The Love Cure
by Cara Lockwood
CHAPTER ONE
LIAM LANGE JUST wanted this damn day to be over already and it was barely five. He rolled up the sleeves of his canvas work shirt as he slid onto the peeling leather barstool in the dark dive bar in Hoboken. The blinds were down so he didn’t have to stare at the silver cityscape of Manhattan, his least favorite place on earth.
He ordered a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon to try to cool his temper, still simmering from the run-in he’d had with the foreman on the condo build he’d worked on down the street. The foreman—all mouth and no brains in Liam’s opinion—micromanaged his work on the roof all day—from the ground. As if he could tell anything from down there. It had taken all of Liam’s patience to finish the job, which thank God was now done.
Liam’s lower back ached, since he’d been working double time to get out of there, and he could feel the singe of a sunburn on his neck. The mid-May sun had been unforgiving all day, but it was nothing that a cold beer or two wouldn’t fix. The bartender opened a longneck and slid it to him, and he took it with a small nod of his head and drank deep.
No. His real problem had nothing to do with the sun or that moronic foreman. Or his aching muscles. It had everything to do with that damn message on his phone.
Hey, brother. Happy Birthday. WL.
WL for Wilder Lange. As if he wouldn’t know that this unlisted, blocked number would be his asshole half brother’s. It doubly irked because his full brothers, Seth and Stuart, hadn’t yet acknowledged his birthday. They were still pissed off about him taking Mom’s side against them in the last run-in with Wilder, clearly. Well, they could be pissed all they wanted. They were the ones who’d picked the wrong side.
He took one more look at the text, his finger hovering over the reply button. What could he even say?
How’s the money grab going? Stolen all of our father’s money yet? Want to bleed me dry, too? Ha, sucker. There’s nothing you can take from me.
That’s where Liam had already won. He’d walked away from the Lange Communications fortune long ago. Nothing but vipers and vampires hanging around hoping to get a drop of their dead father’s power and money. All Liam had to his name was a few thousand dollars, and whatever this last job would pay—if the foreman didn’t dock him like he’d threatened. What he needed to do was save all his money and head south. Florida, maybe? Somewhere away from Manhattan and New Jersey, which on days like today just seemed populated with the world’s worst assholes.
Liam was halfway through his PBR when the door to the dive bar slid open, letting too much of the late afternoon sunlight in. He squinted, annoyed at the flash of light in the otherwise shuttered and darkened bar, light that seemed not to be waning. Some idiot was holding the door open. He could feel the blast of hot air from outside on his back. Liam turned, half expecting to see that asshole foreman, as he’d be the kind of guy who’d swing open a door wide to a darkened bar.
Instead, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his whole life, ringed in a halo of light. She was delicate and blonde, her hair gleaming like spun gold. She wore an airy white sundress, which, backlit with the sun, showed her amazing thighs in nearly perfect detail. She kept her elegant hand, nails painted a shell pink that matched her soft bow lips, on the door as if wondering whether or not to come in. This kind of bar was not the place for a woman as gorgeous as that. Her white linen dress wouldn’t stay white long against these faded and peeling barstools. Her delicate strappy-heeled sandals would no doubt find it hard going on the pitied concrete floor. It’s no wonder she looked so uncertain, so confused, as she let in the summer heat.
“Hey, in or out! You’re gonna melt us over here,” one of the less than savory characters on the other side of the bar yelled, his Jersey accent as thick as his belly. He was almost entirely bald except for a wisp of dark hair he’d tried unsuccessfully to sweep over the center of his head. Liam scowled at the man. He wasn’t wrong, but still, that was no way to talk to a woman. Liam glanced over at her, sure she’d exit the place, realizing her mistake, but instead, she stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her.
Interesting. So she was going to double down on her mistake. She either had guts or lacked the sense to turn around and leave.
“Hey, sweetheart. Come sit by me!” the man called out, clearly turning in time to realize he was yelling at a gorgeous model. Liam scowled again. Okay, so he was going to be a problem. And the bartender wasn’t doing anything about it. He had his head buried in the ice at the end of the bar, ignoring the ruckus. Liam stretched his neck, its joints popping. He wouldn’t mind getting into it with some jerk. Might help him work out the day’s stress.
“Leave her alone. She can sit where she wants,” Liam said, voice low but steady. “Let her decide.” The man saw Liam for the first time and seemed prepared to pop off. But then Liam stood, to his full height of six-three. He was also a wall of muscle, a benefit of working with his hands all day. The man suddenly found something interesting to look at on his phone.
Uh-huh. Thought so.
The woman’s gaze darted from Liam to the man and back again. Maybe this was the time she’d choose to bolt. Instead, she moved closer to Liam, and laid her hand hesitantly on the ripped stool next to
