The Liar Read online

  the workable grounds.”

  “You can’t beat the view.”

  And now with her, he looked out over the still scrubby yard to the great green domes. They rose, soft and misty, with the quieting light.

  “You can’t. Any season,” he added. “A couple months ago I looked out at snow, and it stayed white or silver gray up in the higher elevations into April. And last fall? I’ve never seen color like that, and we get some pretty jazzy foliage in Maryland. But the miles of it. Just miles of it rolling up into the sky? Every day for weeks, it just dazzled.”

  He loved it, she realized, and more, understood it. The old Tripplehorn place was lucky he’d settled in.

  “You can hear the creek bubbling,” she said, and found the sound more romantic than violins. “You could have a big cutting garden out here, plant things that draw butterflies and hummingbirds. And there’s enough sun you could have herbs planted right outside your kitchen—for when you do cook.”

  “Maybe you could help me figure that out.”

  “I have very strong opinions about such things.” She lifted her face to the breeze. “You should plant some blooming weepers, and get yourself a big wind chime for that old oak over there. Something that gives a deep, masculine tone, and a couple bird feeders—but up off the top porch or the bears could come calling.”

  “I’d rather they didn’t. I’ve seen a couple sort of lumber along in the woods—when I’ve looked out. That’s close enough for me when it comes to bears.”

  “I envy you this place, Griff. The feel of it, the look of it, the potential of it and the history. I like that someone I know has it, and more, knows just what to do with it. I didn’t realize you were this good.”

  “Is that right?”

  She laughed, shook her head as she turned to him. “What I mean is, I knew you were good at your work. I’ve seen it, and I’m seeing what you and Matt are doing for Mama. But this isn’t just changing something, or making it better, prettier or more functional. It’s bringing something back to life so many others left for dead.”

  “I came to see the property on a whim, and fell in love at first sight.”

  “I think it’s been sitting here pining all these years, so it must love you back.

  “I don’t know what smells so good, but I hope it’ll hold just a bit more. I’d love to just sit out here awhile.”

  “It’ll hold. Give me a second.”

  “What are we having?” she asked as he went in to turn off the burner.

  “I hope it’s going to be penne in a spicy tomato sauce with black olives and basil.”

  She smiled as he walked back out to her. “And how did you know that’s one of my favorite pasta dishes?”

  “I’m psychic?”

  “I don’t think so. It was sweet of you to find out what I like and go to the trouble.”

  “You can tell me I’m sweet after you eat it, in case it’s terrible.” Which, he could admit, was a genuine concern. “I didn’t make the cannolis, so they’ll be fine.”

  “We’re having cannolis?”

  “Which I didn’t make, and I didn’t make the loaf of Italian bread. And the salad’s from a bag o’ salad. I hit the wall on the pasta.”

  “You’re the first man to make me dinner, and it sounds perfect.”

  “What?”

  “It sounds just perfect.”

  “No, the other.” He circled a finger in the air, signaling a rewind. “I’m the first man to make you dinner?”

  “Well, my daddy, of course, and Grandpa’s done some heroic grilling over the years.”

  “I . . . If I’d known this was a first, I’d have bought fancy plates or something.”

  “I don’t want fancy plates. I’ve had fancy plates. Food tastes the same on them as it does on everyday.”

  He considered a moment. “I’ve got two reliables when I want to cook and impress a woman. One’s your basic steak on the grill, massive baked potato and the ever popular bag o’ salad. The other, when I seriously want to impress, is this chicken thing in wine. I’m pretty good at that one.”

  “Why aren’t we having a chicken thing in wine?”

  “Because I didn’t want to go for the usual with you. And I didn’t do this when you first got here because I wanted to give you time to settle in first.”

  He took the wineglass from her, set it down, put his own beside it, then drew her in.

  He thought she smelled like the mountain sunset. Fresh, breezy, with shimmering edges. He combed his fingers through the long, luxurious length of her hair, all those tumbling curls.

  And reminded himself to go slow, go easy, as he laid his lips on hers.

  He drew back. “That was just in case you thought I forgot to kiss you hello.”

  “I didn’t think—can’t. Don’t— Oh, damn. Damn.”

  The next thing he knew she surged against him. She knocked him back on his heels, kicked every rational thought out of his head, and flashed a wire in his blood in one fell swoop.

