Unsung (4 page)

Now, he had two albums under his belt and a decent following. But he wasn't big enough to headline his own tour yet, or to be recognized by everyone he ever met. People knew his songs and connected his name to them because of the radio. His name was way more recognizable than his face.

He'd conveniently kept his last name to himself. But that was Harper's rule, right?
Nothing personal.

Bunch of bullshit if you asked him. Everything about their night had been personal.

Never in his life had he seen a woman that made everyone else disappear, and he did mean
everyone
. As far as he was concerned they'd been the only two people in that bar the night before…well, them and the bartender who got them drinks. But that had been more like a floating hand that appeared when they wanted another one.

All he'd been focused on getting from the second he'd seen her was her undivided attention. Once he'd gotten it, he hadn't let it go. He hadn't been wrong about her, either. There was something to be said about a woman who listed
The Godfather
and
Wedding Crashers
in her top five movies, and whose favorite fictional character was Indiana Jones.

“It's the hat that does it for you, isn't it?” he'd asked her after their fourth shot.

“Nope, totally the whip,” she'd said without missing a beat.

Then there was her laugh, loud and full bodied and so damn genuine. He'd gone back and forth all night on where to focus his attention. There was a case to be made about her mouth. She had full, pouty lips that she'd painted a soft pink, and whenever she'd smile it would light up her entire face.

But then there were her eyes. Eyes so blue they were violet. He'd never seen anything like them before. Never seen anyone like
her
before. He'd been entranced by her. Yes,
entranced
. And that had all been before he'd even kissed her, let alone taken her to bed, because really the second he'd gotten inside her he'd been done for.

It had really bothered him when she kept referring to herself as a “one-night stand,” because if he had anything to say about it they would be spending more than just one night together. He was determined to break down whatever wall she'd built that morning.

His first plan of attack was breakfast.

He knew the way to a woman's heart was
not
through her stomach. But it gave him an opportunity to spend more time with her, and really it wasn't a bad idea because he wasn't a shabby cook if he did say so himself, and he did.

He moved around the kitchen sipping on his coffee between cooking the bacon, cutting and frying up some green tomatoes, and mixing his hollandaise sauce. He was making his modified version of Eggs Blackstone—the added ingredient being asparagus and a few key spices to the sauce—a personal specialty of his own that he'd perfected over the years.

He hadn't been lying when he said he'd never made this for a woman he'd brought home, and that was because he never brought women home with him. Though he didn't have much of a
home
to speak of lately.

The cabin belonged to his brother, pro-hockey star Logan James. After two years on the road, Liam discovered that his apartment was empty more than not, so he hadn't renewed his lease. For the last year or so he'd just stayed at the cabin when he was in Nashville. When he had breaks that were long enough, he'd head down to Florida—both Logan and their sister Adele had houses down there—or go visit his parents wherever they were.

His family was from Nashville, but when his mom and dad retired they sold their house and bought an RV. They'd been traveling all over the U.S. and parts of Canada for the last few years and loving every second of it. Liam wasn't the only nomad in the family these days.

The bacon popped in the frying pan and he took another sip of coffee as he flipped it.

“I don't think I've ever met a man who can poach an egg,” Harper said from behind him.

He turned and stepped away from the stove as he leaned back against the counter. She was sitting at the breakfast bar, her hair now brushed and pulled up into a messy bun thing on the top of her head. She'd taken a few minutes to straighten her bedhead out and put on her bra, while he'd pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He was just glad she hadn't tried to make another run for it.

Now she was nursing her own cup of coffee as she watched him cook.

“I have many skills as you learned last night.”

“Well, aren't you cocky this morning?”

“Honey, I'm cocky every morning.” He waggled his eyebrows and she shook her head at him, fighting a smile.

“You're shameless.”

“That I am. Do you want some more coffee?” He nodded to her mug.

“Please.”

He pushed off of the counter and went over to the coffeemaker, grabbing the pot and filling his cup as he crossed the kitchen to the bar. He reached across and tipped the pot, brown liquid filling her mug. He'd watched her fix her first cup so he knew how much room she would need for creamer, which was about double the amount that he put in his.

He left his mug on the counter as he crossed back across the kitchen to put the pot back on the coffeemaker. Then he stopped by the fridge to grab the creamer, closing the door with his hip before he walked over to her.

“So,” he started to say as he poured the creamer into her coffee, “how much longer are you going to be in the city?” He'd been hard pressed to get certain facts out of her the night before. She'd pretty much stuck to her word on not telling him things that were too personal. But he had managed to get a few things out. Like that she wasn't from Nashville.

She was in town visiting her aunt and he wanted to know how much time he was going to have before she left. How much time he had to win her over. How much time he had to break down all of her walls. He was by no means done spending time with this woman.

She looked up at him as she stirred her coffee, a great debate going on behind her eyes like she was deciding on whether to answer or not. “I leave on Monday,” she finally answered.

It was Saturday, so he had two days. He could work with two days.

He didn't have any other choice.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Her hand stilled, the spoon no longer going around her cup in circles. “I don't know.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself there, Sparky? We haven't even had breakfast yet and you already want to make plans for dinner?”

“Sparky?”

“You heard me,” she said as she brought her mug of coffee to her mouth and took a sip.

“Yeah I did, and I find it interesting that you're calling me Sparky when you were the one trying to run out of here this morning like your pants were on fire.”

“Yeah, that is interesting, isn't it?”

“Why were you running?”

