Liam looked at Kate and his pale face turned red. “Um, no. This is Kate Callender. A…friend.” He shook his head, as if mystified at his own hasty description of her.
Kate didn’t have a chance to react. She was too busy staring at the floor so she wouldn’t embarrass Bridget as she wiped her tears away. She seemed genuinely upset, and as much as her tears worked on Kate’s natural sympathies, she couldn’t forget Liam was standing just a few feet away, hunkered like a wounded animal, struggling with his own demons. She didn’t know which of them was the true injured party, both oozed uneasy vulnerability. What on Earth had happened between them?
Kate gritted her teeth and headed for the elevator. “I was just leaving.” She looked back at Liam. “I’m sorry I interrupted your visit. It wasn’t intentional.”
“Kate, wait. We weren’t done.” The tired tone in his voice made her want to offer him emotional triage. Great. If there was anything Kate loved, it was a man with heavy baggage. Not that she was interested in him or the size of his suitcase.
“You might as well stay,” said Bridget. “Liam and I are finished anyway.” She turned to him. “Please stop sending Michelle gifts and please call off your hounds. You need to stop trying to control this situation. It’s not yours to control. If you ever loved Michelle, you’ll let her have her real father back.”
Liam didn’t say a word. He just stared at the floor as if he wanted to burn a hole in it.
Bridget passed Kate, picked up her purse from a side table and pushed the elevator button. She continued to avoid Liam’s gaze as she waited for the door to close.
Kate stared at her shoes, and then at Liam. He was white, no, grey, in the face. “Liam. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He lifted his head, beaten and exhausted.
Stop punishing me.Bridget’s words haunted her. Kate couldn’t deny there was a part of her that wondered if Liam had a punishing side to his character. Surely he’d trampled a few people on his rise to the top. He’d warned her himself he didn’t forgive and forget.
She needed to make her exit now, before she made him feel any more awkward, and before he made her feel more…whatever that turmoil in her stomach was. It was bad enough she’d seen him at such a private moment, she didn’t need to make things more complicated. She pressed the button to summon the elevator.
In the uncomfortable seconds that followed, Liam walked over to the kitchen counter and fingered the little girl’s coloring book. He began to tear the pages out of the book, one by one. Each rip made him look darker, more despondent, more desperate. By the time he’d torn ten pages out, his lips had pressed so tight they were almost blue.
She wanted to hate him, but right now she couldn’t.
The elevator door opened.
Kate froze.Get in. Get in. Don’t come back.
The door closed again.
All of a sudden, Liam Doyle wasn’t a big, bad casino owner. He was just a man who hurt. And it was in her nature to try and take the hurt away.
Moving quietly, she made her way over to the counter and stood next to him. His cologne wafted over her again, making her want to close her eyes and dream. She touched a hand to his sleeve and then pried the desecrated book out of his hands. He started, as if shocked she was still there.
“Do you want to talk?”
He frowned, his mouth opened once or twice, but no words came out. She knew how she must appear. A few minutes ago, she’d been the harridan he’d been trying to bribe away from his property. Now, she probably sounded like bloody Mary Poppins. She should offer up a goddamn spoonful of sugar while she was at it.
When he didn’t answer, she pointed to the strawberry pastries. “Are those from the restaurant downstairs?”
A fraction of his professionalism returned. “Chef Jean-Claude made them special for me.”
“They’re beautiful. I bet a box of six costs as much as my rent.”
He looked at her for a tense moment and then cracked a sad smile. “Would you like one?”
“No. I mean, I’d love one. I could probably swallow them all whole, but I’m gluten-free and trying hard to be sugar-free.”
One side of his mouth twitched, and a dimple showed under his stubble. Those husky dog eyes still seemed so sad, though. “Why am I not surprised? Well, does your gluten-free, sugar-free diet mean you can’t have coffee?”
“Probably, but a girl’s gotta have some pleasure.”
“Have a seat, then. I’ll make some.” Once again, he gestured to the cushy couches, but this time added, “Please.”
She could have made a crack about how his servants should be making his coffee, but she didn’t. This time, she just offered him a smile, and sat down.
Chapter Four