  He stumbled back two steps before he regained his balance, wrapped around her to keep them both from pitching off the porch. And barely stopped himself from yanking the dress up and over her head.

  She was an earthquake, an explosion of reckless heat shooting bolts of fire everywhere. His brain fogged in the ash and smoke.

  He whipped her around, slapped her back to the post. Now that his hands were free, he used them, shooting them under the skirt of her dress, running them over her hips, over the heat, down again.

  She quivered, moaned against his mouth, then nearly snapped the last thin thread of control by rocking her hips against him.

  He had to pull back. “Wait.”

  She had a good grip on his hair, and pulled his mouth back to hers. “Why?”

  He got lost again, for a moment, for a lifetime. “Wait,” he repeated, then rested his forehead on hers. “Breathe.”

  “I am breathing.”

  “No, me. I meant me.” He took that breath, then another. “Okay.”

  She obviously took that as a green light as she pulled him back again.

  “No, I mean . . .” He solved his dilemma by gathering her up, holding her close. Jesus, did she have to be so long and soft and slim right this minute? “Okay. We’ll take a breath. We’ll just take a couple breaths.”

  He had steady hands, he thought. Rock steady. Freaking surgeon-steady hands. So why were they unsteady now?

  He gripped her shoulders with them, drew back an arm’s length. Just look at her, he thought, those big, dazzling eyes, nearly purple in the softening light.

  He reminded himself how rough she’d had it, how rough she had it still.

  “Maybe we should . . . I don’t want to rush you.”

  Something sparked in those twilight eyes, and caused his throat to go dry as dust. “Did it feel like you were rushing me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. The thing is, if we don’t take a minute, a breath, a . . . something, we’re going to end up naked on the porch.”

  “All right.”

  “Okay, so . . .” He dropped his hands, took a cautious half step back. “We’ll take a minute.”

  “I mean it’s all right if we end up naked on the porch.”

  He lost his breath again. “You’re killing me, Red.”

  “I know I’ve had what we could call a drawn-out dry spell, but I’m pretty clear on the signs and signals when a man wants me. And if I wasn’t, you made it pretty clear you wanted me that one day in my mama’s kitchen over a Coke.”

  “If I didn’t want you I’d be an idiot, and my own mother’s proud to say she didn’t raise any.”

  “I want you back, so that seems good news all around.”

  “That’s . . . yes, incredibly good news—and I got those signs and signals just fine, too. The thing is, considering the circumstances, the plan was to soften you up some with dinner here, and get you to go out with me a couple more times, then get you into bed.”

  She lea
ned back on the post, nodded. Something he recognized as amusement moved into her eyes. “And I’m guessing you like having plans, personally and professionally?”

  “Things work better, usually, when you do.”

  “You don’t like surprises?”

  “I’m fine with them.” Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday. Let’s get naked on the porch. Oh God.

  “I’m good with them,” he managed.

  “But maybe it takes you a minute to adjust to a surprise.”

  “Apparently.”

  Now she smiled, slow and easy.

  Twilight eyes, magic mermaid hair, a long, long-stemmed rose of a body.

  Yeah, she was killing him.

  “Would you like to hear my plan?” she asked. “It’s sort of spur of the moment, but I think it’s workable.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “My plan is we just skip over all the softening up with dinner and going out a couple more times. We come back around to that if we both want, after we get naked on the porch.”

  “You’re nothing but a surprise. But no.”

  She sighed. “You’re a hard nut to crack, Griffin.”

  “I mean no naked on the porch. We can do better this time.”

  “There’s better than naked on the porch?”

  “This time.” This first time, he thought. This first surprising time. “I haven’t shown you the second floor.”

  She angled her head, and her smile deepened. “No, you haven’t.”

  “I’d like to.” He held out a hand. “I’d really like to.”

  She put her hand in his. “I’d like to, but I might be a little rusty.”

  “Not from where I’m standing,” he said as they walked back into the kitchen. “But don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”

  She paused, tapped the purse she’d set on the counter. “Isn’t it interesting how my mama gave me a condom to tuck in here before I left tonight?”

  “Oh. Man.” He scrubbed his free hand over his face. “I’d thank her for the thought, but it’d be embarrassing. Anyway, I’ve got that covered. Ha.”

