“For the record,” he said, coming out guns, eyes, and temper blazing, “I didn’t go back on my word. I made that promise at the old-age place . . .”
“Retirement home,” she corrected primly, ignoring his glower at the amendment. “And excuse me for expecting civility from you. I now know not to make that mistake again.”
Well, this was interesting; Sam hadn’t expected her to have a temper. He liked it. It definitely wasn’t boring. He liked the way her eyes sparked when she was annoyed, and he liked that dark, pissed-off little glower that merely reinforced the stern librarian look he found so fascinating. He liked not knowing what her next move or words would be.
She slammed the glass down on the counter and stalked—that was the only word he could think of to describe that angry movement—toward him. Before he could say a word, her hands were on him and he had a brief moment of “hell yes!” before he realized that she was attacking his shirt buttons. And not in a passionate “I want to rip your shirt off and jump your bones” kind of way, but in a focused, “no button will be popped today” boring kind of way.
Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to make some kind of comment.
“Why, princess, you seem a little desperate to get me naked. I must say, the feeling’s entirely mutual.”
“Shut up,” she gritted from between clenched teeth and then looked instantly appalled with herself for her bad manners. Her hands dropped from his shirt, leaving it half-unbuttoned. “Look, stop saying things like that, okay? It’s . . . what about your girlfriend? How would she feel if she knew you were making these comments?”
“My girlfriend?” Shit. He couldn’t believe she actually believed all that crap in the press about him and Lally. He sighed and recognized that he would get a lot further with her if she knew that he didn’t have some woman waiting in the wings for him back home. But part of him knew, too, that the only reason she’d felt comfortable enough to take this job in the first place was because she thought he was involved with someone. He was also enough of an ass to immediately grasp the positives of having some fictional woman back home. It would give him an easy out once he was ready to move on from Lia. No messy aftermath, just a “hey, you knew there was someone else.” Yet, at the same time, he understood that he wouldn’t get anywhere close to bedding Lia McGregor if she thought it meant hurting a third party.
He had to consider this carefully.
“Lally and I are . . . We’re not together.”
“Did you break up?” she asked with a sympathetic wince, and Sam—feeling like a dick—swallowed as he considered his response.
“She has someone else in my place now . . .” Technically that was true. She had Chambers as her new CPO.
“I’m sorry,” Lia said, her eyes alive with sympathy, making him feel like even more of a douchebag.
“But maybe someday we could reestablish our relationship.”
“Do you love her?”
“I cared for her,” he said honestly. Another technical truth—it was his job to care for her.
“It gets easier,” she placated, and her words reminded him that she’d once been engaged and he now wondered about that broken engagement.
“Does it? Did it for you?” Her eyes flickered, and for a fleeting moment an expression of such abject sadness crossed her face that Sam felt his gut clench in reaction to it. He didn’t like knowing that pretty, sweet Lia had once felt such pain, and he quite uncharacteristically wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close until she felt better.
“It did, yes,” she said softly, as her hands went back to his shirt to resume unbuttoning. This time her movements were slower and less angry.
“Why did your engagement end?”
“Various reasons.”
“What was the main reason?”
“He said awful things to Daisy. Touched her in inappropriate ways, made her feel unattractive and victimized at the same time.”
Sam tensed, pissed off at the thought of some fucker doing something like that to his friend’s lovely wife. And then even more pissed off at the thought of how truly awful Lia must have felt when she learned the truth about the man she was going to marry.
“I hope Mason fucked him up,” he stated vehemently, and Lia smiled, the expression too grim for her pretty face.
“Mason gut punched him and, if rumors are to be believed, promised Clayton that he’d be defecating his own teeth for a week if he kept messing with Daisy.”
It was satisfying to know that the bastard had received some form of comeuppance, but a large part of Sam wanted to find the prick and beat him to a pulp—not for what he’d done to Daisy, but for what he’d done to Lia. For the sadness still evident in her eyes when she thought about the guy.