Know When to Hold Him (10 page)

Liam itched to grab her hand, pull her closer. For what? He asked himself, stunned over his impulse. To keep her safe? In the bathroom?

In his arms.
The idea rattled him to the core.

He couldn’t be falling for her this fast. In a bathroom. After a tornado. Could he?

She was gone before he could decide. The only sound left was the pelting of rain against the window. A clatter came from the kitchen. “Spencer?” He called out.

A beam of light shone out of the kitchen door. “The other one’s out of batteries,” Spencer griped, pissed.
At herself
, Liam mused. No doubt, she also checked her smoke alarms monthly and was religious about oil changes.

Spencer strode through the living room, her flashlight bouncing with her steps. Then the blink of a smaller, rectangle-shaped light shone through the dark. Of course. She’d gone to find that damned phone.

Spencer stood there for a moment, pressing buttons. The light of the Blackberry illuminated her silhouette, and her hair glowed.

The flashlight pointed at the ground illuminated a circle, and Spencer stood in the middle of it, seeming alone and strangely vulnerable as the dark of the night surrounded her. On instinct, probably one passed down from Neanderthal ancestors, Liam followed the light.

“It looks like the bad part of the storm has passed…” Spencer announced, possibly to herself. There was a beat and then, because the Universe loves to prove people wrong, a huge WHOMP of wind or water or both hit the twenty-second floor window, shaking the glass and sending Spencer jumping into Liam’s chest. Just like in JT’s pool, instinct told him to wrap her in his arms and not let her sink.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You want to go back into the bathroom?”

She shook her head, her face pressed against his shirt. “I’m an idiot.”

He responded by squeezing her again. “That was fucking scary,” he said, in an awkward attempt to comfort her.

“How long have you lived here?” Liam asked as he took the opportunity to lead her to the couch. Leaving his arm around her as they sat down. Perfect gentleman.
Right, Connelly?

Spencer latched onto the opportunity for normal conversation. In a few minutes, her voice was back to its normal, wry tone. She wasn’t jumping or, unfortunately, clinging to him tightly. The rain stopped pounding, the wind hummed, then whistled, then whispered. Liam couldn’t see a clock without pulling his arm away from Spencer, but he knew it was getting late. When he made the observation, the woman visibly tensed. It could be fear. It could be something else.

“The elevators are still out…” She said, in a voice that seemed quiet, even in their noiseless vacuum.

“There’s a stairwell, right?”

“It’s twenty-two stories down.”

“I haven’t worked out today,” he joked.

Spencer paused. “Thanks for putting up with me tonight.”

“You put up with me,” Liam said as he dragged his arm away from Spencer. He did it slowly, in case anyone wanted to change her mind about the way this conversation was going. “I’m a huge wuss when it comes to storms.”

“Hide out in the bathroom kinda guy?”

“Usually with a blanket over my head.”

She drifted toward the front door. “I’m sorry,” Spencer teased with nervous edge. “Next time. Blankie for the big guy.”

Next time?
When had two words had him so twisted up? “You sure you’re okay?” Liam asked as they stopped at the front door. She nodded in the glow of the flashlight.

“It’s dying down. We should have power back any minute now.”

“Ok…” Liam patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys and phone and examined the room one more time for signs of impending collapse. But she was a big girl. The storm had passed. The sirens were off. He could leave. “Call me. If you need anything.”

Her lips quirked before parting, then pressing together again. Then a quick nod, and he left her and made his way down twenty-freaking-two floors.

He was going to feel it tomorrow. Only when he was halfway home did he remember that his suit coat was still hanging somewhere in Spencer’s dark apartment.

Chapter Fourteen

The document from Bibby Hepworth sat on Spencer’s desk. It had everything Spencer had asked for: a confidentiality clause, a mediation clause, a temporary order for a judge to sign.

It would be a warning shot. A reasonable expression of intent, the document would show that Hightower & Associates meant business, but they wouldn’t take Troy Duncan apart without cause.

Clients didn’t hire Spencer to be reactive. They hired her because she fired the first shot, set the terms, and then negotiated the surrender. So why was the document not already on its way to Liam Connelly’s shiny glass and chrome office?

The sun shone into Spencer’s office. An absurdity of Dallas weather was that the day after tornadoes brought a beautiful, sunny day. Spencer contemplated the view out the window. How long it had been since she had sat by a pool reading a book, with nothing to do but enjoy herself?

The idea of a pool reminded her of Liam. Liam, who had sweetly sat next to her in a tiny bathroom last night, sheltered from a violent spring storm. He’d been strong, too, insisting that she get away from the window and the raging, destructive winds outside. His arms had been there when she’d been terrified. And not once had he tried to do anything more.

