Freedom's Price (6 page)

On the radio, the deejay announced that it was going to be another hot one.

The man was speaking Spanish, and Liam understood nearly every word. It was funny how quickly it came back to him. Not that he wanted it to. He’d just as soon forget it all. The war, San Salustiano, his Spanish,
every
thing.

Even Marisala. Maybe
especially
Marisala.

Liam reached for the clock radio and shut it off as he rolled out of bed. He showered quickly and pulled on a clean pair of shorts and a polo shirt. Today they were destined to find Marisala an apartment. They
had
to. Classes started in a matter of days.

And it was only a matter of time before she realized that crap he’d told her about thinking of her as a child was just that—crap. Then she
would
come sneaking into his room at night, and he wouldn’t be able to resist her, and their entire friendship—as well as his friendship with her uncle—would be in jeopardy.

The smell of fresh coffee brewing wafted through the air as he started down the stairs.

Liam braced himself as he headed toward the kitchen. It was still early—he wouldn’t put it past Marisala to have come down to grab a quick cup of coffee while still in her nightclothes. She probably slept in an oversized T-shirt, her long, tanned legs bare, God help him.

But as he went into the kitchen he saw that Marisala was dressed. She wore baggy knee-length, cutoff shorts slung low on her waist and a midriff-baring tank top that revealed a small tattoo high up on her left arm. It was a single flame—the symbol of the San Salustiano Freedom Fighters. He remembered the first time he’d seen it—after she’d broken him out of the government prison. With the tattoo and the fresh, jagged scar on her beautiful face, and the way she held an AK-47 as if it were an extension of her body, he’d wept for the loss of her youth and innocence.

She was talking as he came in, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug in one hand, part of the Sunday paper in her other, speaking in her native Spanish.

It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t talking to him, or even to the puppy, who was happily tearing at a clean rag with her sharp little teeth.

Marisala was talking to the man and woman who were sitting at his kitchen table. They were both ragged and dirty, and the woman was heavily pregnant.

Liam did a double take. Where the hell had
they
come from? But he knew the answer before Marisala even turned to greet him. She had gone out for another walk this morning and come home with two more strays.

“
Buenos dias
,” Marisala said cheerfully. “You actually slept last night.”

He had. He’d fallen asleep some time after two
A.M
., and he’d stayed asleep, dreaming those intensely erotic dreams about Marisala.

Her hair was loose in a wild cloud of curls around her head, just the way she’d worn it in his dreams. He went toward the cabinet to get himself a mug, unable to meet her gaze for fear she’d be able to read his mind.

“It looks like you’ve been busy,” he said levelly.

“Your column in the paper,” she accused him, “it’s something you wrote months ago.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t even glance at her. “I didn’t have the time to write something new this week.”

“
Por favor, Señor Bartlett
.” The extremely pregnant woman pushed back her chair and hauled herself clumsily to her feet. “Sit. Please. You will allow me to get your coffee and breakfast, no?”

“No,” Liam said firmly. “Thank you. You look like you need to sit down more than I do.”

“But—” The young woman looked from Liam to Marisala in alarm.

Liam poured himself a cup of coffee as Marisala spoke to the couple in a low voice. He turned to face her. “So. I see you’ve hired me a cook.” It was all he could do not to laugh. Trust Marisala to find two needy, desperate people living on the street and offer them not only food and shelter, but a way for them to keep their pride.

On closer examination, he saw that the man and the woman were both impossibly young. The man was in his early twenties at the most and the girl hardly more than a baby herself.

“Liam, I’d like you to meet Inez and Hector Perez. They came from Puerto Rico, via New York. They are here in Boston looking to get away from…certain family troubles.”

Liam glanced at Inez’s tautly rounded belly. Family troubles indeed.

“And yes, you’re right. I told them you might be interested in hiring them. Inez tells me she’s quite a good cook,” Marisala continued.

Hector was gazing grimly down at the table, embarrassment tingeing his aristocratic cheekbones. Liam could relate. It was never easy to take charity. God knows he’d taken more than his share down in San Salustiano.

“How about you, Mr. Perez,” he asked the young man directly. “What’s your trade?”

“I am a landscaper.”

Liam nodded. A landscaper. If Marisala had her way, he was about to become, no doubt, the very first in his condo association to have his own personal landscaper—without owning even a single handful of dirt to landscape.

“When’s the baby due?”

