Tell Them Lies (Three Little Words Book 3) (3 page)

"So, is quilting class going to be canceled if you're the only one that shows up?"

"Oh, zip it. We're a little early still. It doesn't start until six-thirty."

"You should be nicer to me; someone will accuse you of adult child neglect."

With one thin hand, she patted his cheek a little harder than was necessary. "You'll get over it."

Once he stepped out of the car, he winced at how the wind had picked up, making it seem much colder than it actually was. He slammed his door shut quickly so it didn't cut into the car and make his mom cold. He shivered once, just one manly shake though, when he admitted to himself he should have worn a coat over his white long-sleeve thermal.

After helping his mom from the car, he jogged ahead to open the heavy glass and steel doors. The entryway to the library was silent, with brick colored tile crisscrossed along the floor to the next set of doors, which led into the main area of the building. He could see a large, curving checkout desk, and several displays holding brightly colored hardcovers. A child skipped around one tall bookshelf and plopped down into a small white chair at a vivid red table.

He was about to pull open the next door when his mom tugged on his arm, leading him down a hallway he hadn't seen. There were about four classrooms; the first doorway on the right was clearly for children, with the primary colored decorations and impossibly small bean bags littering the floor. From the opened door just a bit further down the hall, he could hear a soft, muffled voice speaking and the shuffling of papers.

Stepping back when they reached the room she'd pulled him towards, Kieran stepped aside to let her go in front of him. But then once he'd cleared the door, he glanced past the empty chairs at the empty tables, to the woman standing at the back of the room.

The. Woman.

Her bright blonde hair was pulled back into another ponytail, this one sitting lower on her head, and since she was in profile to him, he could see how the slightly curled ends touched just to the middle of her shoulder blades. And there was something light blue covering the rest of her, he just didn't move his eyes down far enough to figure out what.

"It's her." His voice came out hushed, damn near worshipful. And idiotic. It was idiotic, because his mom looked up when he said it, then turned her head to where he couldn't stop staring. Like an idiot.

And because he was an idiot, he said nothing when a giant ass smile lit her face.

"Her? Really?"

"Uhhh-huh." Oh God, please strike him down. Was it really lying if he simply made some unintelligible sounds? He was dead. She was gonna kill him. And he didn't even know which 'she' he was referring to.

She
turned, the
she
that still looked like a freaking vision, and her eyes slowly moved to where they were standing frozen just inside the classroom.

"Mom, why don't you sit down? I'll uhh, I'll bring her over here."

Oh shit, oh damn, oh hell, what was he going to do?

But did she listen? Noooooo. Because then she would be a nice, agreeable mom. Oh no, she let go of his arm and started marching right across the room.

"Are you kidding, honey? I need to meet this girl."

S
o
, what the hell was he supposed to do?

Shove his mother over so that he could distract her? Yeah. Probably not. He really wished he knew what
her
name was, because she recognized him, no doubt about that. She also looked confused. And that was most likely because his wisp of a mom was barreling down on her.

But Kieran? He was faster. So he all but cut her off, taking the remainder of the room in a few long strides, sucking in a breath when her eyes widened at his fast approach.

Perfect. She was perfect. And she
smelled
perfect when he stepped right in front of her, sliding his hand around her waist. Even though she was tall, he dipped his head so that his mouth was right next to her ear.

He could have licked her, he was so close. He didn't, but he could have. Instead, he did the selfish asshole thing and snuck a quick peck onto her cheek.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, just play along. I'll explain after the class."

Pulling in one deep lungful of her clean scent, Kieran pulled back just far enough to meet her eyes.

Please
, he mouthed. The resigned breath that left her completely perfect mouth practically made him slump in relief. And from behind him, he could almost feel the vibrating happiness of his mom, dying to meet
her.

Dying
. Bad train of thought. It was enough to snap him back from how closely he was still standing to the yet unnamed creature of perfection.

"Kieran, is this? Is this her?" Her voice wobbled. It
wobbled.
And her eyes actually got all teary and shit, one hand reaching up like she just wanted to touch...her.

