Know Me Well (Wishful 3)

Damn it.

And then it was just the two of them.

Before she could do anything stupid, like reach out to run her hands over his pecs, Riley blurted, “Please tell me you have good news.” He opened his mouth, but she kept right on talking. “That is not your good news face.”

Shut up, Riley.

“I’m afraid you should probably be planning funeral arrangements

.”

Riley closed her eyes against that blow. She’d known it was coming. Jo’s cantankerous heart had broken when Uncle John died. But God, she’d thought she had a little time to recoup her savings after the latest string of disasters had completely wiped it out. And that was before she’d brought her bank balance too low to buy a cup of coffee in order to rescue her mother. Again.

“I can’t afford a new car, Liam. Isn’t there anything you can do? Something you can cobble together? Duct tape? Prayers?” It killed her to ask, but desperate times.

When he said nothing, she opened her eyes. He had his wrestling with a problem face on. It hadn’t changed since he’d taken AP chemistry in high school. She would know. They’d had the same study hall that year, and she’d spent countless hours watching him instead of doing her homework.

“I could probably manage something. But whatever I do is going to be borrowed time and it’s really throwing good money after bad. You’re gonna have to start making some kind of arrangements for a new one in the not distant future.”

“Any time you can buy me is appreciated.” And maybe she’d have pulled off some kind of miracle to bring in extra income to pay for it by then.

Knowing she needed to keep her hands busy, Riley picked up the carton of Band-aids and went to put it away again. Never mind that she hadn’t actually put any on the shelf. She added it back to the pile and turned. Liam had followed her into the storeroom, and the already over-crowded space suddenly shrank.

Riley took an instinctive step back and stumbled. Her feet snagged, sending her flailing. Before she could crash into the piled up junk, Liam’s hands closed around her hips, yanking her flush against him. All her soft parts were pressed up close and personal against all his hard parts and, oh dear God, she couldn’t breathe.

“Careful.”

The rumble of his low voice vibrated that magnificent chest, which she felt because hers was plastered up against him. Her nipples went instantly, painfully hard. She couldn’t speak or move, so she just stood there, staring like a complete moron, waiting for him to let her go. Except he didn’t. His hands tightened on her hips, as if getting a better grip. Instinctively, hers tightened on his arms and, yep, they were every bit as hard and cut as they looked.

Through sheer force of will, Riley managed not to drool.

If you lick it, that makes it yours.

Before she could stop herself, she licked the seam of her lips. Liam’s eyes tracked the motion, and his mouth curved in a little half-smile that spawned a whole host of other wicked thoughts. Her cheeks burned and the synapses responsible for coherent thought exploded from sexual overload.

“You’re on my foot.”

“What?” Riley managed.

Apparently tired of waiting for her to move, Liam picked her up bodily and shifted her over into the free space. He held on just long enough for her to lock her knees before turning away to survey the storeroom. Another minute of that and the fire in her face would’ve spread to her hair. This was why she’d avoided him!

“I see you haven’t had any better luck with clearing this space out than Mom did.”

Riley blessed him for not commenting on the awkward moment and desperately seized the change in topic. “I haven’t been able to get to it. Our hands are plenty full with the day-to-day running of things.”

At some point in the old building’s past, this room had been part of the one that now housed the pharmacy. Some previous owner had blocked the whole thing off for storage. When the five and dime went belly up, the remaining stock that hadn’t been sold off had been piled in here, and Riley wasn’t certain the space had been cleared since. Like Molly before her, she kept meaning to get to it, but as a priority, it fell way down at the bottom of the list.

“I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do what?”

“Clear it out. All this crap is a fire hazard. I’ve been telling Mom that for years.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Please God, don’t let him do that. “You’re already dealing with my car. And the renovation upstairs.”

“And I’ll deal with this after.”

Her brain scrambled to find some way to say no, to shove him out the door. “But I can’t afford to—”