Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (7 page)

And yet unless she was going daft, the scowling grad student with the mesmerizing eyes and dangerous mouth just told her that he liked what he saw. Not only that, he’d also shown a clear dislike for the suggestive behavior of her friends. Heat exploded inside her.

Smiling, she glanced away because she found it breathtakingly difficult to look into those intense grey-blue eyes. She snorted a chuckle. “He needs the help, so I’m glad you like it.”

He didn’t smile—not really. That scowl seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. But he did lighten up a fraction. The corners of his mouth even quirked slightly, giving the impression of a smile set to load.

“Your father is a brilliant man,” he assured her solemnly. “But he is a bit of an organizational mess.”

Organizational mess? A deep laugh burst from her chest. He had no idea!

“He left me in the grocery store once. When I was a kid in a stroller. So, yeah! You could say he’s an organizational mess.”

Liam’s eyes widened in surprise at her sniggering jest, and she could swear he had to bite off an actual laugh. Man, this guy was
way
too serious.

Clearing his throat, he frowned slightly. “Mr. Sanjaya asked me to see that your father received these materials,” he told her, waving the big manila envelope. “Resources for their upcoming lecture. Can I leave this with you, then?”

Aware that the girls were watching and assessing their every word and gesture, she yanked open the patio slider and motioned Liam inside the house. Rhi could have just taken the envelope from him and sent Liam Ashforth on his way, but she didn’t want him to leave just yet. He intrigued her.

“Come on inside,” she told him. “You can leave a note for my dad on his desk. Okay?”

He hesitated fractionally, searched her eyes, then swiftly looked away. He was unsure, and his reaction made her happy. It meant he wasn’t what they referred to as a
player.
If he were, he’d have jumped at the suggestion that they leave the group and go private.

Liam’s senses and brain were on overload. Finding himself invited into the house of a man he admired and saw as a role model, he tried to take it all in. Absorb every nuance of the charming, family oriented home. It was everything he expected it would be.

As the professor’s pretty daughter led him through the kitchen and across the family room, he noted everything. The soft subtle colors on the walls, the family pictures scattered about, even the basket on the floor by a wide loveseat that was crammed with lumps of colorful yarn and what looked like a work-in-progress.
Wow.
Knitting stuff. He thought that only happened in books and movies.

There was even an old baby grand piano in the corner of the formal living room under an oil painting of a distinguished looking couple dressed in tuxedo and gown.

The girl,
Rhiann,
was chattering on as they made their way through the house, apologizing for the mess and clutter. Mess and clutter? Who was she kidding? Compared to the haphazard housekeeping he experienced as a kid, this place was a fucking palace. His mom meant well, but her endless collection of faux-Hummel figurines and dollar store decorations had been exhausting.

It was the professor’s office, though, where his mind and senses lit up. When Rhiann pushed open the French doors and ushered him into the room, he felt like he was stepping into his very own vision of Zen. Massive, floor-to-ceiling bookcases were built-in along two entire walls. Overflowing with books and knick-knacks, the dark wood shelves, and cabinetry gave Liam a rush.
Someday, he’d have a room like this.

A large desk sat between two tall windows hung with heavy drapes pulled back to allow in the light. An antique-looking library chest and table strewn with mounds of paper and magazines took up one whole corner. Two ancient wood trunks with metal bands sat back-to-back, and Liam wondered what they held.

A big fireplace with a deep wood mantel was the room’s focal point. Noting the hearthside log rack and the mish-mosh of tools hanging from an iron holder, he tried not to sigh.
This.
This was what he dreamed of. A family. Happy. Gathered around the fireplace on a cold winter evening.
Someday, Mom,
he silently vowed.
Someday.

“There’s a pad of sticky notes on the desk blotter if you want to leave a note,” Rhiann was saying.

Liam’s eyes swung back to the young girl. She really was beyond pretty, and he definitely liked what he saw.

Having done his research on the Wilde family so he’d know what to expect working with the professor, he knew that Rhiann was the middle daughter and that she attended Penn State. . . . not that he’d expected to meet her or heaven forbid, find his sex drive coming online when he did.

Girls like her were out of his reach. Rhiann and her friends were the homecoming queens and head cheerleaders. They didn’t take up with starving grad students who came by their education without so much as a pot to piss in. Liam knew his place and that she was totally beyond him—for now. That didn’t, however, stop his imagination from firing up.

Without thinking, he reached out and tugged on the bottom of the damp braid that hung over her shoulder. He wasn’t sure who was more startled—him for having done something so recklessly impulsive, or Rhiann, whose eyes widened on a short gasp. Instead of backing away, though, the cute brunette took half a step forward—inviting even more contact.

“Uh,” he mumbled as he cleared his throat, self-consciously muttering, “Yeah. Thanks for your help.”

Real smooth, asshole,
he thought with a mental wince. It didn’t help that she blushed profusely and lowered her eyes so he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

Scribbling hurriedly, he dropped the weighty envelope in the middle of the professor’s desk, slapped a purple sticky note on it that explained Mr. Sanjaya’s instructions, and practically ran for the door before he did something stupid like smile. Or laugh. Or worse, stumble over asking her to grab a burger with him.

