“Mind if I...?” she asked, her voice sweet like honey. Her clear blue eyes held his a minute. Damn, they were pretty. Fringed with thick dark lashes. Liam wasn’t exactly in the mood for company, but there was no way he could say no to that voice, to those small, pink, rosebud lips. Whatever the lady wanted, she’d get.
He nodded at the seat, and she perched on it, the hem of her sundress inching above her knee. He tried not to stare at her legs, which she crossed at the knee. The hem rode up a little farther, giving him just a glimpse of pale thigh. She set her small straw clutch purse on the bar.
“I’m Cecily,” she said, holding out a dainty hand with those perfectly pink nails. He dragged his focus away from her legs with difficulty.
“Liam,” he replied, taking her hand, which seemed childlike in his. He worried she’d shrink from his calloused paw, but she shook it gamely.
“Nice to meet you.” She flashed him a dazzling white smile that nearly blinded him. God, the woman was even prettier close-up. Barely wore a stitch of makeup, and had a few freckles across her nose, but otherwise, her skin was flawless. Her clear blue eyes, like a gorgeous calm day on the Atlantic, stared at him, and seemed...friendly. It had been a while since a woman this pretty had been this interested in him. Not that it didn’t happen, but normally, he attracted the punk chicks with the smoky eye shadow and heavy liner, with extra piercings and tattoos, the ones who didn’t mind his calloused hands. Beautiful blondes who looked like they ought to be shopping on Fifth Avenue with limitless platinum cards typically didn’t go for him.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked, nodding to his now, near-empty longneck. He almost choked on the last sip.
“You want to buy me a drink?” He had to laugh. Who was this woman? First, she strides into a dive bar where she clearly doesn’t belong, and then she offers him a drink? Every man in here would buy her two or three or ten.
“Is there something wrong with that?” A playful—even flirty?—smile crossed her lips.
Clearly, Cecily was a woman who flaunted convention. Well, that worked just fine by him. He didn’t care much for convention, anyway.
“Nothing at all wrong with that,” he said.
“Good,” she added, and signaled the bartender, ordering him another PBR, and her one, too. When the bartender put the bottles before them, she clinked her neck against his. “Hell with this day. Here’s hoping it turns around.” She took a big swig from the bottle and he wondered what could ever go wrong for a beautiful woman like this. He always imagined gorgeous women got pretty much whatever they wanted.
“You had a bad day, too?” he asked her, a bit of amusement in his voice.
“Sure did. I mean, did anyone in here have a good day?” She indicated the few grumpy patrons around the bar. Liam had to laugh at that.
“I bet not,” he agreed. People didn’t come to this dive to celebrate.
“So, how about you? Your day...was it bad...or the worst?” She seemed actually interested.
“The worst,” he admitted.
“Well, then, we’d better add Jameson shots to these, or we’re never going to get anywhere.” She signaled the bartender as Liam laughed then, despite himself. He liked this woman. She leaned over the bar to talk to the bartender and Liam noticed a flash of smooth skin at her neckline, the hint of cleavage visible. One of the straps of the dress fell down her left shoulder and she absently tugged it up again. He studied her shoulder, wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked. He felt want in him stir. Down, boy, he told himself. Not the right time.
The bartender set the Jameson shots in front of them, and the woman handed over her credit card for an open tab. Liam shook his head. He’d have to argue with the bartender later about who was paying for these drinks. He couldn’t very well let this beautiful woman carry him tonight.
“What should we drink to?” she asked him, blinking fast.
“Well, it is my birthday.”
Her pink lips parted. “Your birthday? Seriously?” She looked joyful, as if he’d just given her the best news. It had been a long time since anybody had cared about the day he was born, and probably longer since they’d been happy about it. He had a flash of his older brother Wilder scowling at him, the day the two nearly tore each other’s heads off, the last day he’d ever stepped foot in the Lange family mansion. “Well, then, to you, Liam. On your birthday. Sorry it’s been the worst.”
She gently clinked her shot glass against his, and their fingers touched as she did so. Was it just his imagination or did a current run straight up his arm and right to his groin? She put the shot glass to her delicate lips and drained it, then thumped it on the bar with a clunk. Damn, the woman was sexy. Liam followed suit, the Jameson sliding down his throat with only the slightest twinge of a burn. His eyes never left her. Part of him thought she was just a mirage and she’d disappear if he didn’t keep an eye on her. He still couldn’t believe she was sitting next to him, her exposed knee inches from his own. He probably should try to talk to the woman, but he kept thinking if he opened his mouth, she’d fly away, like a beautiful songbird.
“So, tell me, Liam,” she said, leaning forward. “Why’s your day been so bad?”
Terrible boss. Worse brother. A family feud that he’d long since grown tired of managing. And the fact that this day marked two occasions: his birth and his father’s untimely death. Where to start? “Birthdays aren’t really great for me,” he admitted.
“Why not?” Her blue eyes studied him with real concern. She seemed
