don’t know.” He closed his eyes, his forehead in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on his knee. “I started writing the damn thing almost four years ago. I wrote about fifteen pages, and then I stopped.”
When he opened his eyes, the sudden blueness was almost startling. “I don’t want to talk about this, do you mind?” He stood up. “Does the dog have any tags?”
“No.” Marisala gently pushed the puppy off her lap and stood up too. “Liam—”
“Don’t name her, Mara,” he said warningly. “Okay? Don’t get too attached. She looks like a purebred cocker spaniel. She’s got to belong to somebody, and they’re going to want her back. Besides, it’s going to be hard enough to find an apartment even if you
don’t
have a pet.”
He took the bag of groceries off the table and carried it into the kitchen. “Come on,” he continued. “She can spend the night in the kitchen. Tomorrow I’ll borrow an instant camera. We can take her picture and make flyers to post—let people know you found her.”
Marisala picked up the puppy. “The kitchen is going to be so lonely,” she said, rubbing her long floppy ears.
“You want to take her upstairs, take her upstairs,” Liam said, turning back to look at her. “But when she has an accident on the carpet,
you
get to clean it up.”
“That’s only fair.” She followed Liam, wishing he would tell her why he was having such trouble writing his book, wishing he would talk to her, wishing he would kiss her again.
He’d
kissed
her. Mother of God, she still couldn’t quite believe that Liam Bartlett had actually
kissed
her.
It had been wildly different from the way she’d imagined their first kiss would be, and she’d imagined it quite frequently since he’d first walked into her uncle’s house all those years ago. She’d always thought that he’d gaze into her eyes and slowly move closer, giving her plenty of time to anticipate. She’d pictured him lightly brushing her lips with his, pulling back to look at her again before he gently deepened the kiss.
She’d imagined a sweet, reverent joining of their lips.
Instead he’d possessed her with a fierceness that had melted her bones and infused her with a raging fire. She’d exploded, responding with years of pent-up longing. Saints help her, she’d damn near wrapped her leg around him in an attempt to pull him even closer.
He wanted her. She knew now that it was true. The unmistakable and impossibly quick response of his body as he pressed against her proved that without a doubt, didn’t it?
His blood burned for her, making him hot and hard as stone. No one—
no
one—could resist a passion that strong.
Not even Liam Bartlett, Patron Saint of San Salustiano.
“Is the dog hungry?” Liam asked as she set the puppy down on the kitchen floor.
“No,” Marisala told him. “I gave her some of the cold cuts I bought at the market.”
Liam laughed. “No wonder she followed you.”
“She followed me before that.”
“But no doubt the cold cuts cemented the deal. God, you are such a pushover when it comes to strays.” The newspaper was out and open to the apartment listings on the kitchen table. Liam took several of the pages from another section and handed them to Marisala. “You might try spreading this out on the floor of the bathroom that’s attached to your room. Here’s hoping she’s at least a little trained.”
Marisala leaned over the table, looking closely at the newspaper. “You’ve circled some of these listings.”
“There’s not a lot that were suitable. I marked only a few.”
“Here’s one that you didn’t mark that looks good. It’s in the price range we were talking about, and it says ‘near university.’”
“Where?” Liam leaned over Marisala’s shoulder.
“Here.” She pointed to the listing, reading aloud. “‘Near university. Studio with separate kitchen, utilities included. B-S-M-T of house.’ What’s B-S-M-T?”
She turned to look
When he opened his eyes, the sudden blueness was almost startling. “I don’t want to talk about this, do you mind?” He stood up. “Does the dog have any tags?”
“No.” Marisala gently pushed the puppy off her lap and stood up too. “Liam—”
“Don’t name her, Mara,” he said warningly. “Okay? Don’t get too attached. She looks like a purebred cocker spaniel. She’s got to belong to somebody, and they’re going to want her back. Besides, it’s going to be hard enough to find an apartment even if you
don’t
have a pet.”
He took the bag of groceries off the table and carried it into the kitchen. “Come on,” he continued. “She can spend the night in the kitchen. Tomorrow I’ll borrow an instant camera. We can take her picture and make flyers to post—let people know you found her.”
Marisala picked up the puppy. “The kitchen is going to be so lonely,” she said, rubbing her long floppy ears.
“You want to take her upstairs, take her upstairs,” Liam said, turning back to look at her. “But when she has an accident on the carpet,
you
get to clean it up.”
“That’s only fair.” She followed Liam, wishing he would tell her why he was having such trouble writing his book, wishing he would talk to her, wishing he would kiss her again.
He’d
kissed
her. Mother of God, she still couldn’t quite believe that Liam Bartlett had actually
kissed
her.
It had been wildly different from the way she’d imagined their first kiss would be, and she’d imagined it quite frequently since he’d first walked into her uncle’s house all those years ago. She’d always thought that he’d gaze into her eyes and slowly move closer, giving her plenty of time to anticipate. She’d pictured him lightly brushing her lips with his, pulling back to look at her again before he gently deepened the kiss.
She’d imagined a sweet, reverent joining of their lips.
Instead he’d possessed her with a fierceness that had melted her bones and infused her with a raging fire. She’d exploded, responding with years of pent-up longing. Saints help her, she’d damn near wrapped her leg around him in an attempt to pull him even closer.
He wanted her. She knew now that it was true. The unmistakable and impossibly quick response of his body as he pressed against her proved that without a doubt, didn’t it?
His blood burned for her, making him hot and hard as stone. No one—
no
one—could resist a passion that strong.
Not even Liam Bartlett, Patron Saint of San Salustiano.
“Is the dog hungry?” Liam asked as she set the puppy down on the kitchen floor.
“No,” Marisala told him. “I gave her some of the cold cuts I bought at the market.”
Liam laughed. “No wonder she followed you.”
“She followed me before that.”
“But no doubt the cold cuts cemented the deal. God, you are such a pushover when it comes to strays.” The newspaper was out and open to the apartment listings on the kitchen table. Liam took several of the pages from another section and handed them to Marisala. “You might try spreading this out on the floor of the bathroom that’s attached to your room. Here’s hoping she’s at least a little trained.”
Marisala leaned over the table, looking closely at the newspaper. “You’ve circled some of these listings.”
“There’s not a lot that were suitable. I marked only a few.”
“Here’s one that you didn’t mark that looks good. It’s in the price range we were talking about, and it says ‘near university.’”
“Where?” Liam leaned over Marisala’s shoulder.
“Here.” She pointed to the listing, reading aloud. “‘Near university. Studio with separate kitchen, utilities included. B-S-M-T of house.’ What’s B-S-M-T?”
She turned to look
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