Something flickered in her eyes…something that if he didn't know any better he would guess was a flash of pain. But it was gone just as soon as it had appeared and she covered up her moment of weakness with a coy smile.

“That's crossing over into the too personal territory.” She shook her head.

“Honey, I had my mouth between your thighs last night. I think we're
way
past too personal.”

“Is that a fact?” she asked, raising her left eyebrow.

He hadn't really met that many women who could do the one eyebrow lift thing, and every time she did it he found her infinitely sexier.

Something he didn't even know was possible.

Apparently it was.

“Yeah, it is.” He put both of his palms on the counter and leaned forward, getting dangerously close to her mouth. Dangerously because the closer he got to her the more he wanted to forget about what he was cooking and just have her for breakfast.

She leaned forward, too, those lips of hers mere inches away. “I'm still not telling you,” she whispered.

God, he could do this with her all day and not get bored.

“Do
you
enjoy being this difficult?” he asked as he reached up and found a stray strand of hair that was too short to be pulled back into her bun. He curled it around his finger and tugged until her mouth was on his.

“Definitely,” she said against his lips. He kissed her for the second time that morning—not nearly enough by his standards—tasting the coffee on her tongue.

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, letting the curl of her hair unravel from his finger. He moved his hand to her jaw, running his thumb across her cheek. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“Why don't we see how breakfast goes first?”

“You lacking confidence in my cooking abilities?”

“Not as of yet, but if you keep standing over here your bacon might burn.”

“Don't you worry about my bacon. It's perfectly fine,” he said as he went in for another kiss. He might as well make the most of the moment and her readily accessible mouth. Which really wasn't a shabby moment to be in at all.

Okay, so breakfast turned out to be something that bordered on legendary. Liam could cook
cook.
If he was able to whip that dish up without all that much preparation, Harper could only imagine what he would be capable of when it came to dinner.

Not that she'd agreed to have dinner with him as of yet. She was still deciding, had been all through their meal, and was still trying to figure it out as he drove her back to the Second Hand Guitar.

But she was filled with conflicting emotions.

Her brain kept screaming “run away.”

Her heart was staying silent, except for the fact that it started to pound harder when it came to anything that involved Liam.

And then there were her lady bits, as unreliable and unhelpful as ever. They were all for more time spent with Liam.

It was hard for her to resort back to her original plan of escape when he kept kissing her. The things he was capable of with his mouth just added to his fine string of talents. It was no wonder she couldn't think straight. What she needed was a little space.

Yes, space.

Good thing they were now sitting in the close-confined cab of Liam's truck. A beautiful blue and white 1971 Chevy.

“So where did you find a C-ten in impeccable condition?” she asked as she ran her hand over the tan vinyl seats.

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised high above his aviator sunglasses.

“What? I'm just as capable of appreciating a good car as the next person.”

“Apparently. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?” He grinned at her before he turned back to the road.

“I thought you figured that out by now.”

“Oh, I think it would take me a lot longer than this to figure you out, honey.”

God. The way he said honey was sinful. How could a word be sinful? It was his voice, all deep and rich. Not too twangy, not too southern, but just right.

Oh great, apparently she was Goldilocks when it came to the timbre of a man's voice. Or maybe it was just this man's voice. It did funny things to her senses.

“You keep calling me that,” she said before she could stop herself.

“What?”

“Honey.”

“It's appropriate, isn't it? As you smell like it…and taste like it
everywhere
.”

Oh, look at that, she was thinking about last night's activities again and imagining a repeat performance. “So, what about this truck?” she asked, unable to hide the small quaver in her voice.

“The truck belonged to my grandfather Freddy,” Liam answered, apparently taking pity on her and letting her change the subject. “He's the reason it's in the shape it's in, the reason it still runs like a dream. He taught me how to drive in this bad boy. He passed away when I was seventeen and left it to me.”

“Well, you've done a good job with it.”

“Thanks.” He turned to her again and flashed her another smile before his eyes were back on the road as he made a right and pulled into the parking lot of the bar. “Which one is yours?” There were a handful of cars still parked in scattered spots.

“That one.” She pointed to the bright red FJ Cruiser.

“Well, aren't you fancy?”

“Only on the weekends.” Actually the Cruiser had been a
massive
splurge for her. Her Explorer had crapped out a few years ago and she'd needed another SUV with decent space in the back.

Harper was a licensed massage therapist and split her time between LaBella—a high-end resort on Mirabelle beach—and Rejuvenate—a spa in the downtown area. She also did a few side jobs where she had to transport her own massage table. Then there were her homemade lotions and massage oils that she delivered to her local buyers.

So it had been all about the utility. Though she wasn't going to lie, she sure did love the fact that it didn't break down every other month and leave her stranded all over the county. Plus, she loved driving it. Which was why she'd decided to make this trek to Nashville a nine-hour road trip as opposed to flying.

Liam parked in front of it, putting his truck in gear before he turned fully to her, resting one of his arms on the back of the bench seat.

“So what's it going to be, Harper? Do I get to see you again?” he asked as he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head.

Well, wasn't that the question of the morning? Harper had gotten another apologetic text from her aunt that morning. Celeste's patient—both momma and baby—from the night before were having complications from the surgery. She was going to be on call for the next twenty-four hours.

So Harper could spend the evening that would've been her wedding drinking alone and wallowing…or with Liam who made her forget things.

Decisions, decisions
.

“What time?”

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and his mouth split into the biggest grin she'd seen on his face since she'd met him.