It doesn’t matter if I should or not, but if the swelling continues to abate, we’ll tape it. I’d be happier if it were also in the splint.”
“I think my ankle feels a little better.” He changed the subject to something that he hoped would ease her. She hadn’t smiled the whole trip. Even when he’d assured her that it certainly felt better than last night.
It made him feel better at least. Reviews had come out that morning before the flight, and those had made him feel good too. Good enough that even if his ankle was hurting, he’d make the premieres.
The cane would help.
Having her there would help.
Two separate walks would not help, but it had started to look possible that his foot wouldn’t actually fall off and leave him with that bloody stump.
Now, if he could get any clarity on the trench-coat situation...
* * *
Liam’s ringing phone echoed inside the back of the car sent to fetch them on the tarmac. Miles sat in the front with the driver, leaving Hailey and Dexter behind to get the luggage from the jet and catch up, and Grace all alone with the Sexiest Man Alive.
“You just turned it on. Does it send a homing signal for people to call you when you turn it on?” she asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Her mood had to improve. How many women would kill to be Liam Carter’s red-carpet date? But every time he looked at her she felt like he was going to bring up that night. He hadn’t, thank goodness, and he’d given her no real indication that he wanted to. Every instance when something had been said that might lead into that conversation, he’d changed the subject too.
She should relax.
“I think so.”
He answered the phone and began talking. Reviews. Good reviews. Or what she’d call great, at least the ones she’d seen before they’d got into the air. And she had seen no mentions of his limp. So maybe he was right. Maybe she only noticed because it was her job to notice.
Tonight was the last night that he’d have to be on that ankle, and then tomorrow she’d get to go home, only see him at the clinic for treatment, and soon enough that would be over too. She’d get her quiet life back.
Today it was easier