When was the last time that had happened? A man who had taken charge, taken care of her, and hadn’t taken liberties? Spencer rubbed the back of her neck and remembered Liam’s fingers on her, steadying and relaxing.

She had trusted him, then. Something about his demeanor soothed her, calmed her naturally hyper spirit. But he wasn’t weak. Oh, no. He was all strength, in mind, body, and spirit.

Liam had been right, too, about other boyfriends not being allowed in. But then, he was right about a lot of things about her—disturbingly so. She’d screwed up. He’d seen too much, knew too much for an opponent.

Spencer frowned at the legal jargon of Bibby’s document. It seemed a little harsh, now, in the beautiful April sunshine. Liam Connelly was a compassionate, wise professional. And funny. Funny and sweet and hot.

She bit her lip. It wouldn’t hurt to just call him. Try to talk this out like adults, before threatening legal action. She fought the warm and fuzzies the phone brought her.
Jerkwad Kenny Rogers.

Fifteen minutes after leaving a message on Liam’s voice mail, Spencer was pulled into an urgent meeting about the results of a divorce mediation. Both sides wanted the contents of a wine cellar. Spencer’s presence was required at the Preston Hollow mansion, where three hundred dollar bottles of French wine were fought over like the Battle of the Bulge.

Several hours later, Spencer had negotiated a truce. She was on her way back to her office when she noted the Dalynn file in the passenger seat of her car, where she’d left it just in case Liam had returned her previous call.

She picked up her Blackberry. Maybe he’d left her a voicemail that she’d missed in the midst of a raging argument about Beaujolais and Burgundys. He hadn’t. There were no messages from Liam Connelly or anyone at OPM. And Bibby Hepworth’s document sat there, mocking her.

Jerkwad Kenny Rogers, indeed.

What a complete fool she’d been. Like an innocent school girl, she’d swooned and been distracted by the attention of the hot guy who never had any intention of treating her as an equal. How ridiculous to think that they would discuss this like adults.

OPM’s offices were on her way back to her building in Uptown. Time to pay a visit.

…

Like a true Southern belle, Spencer strategized all the ways she could finagle or charm the handsome man in front of her.

Approaching Liam’s desk, she tried to ignore the electricity that fizzed between them. “Have you scheduled a doctor appointment for your client yet?” She snapped.

Charming, Spencer. Way to finesse him.

Liam regarded her for a moment.

“I called around today,” he said.

“Funny, you couldn’t return my call.”

“You have quite the reputation. Everyone seems to know Spencer Hightower.”

“They should.”

“Everyone in town seems to know you, and you know what they all said to me?”

“That it’s rude not to return phone calls?”

“That I should say yes to whatever you want.”

Spencer brightened and handed him Bibby’s document.

“What’s this?” Liam asked.

“Standard settlement clauses. I think you’ll find it fair and reasonable.”

Liam flipped through the pages then met her eyes again when he set them down on his desk. “I didn’t say yes.”

Spencer continued, as if he hadn’t said anything. “I give you my word, we won’t go to the press until you’ve had a chance to respond and present this to your client. I think three days ought to do it.”

“I didn’t say yes.” He repeated the words this time, emphasizing each one.

“But…” Spencer nearly stuttered.

“Last night, I thought you and I were getting to know each other.”

The quick topic change irritated Spencer. So did being reminded that just last night he was a gentleman instead of an annoying jerkwad who didn’t return phone calls.

Liam continued, “But you didn’t mention what happened to your leg.”

“My leg?” Spencer’s head spun. Where had this come from? She tried to focus on the important topic at hand. “Like I said, you’ll find that the papers take care…”

“Are you scared of talking about it?” Liam interrupted.

Spencer noticed it then. The pile of print outs on his desk. She took a step back. There was no way she would share any more with him. Sharing meant being vulnerable. She didn’t do vulnerable.

“You called around about me. And you Googled me.”

“I wanted to know more about you.”

“You wanted to know how to beat me.”

“I don’t have to beat you,” Liam stated, calm and even. “This isn’t a war.”

Spencer dismissed the statement. Of course it was war.

She’d tried to warn him.

She straightened the hem of her suit jacket. Liam thought she was weak because of a silly little storm.

We’ll see what he thought when she was finished with the likes of him.

“It’s fine. I’m not ashamed, and I shouldn’t be, not about something that was on the national news for months. I have nothing to hide.” She lifted her chin. “On a cold icy night when I was twelve, my father drove us into a tree. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

When Liam didn’t answer, she kept going. “If you think you’ll find some kind of chink in my armor, keep looking.”