And those light blue eyes flicked back to him, just for a second, before she stepped forward.

"I'm Liz. Liz Peters. It's a...pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, trust me, the pleasure is entirely mine. I'm Maggie Carter, Kieran's meddling mother. It's so wonderful to meet you, Liz."

Liz smiled, just a tiny, nervous smile and held out her hand.

Liz. He inhaled it into his head, let it settle. What the ever-loving hell was wrong with him? It was three stupid letters. But those three letters slowed his heart rate and pushed blood back into his limbs. The panic receded, and he shifted closer to Liz.

But instead of taking the slim hand that Liz had stretched out, his mom wrapped Liz in her bony arms. And he had to look away at the way that his mom's eyes closed. In relief.

She looked so relieved that it was enough to shove the guilt back up this throat. The two women separated, and there was a moment of thick, awkward silence.

"Umm," Kieran started.

"So," Liz said at the same time.

And all three of them laughed.

"I'll go sit down, let you two talk," his mom said, waving a hand. And off she went.

Liz stared at him, her eyes asking about a million and one questions were not appropriate to answer just then. Kieran scratched the back of his neck, momentarily distracted when a group of middle-aged women came into the room, disrupting the long stretch of silence that he wasn't sure how to fill.

"Kieran," Liz said, not really addressing him, just testing his name out. "That's your name?"

He nodded, looking back over his shoulder to make sure his mom was far enough away to not be able to hear them. The table she'd sat at was about six feet away, so she probably couldn't, but she was definitely staring with unconcealed fascination. He rolled his eyes when she winked, and then turned back to Liz.

It was disconcerting, how seriously she was studying him.

"And you're Liz."

"I believe that's already been established."

He chuckled under his breath at the tight edge of annoyance coloring her voice. "Do you work here? At the library?"

"I'm certainly not qualified to hold a class on quilting, but I suppose you wouldn't know that about me." He wanted to know
everything
about her. "But yes, I do work here."

"Will you be here after the class? So I can explain?"

The way she nodded was quick and jerky, and it made him want to smooth a hand down her arm because of how nervous she suddenly seemed. Smoothing a hand down the front of her sky blue dress, Liz let out a slow breath.

"The library closes at eight tonight, I'll be here until then."

"All right, I'll come back after I bring her home. Should I come back inside when I do?"

"No," she replied quickly. "Just...I'll meet you out in the parking lot. It shouldn't take long, right?"

Only forever. "Nope. Not too long at all."

With another nod, she walked past him, and stopped right where his mom sat. "It was wonderful to meet you, Maggie. I hope you enjoy the class."

His mom pushed up from her chair with a slight grimace, and Liz leaned down to help her stand, then accepted another hug. She helped his mom stand up. And hugged her again. Kieran wiped a hand across his mouth, struggling to tamp down the flood of guilt and self-loathing at lying to her.

"Make sure Kieran brings you around, okay?" his mom called out when Liz started walking away. She turned, giving Kieran a shuttered look, and then smiled at his mom. No response. Just a smile. She hadn't lied. That was just him.

And now he had to figure out the frick he was going to do about it.

S
he couldn't breathe
. Oh, maybe she was dying. Maybe this is what a panic attack felt like. Taking quick steps to get behind the reference desk in the middle of the main library space, Liz concentrated on pulling in even breaths.

Why was he
here
? And
why
had she done what he'd asked?

She knew why. It was his face. It wasn't the same face he'd worn at the grocery store, the slightly arrogant, skate-by-on-his-charms face. No, this face was intense and earnest and a little scared. His mother was clearly sick, it was obvious in the slightly grayish tinge to her skin and the frailty of her body, loose, wrinkled skin looking like it was two sizes too big for her frame. Her eyes were clear, but everything else looked tired.

Slumping into the chair, she let it swivel around so that she was facing the back wall of the library. Each book case perpendicular to each other, stretching up until there was only a few feet of space between the top of the dark wood and the ceiling. The windows, long and rectangular, framed the end of each row, and she could see into the park that occupied acres and acres of land behind the building that had been her work home for six years.

