Page 4 of Liam

But I am still going to show him my favorite room and then I’m going to leave him alone.

Probably.

Maybe.

Unless he needs anything else, of course.

3

LIAM

It’s been a little over twenty-four hours since we’ve arrived at the Dodd estate and I have to admit I’m enjoying myself a hell of a lot more than I anticipated.

Not only have we been able to take care of some pressing business, but the place is so secluded and peaceful that it really is starting to feel like a home away from home. Rachel, her parents, and the rest of the small staff have gone out of their way to make us feel welcome and have anticipated everything we might want or need so far.

The only thing that could possibly make it better would be if I could find a way to spend some more time with Rachel. I’ve barely even caught a glimpse of her since she showed me to my room yesterday afternoon, and I’m ashamed to admit I might be going through withdrawals. Just the thought of seeing her beautiful, smiling face again has me ready to leave my room and think of an excuse to find her.

But we’ve already been served dinner and I’m sure she’s probably finished working for the day. And while I’d like nothing more than to spend some non-working time relaxing with the girl of my dreams, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by asking. Not until I’ve been here another day or two, at least.

I sigh and stand up from the sofa in my room, then shove my hand back through my hair as I pace around the small suite. The room I’m in is definitely less spacious than some of the others, but I love the fact that it’s Rachel’s favorite.

It’s easy to see why, with its big bay window and cozy seating area next to the wood-burning fireplace. There’s a four poster, king-size bed that’s fit for a king and a jacuzzi tub in the en suite, and the whole place is decorated in the same bold burgundy and gold color scheme that I first noticed on the outside of the house.

Still, as comfortable as this room is, I’d trade it all for an hour or two with Rachel—even if it just meant sitting together and talking, getting to know each other a little better.

I stop pacing and eye the door, debating again, for at least the tenth time, whether I should go out and wander around until I find her. Not the worst idea I’ve ever had, but probably not the best, either.

What I need to do is relax, soak in that jacuzzi tub, do some reading or maybe even watch one of those inane American reality shows, then go to bed. That’s the only smart, sensible, responsible thing to do. And since I have a whole lifetime of practice doing the smart, sensible, responsible thing, it shouldn’t be a problem tonight.

Before I can change my mind or distract myself by thinking of Rachel again, I head straight for the bathroom, unbuttoning my shirt as I walk. I grab a towel from the linen closet and reach to hang it on the rack next to the jacuzzi, then freeze when the rack breaks off in my hand.

“Shit,” I wince, staring at the brass fixture in my hand. One of the screws looks to be completely stripped—not a big deal, of course, but not something I can fix myself without a replacement screw and a screwdriver.

I set the towel rack aside and lean against the counter with my shirt still half-unbuttoned. Tempted as I am to leave it until I can report it to someone downstairs in the morning, I also can’t help but think this might be the excuse I was looking for. This could be my one and only opportunity to talk to Rachel tonight.

But no.

I’ve already decided against that. Besides, if I am going to talk to her tonight, it won’t be on a maintenance call. No, I’ll just call the front desk and ask whoever is working if I can borrow a screwdriver. I’ll fix the towel rack myself and come up with a legitimate reason, agoodreason to talk to Rachel tomorrow.

With my mind made up, I walk over to the phone by the bed and call down to the front desk.

“Good evening, Lord Roch—Liam,” a sweet, cheerful, way-too-familiar voice answers. “Sorry. I only had a couple of days to get used to having a guest with a title, and now it’s taken me almost that long to stop using it. What can I do for you?”

Oh, so many things.

I can’t say that, though. In fact, I’m so surprised to hear her voice that I can’t seem to say anything at all for a few long, silent seconds.

After all my debating and second-guessing whether I should or shouldn’t try talking to her, the universe has apparently decided for me.

“I, ah,” I pause to clear my throat. Am I going to lie? Come up with some other excuse for calling the front desk? “I didn’t realize you’d be working so late. I don’t mean to be a bother, but I’ve unfortunately broken the towel rack. If I could just borrow a screwdriver for a few minutes, I could—”

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she interrupts. “I meant to replace that rack before you came, but I… I’m sorry. I’ll be right up.”

“No need to apologize,” I begin, but quickly realize she isn’t on the line anymore.

Hanging up the phone, I sit down on the bed with a sigh. I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, but there’s no use beating myself up about it now. And even though the circumstances might be less than ideal, it’s hard to be upset about the prospect of seeing Rachel again.

Who would have thought that breaking a towel rack would lead to the highlight of my evening?

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