“I’m not…” Liam’s head fell forward as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I do research, too, you know. Knowing your opposition is the key to any successful political campaign.”

That got his attention. Sharp, hard eyes locked onto her. His hands slipped out of his pockets, readying for action. She pressed on. “But this isn’t a war, right? We’re not opponents. We’re not trying to beat each other. So you won’t be worried about what my private investigator learned about Troy at the Dallas State campus.”

Liam remained silent, but the expression on his face said it all.

Alert, intense, adversarial.

He played the good guy act, but he was every bit as much a competitor as she was. Seeing an opening, she pushed harder. “You’re not worried about the people I know in the NFL, or at ESPN. Hell, you’ll just come over and snuggle after I release these.” She picked the manila folder off his desk and pushed it into his chest.

Liam’s hand clasped over hers, trapping her between the hard muscles of his chest and his warm, wide palm. The back of her neck felt like it was on fire, but she couldn’t back down, not yet.

“What’s this?” The question was a demand, a challenge.

“A sampling of Troy Duncan’s finest naked pictures and suggestive texts, sent to his pregnant girlfriend, Dalynn Kay.”

Liam’s jaw tightened.

Spencer took advantage of his silence and leaned in. “Like I said, it’s all personal. This,” she shoved into the hard muscle with her palm to make her point, “is personal.”

His hand wrapped a little tighter around hers. “I see that.” They stood almost nose-to-nose. The rise and fall of his chest moved in rhythm beneath her palm. Her anger at being ignored, at being caught off guard, morphed into another hot emotion that sent her heart racing.

“Why is this personal for you, Spencer?” Liam’s question was low and husky. “It’s just a job.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t lose. Hightowers don’t lose.” Her mouth twisted. “Except for when Daddy gets in accidents during election years.” A part of her screamed, angry she’d shared anything with the enemy. But even angels had their limits. She twisted her hand from his grip, and he let go of her, keeping the file to his chest.

“But you knew that,” she snapped. “Because you Googled.”

“You Googled me,” he pointed out. “Before our first date.”

“It wasn’t a date.” The response was automatic.

“It ended like one.”

Spencer froze, her mouth open. “Is that what this is about? Are you trying to make some kind of a sexually frustrated point?”

“What? No.” Liam scoffed. “I’m just not getting our relationships mixed up. Like some people.”

For just a moment, Spencer was speechless. The nerve. The gall. The
idea
of being in a relationship with Liam Connelly? Like that would ever, ever work. He was…stubborn. And hot. And thoughtful. And a gentleman. And so freaking stubborn! And he wasn’t doing what she had asked nicely for him to do.

“We don’t have a relationship.” Spencer had meant the words to come out ice cold and dripping with haughtiness. Instead, her voice had been rather flat, as if she wasn’t quite convinced.

…

Liam took a moment. Even without a candlestick, the avenging angel was seriously pissed off. He’d pressed a button somewhere way back, and she’d gone off like a rocket. Clearly, she didn’t like being told ‘no.’ Which he understood. Wasn’t a big fan of the word himself.

“Does this act usually work on other guys, sweetheart?”

He wished he could snap a picture of her face when he’d called her that. Halfway between a glare and a sneer, Spencer didn’t hold back.

“You just barge in and throw some papers around and I’m supposed to say ‘Yes, ma’am’ and hand over my balls?”

Now she was incredulous. “I didn’t throw…”

“Or is it Daddy’s name you throw around?”

And there was the button. Spencer stiffened, her jaw locked, and eyes blazed.

“The first time you ignored my calls was understandable. The second time was a big mistake.”

Her smile then was full of charm. Her voice laced with a threat the size of Texas. “It takes a hell of a lot more than old scars to distract me from my job,” she warned as she stalked out of the room. “The people you talked to should have told you that.”

Liam circled his desk a few times, rubbing his palms over his hair, going over the conversation in his head. She’d been right. It was personal. He was too invested in his client’s well-being to just roll over and do whatever the pretty lady asked him to do. His career, his dreams, hell, his self-respect all required that he stand up to the hot-tempered ice queen. And as soon as she mentioned the possible dirt in Troy’s past, he had gotten dangerously fired up.

But God help him, he was tempted. Something about Spencer made him want to fight. Fight her, yes. Fight for his chance, fight for something he wasn’t even sure he could put a name to, a desire he didn’t even know he had. More than a mutual moment of pleasure he was wanting…
more
.

She was right
. About leaving the fight on the field, about keeping the personal stuff separate. The problem was, when dealing with Spencer Hightower, things were irrevocably intertwined. And damn if he didn’t want
more
.