Ninety minutes. That's all she had to get through until she could talk to him.

Wait, was that a good thing? Maybe she should be dreading it. Maybe he was a serial killer.

She shook that thought right out of her head. It was ridiculous, to judge him because he had tattoos and dressed like a bum to the grocery store, conning unsuspecting women out of their ice cream.

"Excuse me, could you help me find this book?"

Liz pushed her chair around and smiled at the awkward teenage boy shuffling at the front of her desk. She motioned for the slip of paper he was holding, and then moved to stand.

"Right over here, follow me."

And she dug in, keeping her mind and her hands busy, trying so valiantly to not watch the ticking black hands on the wall clock. They got louder and louder though, as the small hand inched towards the eight. She shelved books from the return bin, she cleaned up the children's area, she
may
have hidden in one of the computer areas when the quilting class was let out, so that Maggie didn't come to ask her life story or anything.

When the building was emptied out, she and Ramona, one of her part time workers, made sure everything was picked up and ready for the next day. Ramona waved over her shoulder as Liz locked up the doors, and pulled the belt on her coat tighter than necessary.

He was out there. She knew it. Looking at her reflection in the glass door, turning copper-colored because of the setting sun behind her, she saw so much in her own face. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were pinky-peach with nerves. She wanted to bolt, that was for sure.

But she didn't. She sucked in a long, fortifying breath, and turned around.

And he wasn't there.

She laughed at how silly she was being. He was just a guy, trying to explain why she'd gotten roped into every romantic trope she'd ever read.

Please, lie to my sweet, sick mother and pretend to be my wife.

Please, you just need to get my parents to think we're madly in love, and then we can go our separate ways.

Walking over to the wrought iron bench that was bolted to the concrete along the brick wall of the library, Liz smiled, conjuring all sorts of ideas as to what he might say. It certainly had the makings of exactly the kind of story she loved to read. Her fingers itched, actually itched, to sit down and read some scenes where a dark, tortured man requires the assistance of the quiet girl next door that he'd never paid attention to before.

The roar of an engine snapped her from her thoughts, and she watched a sleek, dark muscle car pull into the parking lot. He maneuvered the car into a spot just down from where she sat on the bench, and through the windshield, they stared at each other.

It was utter insanity, how her heart stuttered and then galloped, just from the way they locked eyes. She watched him take a deep breath before he opened the driver's side door.

Should she stand? Stay on the bench? She'd stay, her traitorous legs decided it by choosing not to work. The pace at which her heart was pumping blood made her feel a bit light-headed. Surely, he must be able to hear it. How could he not? It thumped in her ears like it was on surrounded sound, like she'd been plugged into a speaker system.

From earlier, he'd added a black leather jacket over his white shirt. He shoved his car keys into one of the pockets, and held her gaze while he walked around the long hood of his car. Liz knew it was impossible for someone to have black eyes, but his were so dark in his face, that he might be the first.

"
Sorry I'm late." He offered no excuse, and she liked that. People were always full of reasons why they ran behind. Most were merely fluff. Something they could have easily remembered to do earlier, but they didn't. Or being on time truly wasn't important for them. But instead of telling him that, she only nodded and then gestured to the empty side of the bench. He waved her off, pacing in front of her a couple times, just a few strides of his long, jean-clad legs. "So, you're probably wondering what that was about. Earlier, I mean, with my mom."

Liz didn't answer, because they both knew that was a rhetorical question.
Of course
she wanted to know. Kind of like she wanted her next meal. Or like she'd kill for a reenactment of Matthew McFayden walking through the mist towards Keira Knightley at the end of Pride and Prejudice.

"You do, don't you?" he asked, having stopped in front her, chiseled face looking uncertain for the first time, well, for the time since she'd seen him.

"I assumed you'd take my silence for tacit agreement, which is how I intended it."

The smile that spread across his face felt like a punch to her heart.

Oh, she was in trouble.