  “All right, then.”

  “We can take the back stairs.”

  “I forgot there were back stairs.” Delighted, she turned with him. “Don’t you love a house with back stairs?”

  “I love this one. I’m going to update them, but they’re sturdy enough.” He flipped on a light—a single bare bulb. “Update that, too.”

  “Won’t that be wonderful, but right now it’s all shadowy and spooky. I like how it angles off here so you can go right or left.”

  “We’re going left.”

  “How many bedrooms up here?”

  “There were seven on the second floor. I’m making it five. It’s down to six now, once I decided to put the master in the front.”

  “With that wonderful covered veranda.”

  “Right. And the third floor’s more a maze of small rooms and odd angles. Something to deal with later.”

  She felt so calm. She hadn’t expected to feel so calm, she realized, as they walked the wide, shadowy hallway. So easy about it all. Excited, yes, God, yes, but not jumpy. And not the least bit shy.

  Something about him, she thought, just smoothed away the jitters.

  “Oh! Double doors. It’s elegant and still simple enough to fit the rest.”

  “It’s not finished,” he began, then opened the doors, flipped on the light.

  “Oh, but it’s wonderful. It’s going to be wonderful. Look how the evening light pours in those doors, and the fireplace—the black granite. It’s powerful. It’s a statement.”

  “Haven’t decided on the wall color.” He nodded toward a wall where he’d painted wide strips of varying tones. “I found the iron chandelier at a flea market. Refinished it, rewired it. I’m looking for other lighting to complement it, but right now I’m just using some family castoffs. Bed’s new though. Well, the mattress is new. I found the bed a couple weeks ago. Flea market again.”

  She ran her hand along the curved footboard. Smooth, she thought, sturdy and simple. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Chestnut. Pretty wood. It just needed some work.”

  “Almost everything does. What did you use before?”

  “Sleeping bag on an air mattress. But with my plan to get you up here, I figured I’d better get an actual bed. Glad I didn’t wait on that.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” She turned to him. “I’m glad we didn’t.”

  He moved over, opened the veranda doors to let in the evening air, then flicked a switch to turn on the fire before he turned off the light.

  “That work for you?”

  “More than works. It’s perfect.”

  He went to her, circled her waist. “You’re where you want to be?”

  “Exactly.” With a little bit of wonder, she brushed a hand through his hair. “You’re a surprise, too, because I didn’t expect to be here with anyone, not for a long time.” She lifted her arms, circled his neck.

  A long kiss this time, slow and long and deep. Like the first time, and like the first time, her body melted like a candle in the sun.

  All these feelings, she thought, all these shivery little sensations. She’d forgotten more than she remembered, she realized, about being one of two.

  She let herself flow with it, just flow and float like a dandelion puff on a summer breeze. There was a storm coming, oh, she could feel it building in her, but the soft and quiet came first.

  She brought her hands to his face when he changed the angle of the kiss. And shivered with anticipation as she felt him lower the zipper on the back of her dress.

  He traced a finger up her spine, down. The light touch had her arching toward him, purring in her throat before he brought his hands to the straps of the dress, brushed them off her shoulders.

  The dress slid down and away.

  “Pretty,” he murmured, and ran that finger, erotically rough with callus, along the lacy edge of her bra.

  “My heart’s beating so fast.”

  “I can feel it.”

  “Yours.” She laid a hand on his heart, relieved when she felt it beat fast and hard under her palm. “Yours, too.”

  She started to unbutton his shirt, let out a breathless laugh when her fingers didn’t seem to work right. “I’m shaking inside. Outside, too.”

  He lifted his hands to help her, but she brushed them away.

  “No, I want to do it. You’ll just have to tolerate some fumbling. I want . . .” She felt him quiver as she finally managed to open his shirt, lay her hands on flesh. And look up into his eyes. “I want everything.”

  She broke him, snapped the last link on the chain of control. She gasped when he hefted her up, dropped her back on the bed. Covered her.

  She was willow slim, and part of him fretted over hurting her. But even that dropped into the dark when she bowed up, gripping his hips, holding him against her center to center.

  The sun bled away to dust, and a whippoorwill began its call for its mate.

  The storm broke in her, a hot, whirling tempest. Greed rose