Liam's Perfect Woman. Beth Kery

tendency to hide in the shadows made perfect sense. He didn’t want to believe it, for some reason, didn’t want to even consider what his sister had just said.

      His mother had sequestered Liam and Colleen—her two youngest children—in Chicago after the crash, where the media clamor had been muted. He recalled few details from that gray, grief-filled time. They’d stayed in Chicago until Brigit had lost their family home in the lawsuit, and they’d relocated permanently to the vacation home in Harbor Town. By that time, the sensationalized reports in the news had tapered off, even if the memories and sometimes harsh judgments of the townspeople hadn’t.

      “Liam?” Colleen prompted when he didn’t speak.

      “I never saw any scars,” Liam replied hoarsely.

      Colleen shook her head so that a portion of her long, thick hair fell from the twist on her head and coiled down her shoulder. “I’m not really sure what Natalie’s intentions were, but I do know it’s not uncommon for a trauma survivor to feel a need to make sense of what happened to them. Natalie Reyes was the only one who lived through that accident, after all,” Colleen said.

      She sighed and kicked on the floor of the porch, sending the swing into squeaky motion. “If she struck you as cold, I’d imagine she comes by her aloofness honestly.”

      The muscles in Natalie’s left eye began to twitch under the constant strain. She placed her hand over the scarred portion of the eyelid and pressed gently, trying to alleviate the familiar discomfort. Shutting the folder on the monthly financial reports for the Silver Dunes Country Club, she glanced at the clock. It was going on nine. She wasn’t tired, but her damn eye was, and that meant her work day was over whether she liked it or not.

      A sigh of relief leaked between her lips when she flipped her desk lamp to the dimmest setting.

      She started at the sudden sound of a knock on the door, her hand falling to the desk. When the loud rapping resumed after a pause, she stood.

      Who in the world was knocking? It was about the time Erma often began her night cleaning, but Erma had her own keys. Perhaps she’d forgotten them?

      She hurried through the dark, silent waiting room, seeing a tall figure through the frosted glass of the front door. The outline was definitely not that of her short, stout cleaning lady. She hesitated before she flipped the lock.

      “Who is it?”

      “Liam Kavanaugh.”

      Her hand moved clumsily as she fumbled with the lock. Why had he come back? Over the past forty-eight hours, she’d come to terms with the fact that she’d handled their meeting the other night all wrong. Natalie was only used to dealing with people in the cut-and-dried language of business and numbers. She didn’t have much of a social life. Of course she had a few friends, like Mari Kavanaugh, and she and her brother, Eric, were very close.

      But she wasn’t “good” with people. And she had little experience in dealing with a man like Liam Kavanaugh.

      Strike that. She had no experience in dealing with a man like Liam.

      “Hello,” she said breathlessly after she’d swung open the door. A distant streetlight allowed her to see him. He stood on the sidewalk wearing a dark blue T-shirt and pair of faded, worn jeans that looked as if they’d been tailor-made for his body. All the Kavanaugh children had been natural athletes, Natalie recalled. Something about Liam’s balanced stance and long, lean frame reminded her of that.

      Twilight made it difficult for her to read his expression, but she saw the gleam of his eyes beneath his lowered brow.

      “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked.

      She nodded. Even if he’d come here to castigate her more for her request, he was here. She’d have the opportunity to explain herself better. Despite her desire to do just that, nervousness bound her throat as she led him to her office. She immediately darted behind the safe fortress of her desk but looked up in surprise when Liam blocked her by standing in her path. He stood closer than she’d expected.

      She flinched and began to step away, but he stopped her by encircling her wrist in his hand. He’d lowered his head. Her upturned face was less than a foot away from his. She stared at his cotton-covered chest, not really seeing anything. Instead, panic started to rise in her as she inhaled his clean, male scent.

      “You never really answered me the other day—about what you hoped to discover with an investigation of a crash that happened sixteen years ago,” he said quietly.

      “You never really gave me the chance.”

      She shut her eyes briefly in regret. She could tell by the increased tension in his gripping hand that he’d been offended by her quick, sharp response.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so defensive,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She went back to studying his chest, trying to gather herself. “Maybe…maybe it’s difficult for you to understand my reasons.”

      “Try me.”

      Why did he persist in holding her? His touch unnerved her, as did his nearness, and this confession was difficult enough as things stood.

      “I think a lot about what was going through your father’s mind on that night of the crash. You might think that my…obsession about it would have eased over the years, but it hasn’t. It weighs on me.” She lowered her head, blocking herself even more from Liam’s laserlike stare. “Maybe you’ll think it’s foolish, but it’s like an unhealed wound. It bothers me, not knowing what motivated him on that night. What made a father of four children, a successful lawyer and businessman, get behind the wheel of his car with the equivalent of twenty drinks in him? I wasn’t trying to insinuate he purposely caused the crash the other night,” she assured in a pressured fashion. “But there had to be some reason he was in the state he was. If I knew…if I could at least understand, maybe I could finally let it go.”

      “Knowing wouldn’t change anything, Natalie.”

      She blinked. His tone had sounded warm…concerned, even? She forced herself to remain still, her head bowed, even though she longed to look up at him in that moment and try to discern if his expression matched his voice.

      “Maybe you’re right. But I need to try. I’ve talked it over with Mari. She said she’s read that it’s not uncommon for survivors of trauma to need to know all the details that led up to the event. It’s necessary for the grieving process…to make sense of things.”

      “My sister Colleen said something similar. Does that mean you’re still grieving?”

      This time she did look up—slowly. Standing as close as they were, she could make out his features despite the shadows. His expression was currently completely sober, as if his features had been carved from rock. The veins in her wrist seemed to swell and throb beneath his fingers.

      “I’m done grieving. But it’s as if a few crucial pieces are missing from my life. I can’t seem to stop thinking about filling in those gaps.”

      “Why me, then?” he asked after a moment.

      “Mari has spoken so highly of you,” she whispered through leaden lips.

      “And?” he prodded.

      “I thought…I thought perhaps you might share some of my desire. To know the truth,” she added quickly.

      His mouth quirked sardonically. “And of course it wouldn’t hurt that as a Kavanaugh, I might have some inside information.”

      Her spine stiffened. What he’d said had pricked her. Her curiosity about Derry Kavanaugh was so great that it had appealed to her, this idea of having access to someone who knew so much about him.

      “I’d considered it,” she said honestly, “but not in the unflattering light you seem to be imagining. Think whatever you want. You will anyway.”

      For a few tense seconds