Marisala spoke up. “They’re not exactly sure. I’d guess it’s a matter of only a week or two.”

Liam took a sip of his coffee, nodding again.

She was watching him, a small smile playing about the corners of her mouth. She knew damn well that he wasn’t going to toss these people back onto the street a week or two before their baby was due to be born. “I thought…well, you have so many extra empty rooms here….”

He gazed back at her over the top of his coffee mug. “And you’ve already shown the Perezes to theirs, I assume?”

She laughed. But she had. He could see it in her eyes. “You’re right. I did. So, can they stay? Or are you going to make me beg?”

Last night in his dreams he’d made her beg. Liam held her gaze much longer than he should have, giving himself a few short seconds to lose himself in the midnight swirl of her eyes. “No,” he said quietly. “I won’t make you beg.” He sat down at the table, across from Hector. “Mr. Perez, I’m afraid I don’t need a landscaper at this moment, but I
do
need a cook’s assistant. It seems
my
cook is going to have a baby within the next few weeks, and I’d like her to stay off her feet. So, tell me honestly, how’s
your
cooking?”

FIVE

“Y
OU DON’T HAVE
to come with me,” Marisala said.

Liam snorted. “Are you kidding? If I let you go by yourself, God only knows how many more people you’ll bring with you when you come home.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” he said, but he was smiling.

Marisala tried to keep her heart from flipping. Tried and failed. Liam Bartlett’s smile had always made her heart do somersaults.

If she hadn’t known about his writing troubles, about his problems sleeping, and about his near-crippling claustrophobia, she never would have guessed he was dealing with such pressure.

He looked incredible.

He was wearing shorts and an expensive-looking muted pink polo shirt. His legs were tan and strong, and covered with crisp, gleaming blond hair. The scar he had near his left knee was noticeable, but well faded. It could well have been the result of a sports injury or a car accident—not the handiwork of an M60 submachine gun. With his tousled golden hair and the sunglasses he’d already put on, he looked utterly American—well rested, well fed, wealthy, and carefree.

She alone knew of the deep scars that surely still marked his broad, muscular back, souvenirs of the beatings he’d endured at the hands of officials in San Salustiano’s so-called democratic government.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs Liam held the door open for her. He was wearing a hint of a familiar tangy cologne. He smelled clean and deliciously fresh.

In turn, Marisala held open the door that led to the sidewalk. It was humid and still outside, the heat from the hazy sun reflecting and magnified by the city streets. “I meant to tell you—a call came in for you while you were in the shower. Your machine picked up, and I couldn’t help but overhear. It was a woman. Someone named Lauren?”

She tried to sound casual. Nonchalant. And certainly not as if she were digging for information.

“Hi, Lee,” the woman had said as she’d left her message in a breathless, husky, much-too-sexy voice. “It’s me, Lauren. We need to talk. Call me at home tonight. Or better yet, stop by my place at around nine? See you then.”

“Thanks,” Liam said, telling Marisala nothing.

Marisala had to know. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Liam glanced at her, his eyes hidden behind his dark glasses. “She’s a friend,” he said. “A lady friend.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“There,” he said, stopping her right in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’ve just given me a perfect example of going too far. That was a question
not
to ask. Whether or not Lauren Stuart and I have a sexual relationship is none of your business.”

Lauren Stuart. Liam’s “lady friend’s” full name was Lauren Stuart. She sounded like a real New England WASP, tall and blonde and elegant—everything Marisala was not. Marisala couldn’t squelch her jealousy. “Your life’s not my business? Forgive me, I thought we were friends.”

“We
are
friends. But even with friends, you have to learn not to blurt out any old question that pops into your mind.”

“That wasn’t ‘any old question.’ It was a specific question for which I wanted to know the answer. I wouldn’t have asked you something so personal if I hadn’t spent more weeks than
you
can remember changing your bedpan, amigo.”

“I’m not so sure of that.”

“Believe me, it
was
weeks.”

“I’m not talking about the bedpans, I’m talking about you saying whatever you want,
when
ever you want.
That’s
what you need to work on, and I want you to start by practicing with me.”

“But in the jungle—”

“Our friendship is different here than it was in the jungle. Back then, Mara, we shared everything, even after I stopped needing bedpan service. Clothes, blankets—the food we ate.” He looked at her over the tops of his sunglasses and tried to get her to smile. “Sometimes we shared the food we ate long after we ate it. Remember Rafe’s famous beans? Living in such close quarters, we shared more than we should have.”

