pinpointed part of her allure. It was the way she moved...graceful, energetic, as if she were always off on a delightful adventure.
Liam had been standing by the bar talking to the female bartender. With a lift of his hand, he caught Zoe’s attention, hoping his smile appeared more natural than it felt. His limbs tingled and his chest tightened. The physical manifestations of his arousal were disconcerting. He’d had a number of lovers in his adult life. He understood sexual hunger. But the intensity of his response to Zoe rattled him.
The dress she wore should have been outlawed. Even the harshest of critics would have to concede that it was modest in cut. A shallow scooped neck front and back, plus a hemline that covered her ankles, might have added up to a demure appearance. But the soft, pliable fabric slid over Zoe’s phenomenal body like a second skin.
He spent a good thirty seconds searching for any evidence that she wore underwear.
“Hello, Liam,” she said, her voice smooth as cream. “May I call you that?”
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I think you just did.”
Chuckling softly, she allowed him to seat her at a table for two tucked away in a shadowy corner. The bar was crowded tonight. He was glad. The public setting gave him time to get to know her and to decide if she was any kind of threat. Kissing her later seemed a foregone conclusion, but he would at least pretend to himself that he had a choice.
She glanced around the room. “Nice place. You and your family have good taste.”
“Thank you. I’m assuming you won’t be offended if I use your first name as well?”
“Of course not.”
“We’ve only just met. Some people prefer a bit of formality.”
“Not me. Social conventions get in the way.”
“In the way of what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Becoming friends, I suppose.”
He took a sip of his wine, trying to read the subtext, if there was any. Before he could reply, a waiter appeared and set a plate of appetizers in front of them. Small wedges of melon and scallops wrapped in prosciutto had been skewered with toothpicks. He selected one and held it out. “Our chef is spectacular. Try a bite.”
He’d anticipated an argument. Instead, her lips parted and she leaned forward, allowing him to slide the delicacy between her lush, glossy, pale-pink lips. “Wonderful,” she said, after she chewed and swallowed. “Thank you.”
The sensuality and simple enjoyment in her response made him shift restlessly in his chair. As she sat back and smiled at him, her wavy golden hair swung around her shoulders. He couldn’t decide if she was trying to be provocative, or if he was overly sensitive to her allure.
At that moment, his mother appeared at his shoulder. “Hope I’m not interrupting. Please introduce me to this lovely girl,” she said.
A waiter scurried over with a third chair, and Liam stood until his mother was seated. Maeve Kavanagh had never been able to resist poking her nose into Liam’s affairs, either literal or metaphorical ones. Because he loved her dearly, he tolerated her interference, particularly since he hoped to get her impressions of the mysterious blonde. “Zoe Chamberlain, meet Maeve Kavanagh, my mother.”
The two women shook hands. Zoe grinned wryly. “I’m happy to meet you. But you’re far too young to be Liam’s mother. I think he gave me the wrong impression when he described you.” She crossed her legs beneath the table, the toe of her shoe brushing the crease in his trouser leg. Was she doing that on purpose?
Maeve shot him a glance that made the tops of his ears heat. “My firstborn has an odd sense of humor at times. We make allowances for him.” She helped herself to an appetizer. “What brings you to Silver Glen, Ms. Chamberlain? Business or vacation?”
“Call me Zoe, please. And actually, it’s neither. I had a nasty bout of pneumonia back in March. Spent a few days in the hospital. Since then I’ve been taking things easy. Your beautiful hotel seemed like the perfect place to rest and regain my stamina.”
“You’ve come to the right spot. We’ll pamper you so well you won’t want to go home.”
Serious illness explained her fragile appearance. Which led Liam to more questions. He inserted himself into the conversation. “And on that note, where is home, Zoe?”
For the first time, he saw her good humor waver. A shadow crossed her expressive face. But she recovered quickly. “I was born in Connecticut, but I haven’t lived there in years.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
Her jaw tightened. “Am I being interrogated?”
Maeve Kavanagh’s phone buzzed, signaling the arrival of a text. She glanced at it and grimaced. “Duty calls.” She stood and patted Liam’s shoulder. “Try not to alienate our newest guest, son. I’d like her to stay for a while.”
In the silence that followed his mother’s departure, Liam stared moodily at his tablemate. “Since when is polite conversation categorized as interrogation?”
She shrugged. “So far, the conversation has been pretty one-sided. I’m picking up weird vibes from you. Is there a problem you want to talk about?”
“No.” Yes. “Feel free to cross-examine me if it will make you feel better. My family is an open book. Ask anyone in town. They’ll tell you.”
“There’s no such thing as a clan without skeletons in the closet. But I’ll take you at your word. Do you have siblings?”
“More than I care to count. It’s the Irish Catholic thing. My mother deserves sainthood.”
“And your father?”
He couldn’t help the wave of anger that made his entire body go rigid. “He died when I was sixteen.”
“I’m sorry.” Her response was quiet. In her steady gaze he saw recognition of his turmoil. But he didn’t want anyone psychoanalyzing him. He ate another appetizer, his gaze drifting over the noisy but genteel crowd. “It was a long time ago,” he muttered, and was relieved when she allowed the subject to drop.
“Did you always know you wanted to run the hotel?”
“No. In fact, I had dreams of becoming a major-league football player.”
Her jaw dropped and she laughed out loud.
He scowled. “What’s so funny?”
You don’t really seem the type.”
“I can assure you, Zoe, I’ve played more than my share of high school and college sports.”
“I wasn’t impugning your athletic ability or your masculinity. It’s just that you seem rather sophisticated for the rough-and-tumble world of professional sports.”
“Sophistication is nothing more than clothes and demeanor. After my father’s death, it became clear that my studies were headed in a new direction. As soon as I finished
