24
Cora entered her living room and came to an abrupt halt. The place looked like a fraternity house after rush week. Fast-food wrappers littered the floor, along with empty beer bottles and random articles of clothing. Her clothing, she realized with a start. The neatly folded stack of laundry she’d left on the coffee table that morning was now scattered on the carpet along with stale popcorn and an overturned crystal bowl. The bowl had been a wedding gift to her parents, and Cora only used it on special occasions. But, of course, Liam wouldn’t know that, because he didn’t really know her. And the more she got to know him, the less she wanted to know.
She plunked her purse on the end table, glaring at him.
Liam was sprawled shirtless on the sofa with his bare feet propped on the coffee table. He was wearing dark denim jeans slung low on his hips, and with his scruffy hair and bloodshot eyes, he looked like a strung-out rock star version of Dionysus after a hard night of partying. He was surrounded by a pile of Cora’s favorite books, including one of her prized hardcovers, signed by the author, which was currently being used as a beer coaster. Unbelievable.
If she wasn’t so angry, she might have laughed at the irony. When Liam first moved in, she’d actually talked herself into believing it would be good to have him around. That he would be one of those dream roommates who were trustworthy and respectful and helpful around the house. Disappointment roiled in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, whether she’d realized it or not, she’d been holding out hope that Liam would prove to be a better person, but maybe that was the biggest joke of all. Maybe he really was just a lying snake in the grass, and it was as simple as that.
“What are you doing?” Cora demanded, taking in the mess.
Liam tossed a book aside carelessly, then hooked an arm over the back of the sofa. “Searching for a diversion.” He seemed different than when she saw him yesterday, more somber and broody, which gave her the feeling that she was finally seeing a glimpse of the real man behind the mask. His dark gaze raked over her. “Any suggestions?”
“Yes.” She lurched forward and picked up the crystal bowl. “Clean up this mess. Sober up. Grow up.” His sullen attitude, the state of her house, his obvious disregard for anyone but himself—it all came crashing down on her, and any cooling off she might’ve done on the drive home evaporated. “Look at yourself. You’re a wreck, and the house is a disaster.” She set the bowl aside and began scooping up her books. “I’ve been at work all day racking my brains trying to figure out a way to help clear your name, and here you are wallowing like some selfish adolescent on spring break.”
“That’s the second time today I’ve been compared to a child,” he said, rising from the sofa with easy, masculine grace. “It’s getting tiresome.”
“Well, you are a child,” Cora shot back, shoving books back on the shelf. She strained on tiptoes to reach the top. “Completely immature. A total—”
A strong, warm hand lightly settled over hers. For a split second, he flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “I can assure you, macushla,” he said in a husky voice. “I am very much a man.”
She spun to face him, startled by the sudden intimacy of being this close to his half-naked body. The smooth, hard planes of his chest, the rippling ab muscles and powerful shoulders proved his statement more than true.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and their faces were only inches apart. Cora could see faint lines of strain at the edges of his dark eyes, and he smelled of whiskey and woodsmoke and sunlight. It was both confusing and familiar. His gaze was so intense, he almost looked like he was in pain, or angry about something. His grip on her hand shook with some strong emotion. It was unsettling as hell, because a part of her wanted to step right into his warm embrace, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But he didn’t want that. And neither should she. Get a grip, McLeod.
She tugged her hand away.
He looked...relieved.
Cora’s face flushed with instant humiliation. He’d touched her, not the other way around. What the hell was this, some kind of ploy of his to charm her into not being angry? Well, screw that, and screw him. Just because he looked like some dark warrior from one of her favorite novels, didn’t mean she was going to fall at his feet.
Liam placed the book high on the shelf, his expression now carefully neutral. When he turned away, any residual confusion she’d felt from his proximity vanished like a wisp of smoke from a snuffed-out candle.
Determined to confront him about all the lies, Cora reached for her necklace to ground her, but it wasn’t there. Gone. A bolt of unease caught her off guard, until she remembered Finn had it. It was safe with him. She could trust Finn, unlike other people. Suddenly, everything snapped back into place.
She remembered what she wanted to say. “I spoke to Finn last night.”
Liam gave a deep, throaty growl. “He’s calling you on the phone now, is he?”
“No. I met him for drinks after work. I spoke to him in person.”
His expression was grim—almost accusatory. As if he had the right to judge her for her choices. God, he was a piece of work. She’d come to a decision about him on the way home, and his attitude now was just going to make it easier. Cora squared her shoulders and continued. “We had quite an interesting talk.”
Liam scoffed. “Anyone who finds that man interesting is either delusional or lying to themselves.”
“Oh, so now I’m the liar? That’s rich coming from you. Tell me about my necklace, Liam. You know, the one you found in the grass?”
“Finn asked me not to tell you,” he said after a lengthy pause. “It’s not my fault he wasn’t brave enough to face you himself.”
“That’s because you made him think I’d be angry with him,” she said. “You lied to me, and—”
“No, I didn’t. Finn dropped your necklace in the grass when he handed it over, and I picked it up. I told you it was in the grass. That’s all I said. You chose to believe I’d found it. It’s as simple as that.”
“Simple,” she echoed in disbelief. God, how did he even sleep at night with all the lies? “So that’s how you operate. You tell half-truths, knowing full well you’re manipulating people, then you pretend it’s not your fault if it works. The lawn mower. Anything you want to say about that?”
He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and gave her an arrogant shrug. That was it. No answer, no explanation, which was answer enough.
“Thought so,” Cora said bitterly. “You know I asked you for the truth a few days ago, and now I think I’ve finally got it. Because the truth is, you’re just a lying, manipulative person who cares more about covering your own ass than anything else.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself. “I should never have let you move in here. The only reason I agreed to it was because I needed someone to help pay the rent, but at the rate you’re going, you aren’t even going to have a job.”