They
had
shared just about everything—except for what she truly wanted. They hadn’t shared their need for physical comfort, for physical love. As they’d spent night after night in that tiny shelter, Marisala had ached for him to kiss and touch her. She had longed for him to temporarily transport her away from the death and destruction they lived with, day in and day out.

But he never had.

It was true, she had been only seventeen and still inexperienced when Liam had left the island. She hadn’t known what love could be between a man and a woman. If she had, she would have convinced him—somehow—to share such a miracle with her.

“Is she beautiful, this Lauren? May I ask that?”

“Yes, and yes. She’s a very beautiful woman.”

Woman. Lauren was a woman, while Marisala was not—at least not in Liam’s eyes. He still thought of her as a child.

And it was only a matter of time before she woke up in the night to hear the soft sounds of female laughter as Liam brought this beautiful Lauren Stuart up to his room. It was only a matter of time before Marisala came face-to-face with Liam’s lover over the breakfast table.

She glanced at her watch. If they didn’t hurry, they were going to be late for her appointment. And suddenly her search for an apartment of her own seemed imperative—moving out of Liam’s condo was of the utmost urgency.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said to the goatee-wearing young man who’d shown them into an extremely cluttered living room. Dan. He’d introduced himself as Dan. “I think maybe I’ve misunderstood. You’re
not
moving out of this place?”

“He’s renting out only
one
of the rooms,” Marisala explained. “See, this house has four bedrooms—”

“Five,” Dan interjected.

“And one of them is empty. For only two hundred and fifty dollars a month, I could become a housemate. I’d have to share the kitchen and living areas, but—”

“Hey, we’re friendly.” Dan smiled at Marisala. His teeth were straight and white. “No one bites—at least not too hard. Come on, you want to see the room?”

“Are you a student, Dan?” Liam followed them. He hated this. Marisala moving into a house with strange people—one of them being this man—was a bad idea.

“I’m in law school. Northeastern.” Dan answered him politely, but then turned back to Marisala as he led the way up a flight of stairs. “I hope you like the room. You’re exactly what we’ve been looking for. You’ll have to meet the others, but I think they’ll fall in love with you right away too. I can’t believe you’re actually from San Salustiano. That was some intense stuff that was going on there a few years back. That’s Ed’s room. He’s in law school with me.” Dan pointed to the open doorways of the rooms they passed. “And this one’s Bill and Jodie’s. Bill plays bass in a rock band, and Jodie’s a potter. Deede’s in here. She teaches over at the League School. This is my room, and this one would be yours.”

Dan pushed open the last door at the end of the hallway with a flourish.

Marisala’s “room” was right next to Dan’s. Now, wasn’t
that
damned convenient?

“I remember you said on the phone you’re a freshman over at the university,” Dan continued as he followed Marisala into the empty little room. “This place is just a short ride from the campus.”

It was tiny. There wasn’t enough room for Liam to go in, too, so he stood in the doorway, looking in, feeling his frustration mounting.

“I’d have to get a bed,” Marisala mused. “But not a big one—it wouldn’t fit.”

She moved toward the window at the end of the room.

Backlit the way she was, with the light coming in through the window, she looked unearthly and angelic. Her dark hair took on gleaming overtones and her face looked so sweet, Liam’s chest ached.

He hated the way Dan was looking at her with barely hidden, very male appreciation in his eyes. It wasn’t disrespectful, though. On the contrary, Dan seemed very nice. But Liam knew from the look on the man’s face that Dan wouldn’t be satisfied with having Marisala as only a housemate.

Not that he blamed Dan. There was no doubt about it, Marisala
was
extraordinarily beautiful. And nice. And funny and smart and kind and…

And her lips were so soft and her mouth was so kissable, it took all that Liam had to keep himself from dragging her into his arms and kissing her again. He wanted to kiss her until she melted against him and gazed up at him with eyes heavy-lidded with heat and desire—until Dan got the hint and never,
ever
looked at her so hungrily again.

Dan was talking. Apparently the man never shut up. He was going on and on about weekend parties and going out to see Bill or whoever’s band play and playing basketball on Tuesday nights over at the roommate named Deede’s school gym.

Marisala was listening, nodding, smiling up into Dan’s hazel eyes, and something inside of Liam snapped. “This isn’t going to work.” His voice came out sounding much sharper and rougher than he’d intended.

