“I don’t have to listen to this,” she burst out. “I’m not in the mood tonight, Liam. I’ve got papers to grade. You know, stuff to focus on, like you. Maybe some other time.” She turned and started down the hall. “Or maybe not.”
He caught up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s just dinner, Margaret. That’s all I ask. You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t even blame you for giving me the silent treatment. I’ll do all the talking.”
Her back was rigid as she faced the front door. The clock on the hall table chimed nine. For all he knew, the disaster—whatever it was—could strike at any moment. He needed to act fast. It was time to grovel. It seemed that was the theme for the evening. “Please. I hate the way things ended with us last night. Let me make it up to you.”
She slowly turned to face him. Her expression softened, and Liam felt a surge of triumph. “Are you apologizing to me, Liam O’Connor?”
“Absolutely.” He reached out and took her hand. “And I’ll apologize as many times as you want if you’ll just come with me. I know I don’t deserve it, but it would mean a lot to me if you did.”
The tension left her shoulders in tiny increments, until her mouth began to curve up like a sultry feline. There was the woman he knew.
Liam breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. Now that he was back in control—
Suddenly, Margaret lurched forward, gripped the back of his head and stamped her mouth on his.
His brows shot up in surprise. He gripped her waist, stumbling back until he hit the edge of the hall table. Margaret cupped his face with her hands, pouring all her pent-up frustration and desire into the passionate kiss. She tasted like wine and sin and dark, sexy promises, and for a hot minute Liam’s brain short-circuited and he was lost in the familiar, all-too-enjoyable sensation of Margaret Brady’s delectable body pressed against his.
She ran her fingers through his hair, then down his neck, then under the shoulders of his jacket. It slid off and fell onto the table behind him. Her smoky-gray eyes were hot and bright with lust. Pulling away, she yanked at the hem of his shirt then slid her hands under it. “I want it quick and dirty,” she panted against his mouth. “Right here. Up against the wall, like last time.”
Holy mother of—“Wait.”
“No. You pissed me off yesterday, so now I demand payback. I want angry makeup sex.” Her wicked smile was like a siren’s song, and she dropped her voice to a sultry purr. “You like it fast and hard. Remember?” She kissed him again, biting gently on his lower lip. Then she sucked it to soothe the sting, trailing her fingertips down the hard ridges of his stomach. Heat spiraled through him. Hell and damn, the woman could kiss. When she started grappling with his pants, he finally came to his senses. If he didn’t pull himself together, he was going to be in even more trouble than he already was.
He pulled back just enough to focus on her face. “Margaret, hold on.”
“Mmm?” She looked at him through languid, wine-hazy eyes, her chest rising and falling. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
Liam swallowed hard. Think! “I made a reservation for us at a nice restaurant across town. And as much as I enjoy this—” at least that wasn’t a lie “—we have to get going or we’ll lose our spot.”
“Can’t we just skip it?” She leaned forward and licked the skin at the base of his neck, her expert hands already unbuckling his belt.
He gripped her hands and dialed up the charm. “If you want me to beg, I will. Please, Margaret. Come with me, first, and let me spoil you. I promise you won’t regret it.” He added another “please” at the end, just for good measure. God’s teeth, this woman was making him work for it. He hadn’t groveled this hard in...well...maybe ever. Liam looked at her beseechingly.
She tipped her face to the ceiling and muttered, “He had to bust out the puppy dog eyes.” Then she blew out a frustrated breath and said, “Fine, but let’s make it quick. There are a hundred other things I’d rather do with you tonight.”
A...hundred? Liam swallowed hard, trying not to imagine what those things might entail. Now was not the time to go spinning off into the weeds. Grabbing his discarded jacket off the console table, Liam pulled it on and followed her out into the night. He drove toward the only place he could think of, a diner on the corner near his old motel. He’d only seen it in passing, but there was a bar inside, and if he was going to carry out his plan, drinks would be necessary. Margaret would hate the place, but at least they’d be far away from her house, and that was all that mattered.
Liam’s phone chimed as they left Belltown Heights behind and pulled onto the highway. Cora had been texting him for the past fifteen minutes, but he was ignoring her. He didn’t even want to think about how annoyed she must be. Could he blame her? He’d stuck her with Finn for the evening. That, alone, was grounds for severe punishment. He’d just have to think of a way to make it up to her later.
“Your phone’s beeping,” Margaret said drowsily. She’d been quiet on the drive, and Liam wondered if she was growing pensive because of the rift between them, or if it was the direct result of all the wine she’d had.
“Someone from work,” he said. “I’ll check it when we get to the restaurant. We’re almost there.”
Margaret perked up as he took the freeway exit to the old motel. Then her shoulders began to sag as she stared out the window at the crumbling sidewalks and run-down storefronts. “Where are we going? This is kind of a seedy neighborhood for a fancy restaurant.”
“I never said it was fancy, did I?” He drove past a pipe shop with bars over the windows, then pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. The lot was empty, which meant business was slow for a Saturday night, but that came as no surprise. The diner looked older than dirt, with hazy glass windows and cracked pleather booths.
“Shag’s Diner?” Margaret read the weathered sign above the building with trepidation. “You said we were going to a nice restaurant.”
“Think of it as an adventure,” Liam said brightly. “I heard the food’s really good here.” He’d heard no such thing, of course, but what’s another lie when he’d already told so many? Liam jumped out of the car before she had a chance to protest and led her into the restaurant. It smelled like fryer grease and mop water.
She wrinkled her nose, carefully stepping around the dusty fake plant near the front door. Some song about a hotel in California played over the radio, punctuated by the occasional clanking of dishes and the low hum of conversation from the bar.
“Y’all can sit wherever,” a server hollered from the kitchen.
Margaret shot him a look. “You made a reservation, huh?”
“Come on.” He forced a playful smile and nudged her with his shoulder. “It’ll be fun to try something different.” He chose a booth in the corner of the bar.