She swallowed her tears and pointed at her exit without a word, directing him silently to her house. Liam pulled into the snow-covered driveway, taking her hand as she reached for her purse sitting on the console between them. His was more paw than hand, swallowing hers as he caught her attention with his eyes, holding her with them. She felt awful-looked awful, she knew, red-nosed and red-faced from crying. She wanted to hide, turn away, but he held her with just the heat of his gaze.
“Show me.” It was more whisper than words.
She looked at him, confused, staring at the hand holding hers, and then she did the first thing that came to her head. She took his hand in both of hers-his was big, tanned, well-manicured, a silver ring on his middle finger-and turned it over, palm up. Katie sobbed silently, pressing her lips to the middle of his hand, head bent, tears falling onto his wrist.
She felt his other hand move in her hair, that same slow caress, heard his slow, deep breath, a sigh, and then felt his lips pressing against the top of her head, a soft, firm kiss.
“Go inside, Katie.” Liam let her go and she looked up at him in wonder, unable to speak. Patrick appeared, knocking at the window, and Liam powered it down.
“Your keys.” Patrick handed them over, and Katie noticed he was still wearing his boots and hadn’t bothered with a shirt. His chest was bare above the zipper of his Sherpa coat. He looked at her face and then at his brother’s, frowning, mistaking her tears. “Katie, I’m so sorry. Really…”
“It’s okay,” she choked, letting Patrick open the door and help her out of the car. She wanted to look back, to say something to Liam, to ask him what had just happened, what it meant. Patrick walked her to the door, still apologizing, and she let him, murmuring something as he headed back down the walkway, getting into his brother’s Maserati.
She saw Liam’s face for just one brief moment before they left, when Patrick opened the passenger door, saw Liam looking straight at her. His gaze had never wavered.
And she knew.
He’s the one.
Katie sighed, pulling misfiled books off the shelves for the third time in an hour, and it was her own damned fault. She had sandwiched a stack of fiction from A to Z without regards to alphabet in the “K” section without thinking, just automatically putting books on the shelf one after the other, her mind wandering. She couldn’t help it. It had been wandering all week, back to the moment when Liam burst into the room to rescue her, back to the ride home, her tearful, shameful confession, and mostly to that one incredible moment in his car, her lips pressed to his palm and his lips brushing her hair.
She had fought the urge to call, had struggled with her desire, confessing everything to Lori, whose cliche-machine had been running full blast, telling her that Katie had obviously gotten herself into a “fine kettle of fish now,” and while Lori didn’t want to be the “doubting Thomas,” she was suspect of the whole “smoke and mirrors” act.
So Katie had spent the week in a fog, going to work, coming home, only checking her cell phone a hundred times a day or so, sure one minute he would call, despairing that he never would the next. At least she’d lost three pounds that week, because she could hardly eat anything. She was too distracted.
“Hi there.”
It’s him.
She looked through the stacks to find the source of that voice and saw Liam peering at her between the spines of Koontz and King. Her heart hammered in her chest and immediately her palms felt clammy.
“Hi,” she said faintly, trying to discern if she was actually seeing him, or maybe she was hallucinating?
“I’m looking for a book.” He came around the stacks, his shoulders so broad they almost brushed the shelves on each side.
She straightened, librarian-mode kicking in. “What book?”
“ To Protect and Serve-a Dom’s Guide.”
Katie frowned, already running through the catalog in her head-and she had an extensive personal reading list to draw from as well. “Who’s the author?”
“Liam Quinn”
She stared at him, blinking. “You wrote a book?”
“Oh never mind, here it is.” He flashed an impossibly sexy smile, holding up a hardcover with a woman on the front. She was restrained, hands behind her, nude, back, bottom, and the side of her breast showing.
“That’s not one of ours.” She knew it before she even checked the spine for a call number. The library had strict policies about books with nudity on the cover. She’d had to order most of her BDSM books from Amazon.
“No.” He held it out. “It’s for you.”
It was one she hadn’t read, although she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of books on the subject.
“It’s actually out of print,” he confessed. “That’s one of the few author copies I have left. It’s probably a collector’s item…somewhere.”
“Thank you.” She opened the cover and saw two things-Liam’s picture, arms crossed, on the flap near the bottom, and her name, written in Sharpie, on the cover page, with a message,
For Katie,
In service.
Liam
She looked up at him, confused. “So… is this what you came for? To give me your book?”
“I also wanted to take you to dinner.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but he waited for an answer, his gaze moving over her face, like he was drinking her in. She touched her hair, piled onto the top of her head, pushing her reading glasses up her nose, knowing she looked like the quintessential librarian in her pencil skirt and v-neck blouse, and wished she’d at least left her hair down today.
“Okay.” She tried to imagine sitting across a table with him, doing something so mundane as eating, and couldn’t fathom it. But she said yes anyway, without a moment’s hesitation. “When?”
“How’s now?”
She didn’t even check her watch. “Let me get my coat.”
“So what do they call you?” Katie was feeling far more relaxed after two margaritas and she giggled when she cracked her crab and red pieces of shell exploded onto the tablecloth.
“Don’t you love it when it comes out like this, instead of all shredded?” she asked. Liam watched her pull the crab meat out of its shell in one, long piece. She eyed it delightedly before dipping it into the butter sauce, not even bothering with a fork.
“They call me Liam.” He answered her question, watching her lick butter from the tips of her fingers.
“Not Master? Or Sir? Or something… you know… cool?”
Liam snorted. “What did Patrick want you to call him?”
“Dom.”
“How original.” He rolled his eyes and she saw his jaw working as he put his fork down on his plate next to what little was left of his salmon. “This isn’t a game, Katie.”
“I know.” She paused, licking butter off her lips, and took a sip of her margarita.
“Patrick’s sin is pride.” He took a drink of his water-he hadn’t ordered wine or alcohol with dinner-catching the waitress’s attention. “Hubris. A Dom is humble. A servant, really.”
She crinkled her nose at him, regrettably finishing the last piece of delicious crab. “But the submissive is the one-”
“Sure.” Liam smiled at the waitress as she stopped at another table on her way to theirs, acknowledging her need to serve them first. “Everyone knows what the submissive is giving up. Your power. Your control.” His gaze moved back to Katie and she felt it immediately, rushing hotly through her, like the blood through her veins. “Your body. Your love.”
“Love?” She swallowed, putting her fork down next to her place. Her hands were trembling and she didn’t trust herself to actually hang onto her utensils.