She scurried in his wake as he made tracks for the front door so he could get the hell away from the postcard perfect example of the life he’d always longed for. Thinking about his mother by herself, hundreds of miles away from bucolic Happy Valley in the center of Pennsylvania where the enormous university spread out, made his emotions clutch. She’d given up everything for him. The only thing that made being far from her acceptable was his powerful belief that after earning his master’s, he’d be in a position to right a couple of wrongs and see to it that Carolyn Ashforth’s future was brighter and happier than her past.

“Oh, hey,” Rhiann burbled as she opened the front door for him. “Are you coming to the barbecue? Dad always invites a bunch of university people and his assistants usually come.”

What? A barbecue? Liam couldn’t remember if he’d heard anything about a social event. He hated that shit. Didn’t know how to act and always ended up feeling like an outsider.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” she asked breathlessly.

Instead of coming back with his patent refusal and excuse, he blurted out, “Will you be there?”

She smiled shyly and nodded. He fucking liked it that she wasn’t one of those bracelet-jinglers, like her friend with the fake tits. He detested the girls who laughed the loudest and did anything and everything to keep the attention squarely on them. Liam wondered if Rhiann would be like him, standing off to the side and shaking his head with wonder at what the fuck made those girls such attention pigs.

When it came to social niceties, he always felt like a doofus. Just one of the many reasons he’d grabbed onto this assistant gig. He hoped to study the scholarly professor—learn his ways so when it came time for Liam to play in the big leagues, he’d have the skills and knowledge to handle himself appropriately. Like a gentleman. A powerful one. Someone you didn’t fuck with or cross.

But something about the pretty brunette looking at him with her big, wide eyes made him venture into unfamiliar territory. Trying on a crooked smile, he half-smirked. “Okay, Pocahontas. If you’re going to be there . . . maybe I’ll drop by.”

The brilliant smile that lit up her face should have set the warning bells off in his mind, but he was too blown out of the water by the delicious coed to have the sense to run for safety.

A
N ENTIRE WEEK WENT BY after their disastrous encounter at the
Passion
offices, and Liam still didn’t know which way was up. Ten minutes alone with Rhiann and he’d completely lost his cool. Since then? He was avoiding her, although no one knew that but him.

Funny thing was, right up until the moment when she’d caustically reminded him of the ugly words he’d used to drive a wedge between them—he’d thought there was a chance she might soften toward him.

Well, fuck that.
What damn planet had he been on when he taunted a much younger Rhiann about not really knowing who he was. Rubbing her nose in the fact that she’d given herself to a total stranger. Holy shit. What a prick he’d been.
Of course,
she hadn’t known the real him—nobody did because he never shared that shit with anyone. Not even her. Known for being coolly in control, it galled him that the one person he might have let inside his carefully controlled existence had been the one he hurt the most.

Not that it was much of a mystery why. At the time, his need to be with her messed with his head and led him further and further away from his goals. The predominant force in his life from the time he was a teenager had been his drive to be a success—successful enough to take care of Carolyn first class the whole way—and gather the power and resources he’d need to destroy his birth father.

It had seemed so black and white at the time. In the end, a cascade of events drove Liam to sever the relationship before he lost his way completely. There really wasn’t any other choice. Knowing he had to stay focused, and if necessary, isolated in order to reach his objective, he’d been cruel to his young lover—had to be since he didn’t trust his ability to stay away from her otherwise. By forcing Rhiann’s hand with a load of cruel, insensitive snark, he’d guaranteed that the brokenhearted coed would gladly steer clear of him. It had worked. Only Liam hadn’t bargained on the dark hole her absence would leave in his life.

When she’d tried to run from their meeting, he’d reacted on instinct and gone after her. Calling her
milaya moya
had come out of nowhere and triggered the spark that exploded the second his mouth claimed hers.

Shit.
He’d thought of nothing but how she tasted since then. Earlier, he’d been caught daydreaming in a meeting, and instead of covering up, he’d testily ended the gathering to the shock of those present. His financial director, Kim Walsh, had been peculiarly bent out of shape by his woolgathering and the swiftness with which he curtailed the business discussion going on.

“You seem distracted, Liam,” she’d pointed out after everyone else had shuffled from the room.

He eyed her dispassionately—annoyed that she thought their relationship allowed such familiarity. He relied on her business acumen and rewarded her efforts on BPG’s behalf quite handsomely. But let her into his head?
Hardly.

Dismissive as he replied, Liam turned his back on her, gathering his tablet and a stack of folders he needed to go over.

“Nothing that concerns you, Kim,” he responded icily.

He was surprised when she pushed the issue, even though Liam had broken one of his hard and fast rules when he’d fucked the woman a couple of years ago after a drunken celebration. The beginning steps of taking his father down had commenced, and he was feeling mighty full of himself that night.

Kim had been a convenient distraction and the aggressor in their encounter. He’d been arrogantly amused by her efforts to seduce him—allowing the slightly older executive to lead him through a no-holds-barred sexual experience that involved his pool table, a cachet of lube conveniently retrieved from her purse, Kim’s well-used ass, and his dick. Not exactly his proudest moment.

The thought of his CFO bent over that damn pool table, stocking clad legs spread wide, dress pushed up above her waist as she bellowed, “Fuck my ass,” hadn’t sat well with him in the aftermath. He’d like to blame the alcohol but knew better. He’d ruthlessly fucked her because she asked for it. Begged, in fact, and what was an inebriated guy with a raging hard-on supposed to do? Say no?