Both Marisala and Dan turned to look at him in surprise, almost as if they’d forgotten he was standing there.

“Mara, we better go. I’m sorry, Dan. We’ve wasted your time.”

Dan looked from Marisala to Liam and back again. “But—”

“Santiago would never let you live here.” Liam knew the moment it was out of his mouth that it was absolutely
the
most wrong thing in the world to say.

Marisala’s chin came up and her eyes sparked, and she turned to face Dan. “I’m interested. Tell me, what’s the next step?”

“If you’re free, you could come back tonight and meet everyone. In fact, you’re welcome to come for dinner—”

Liam stepped forward. “Sorry, Marisala’s busy tonight.” That was also the wrong thing to say, but once he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop.

Dan lifted an eyebrow. “I think I asked Marisala—not you,” he said coolly, straightening to his full height as he gazed at Liam.

There was real strength in the young man’s unswerving gaze. He may not have been as tall as Liam. He may not have been as solidly built. But he wasn’t about to let anyone push him—or Marisala—around. That much was clear from the set of his shoulders.

In any other situation, Liam would have liked Dan. They probably would have been friends. But right now all he wanted to do was to slam his fist into the younger man’s face. Thankfully, he was able to resist that urge, but he was unable to stop himself from taking a threatening step forward. “I answered for her,” he told Dan tightly. “As her guardian, I’m telling her right now that this is not the right apartment.”

Dan didn’t back down. In fact, he stepped forward, too, moving slightly as if his intention was to protect Marisala from Liam. “I don’t know where
you’re
from, pal, but this is America. And Marisala looks old enough to me to make her own decisions.”

Seeing this kid act as if
Liam
were the one Marisala needed protection from was outrageous. And when Dan met Marisala’s eyes and smiled reassuringly, Liam laughed out loud.

“Keep your pants zipped, Dan. She hasn’t moved in yet.”

Marisala’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard Liam say. Despite the smile on his face, his eyes were steely cold and he was staring at Dan as if he wanted to break him in half.

What was wrong with him? She’d never seen him like this before. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he was jealous.

Jealous?

Mother of God, he
was
jealous. Liam was actually
jealous
.

The confusion that hit her was so overwhelming, she couldn’t do more than allow herself to be dragged along when Liam took her hand and none too gently pulled her with him out of the room.

If he was
jealous
, that meant…

“Marisala, I don’t know who this guy is, but you don’t have to put up with this.” Dan was following them, concern in his pretty green eyes. “If you need some kind of help—”

“I have to apologize for Liam,” Marisala called back to Dan as Liam all but threw her over his shoulder and carried her out the front door. “He’s been taking this guardian thing much too seriously. He thinks just because my uncle asked him for a favor, he’s got to—”

The screen door slammed behind them as Liam pulled her by the wrist across the porch and down the steps to the sidewalk and his car.

“…he’s got to pretend that this fire we feel every time he touches me doesn’t exist,” Marisala finished in a much softer voice.

He tried to drop her hand, but this time she was the one who wouldn’t let go. He closed his eyes. “Marisala, don’t.”

He wouldn’t look at her and she knew with a flash of triumph that he couldn’t. If he did, she’d see all of the desire and longing he was trying so hard to hide.

“You’re jealous,” she said, still unable fully to believe it herself. “You’re jealous of Dan.”

“No,” Liam said, but he didn’t sound very convinced as he finally pulled free from her grasp.

Up at the house, Dan had come out onto the porch. He lit a cigarette and pretended he was out there to smoke, but it was obvious he was there to watch them.

Liam unlocked the passenger door of his car and opened it wide. “Just get in.”

“You don’t want me to live there because you think Dan wants to be my lover.”

He glanced up at the house, up at Dan, and the muscles in the side of his jaw jumped. “I
know
that’s what he wants.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think you’re projecting what
you
want onto him.”

He closed his eyes as if doing so would keep him from understanding her words. “What I
want
is for you to get into the car.”

“Would it really be that terrible?” She brought his hand to her lips then pressed the softness of his palm against her cheek. “You know, you and me?”

He stood very, very still.

“We used to be honest with each other,” she whispered. “Why should we lie about this?”

Liam turned toward her then, and for the first time since she saw him at the airport, he let her truly look into his eyes. “I don’t know what the truth is anymore. Everything’s so complicated.”