Your photography is a record of your living, for anyone who really sees.
Paul Strand
DOLLEY TUGGED HER coat tighter. “I thought the forecast called for warmer weather?”
“Warm on January 10 is still frigid.” Bess rubbed Dolley’s shoulder as they headed to Carleton House for a final walk-through.
Dolley chewed her lip. Tonight, she would ask her sisters about moving into the Fitzgerald carriage house. She’d chickened out last night when they’d all been together.
“How’s the attic research going?” Abby asked.
“Good. Great.” Dolley’s hand tapped a staccato beat on her jeans. “We work a couple of hours most nights. We’re getting things organized into decades first.”
“I thought you were his photography apprentice?” Bess asked.
“I am, but I’m also his research assistant.” She stuck her hand in her pocket. “He rented time in SCAD’s developing rooms. Tonight, I’ll be a photographer. I haven’t done darkroom work since college.”
“It’s probably like riding a bike.” Bess swiped a card against the reader and opened the kitchen door. “I can’t wait for y’all to see how Carleton house looks.”
At night, no workers pounded or painted. The silence was—weird. “I should run back and get my camera. I need to update the blog.”
“No.” Bess grabbed her arm. “There’s only a few things we need to finalize. You can come back later.”
The official Carleton House opening was three weeks away. The cleaning crew had worked for the last week chasing construction dust.
As they headed to the front of the house, Dolley knelt and ran a hand against the heart of the pine floors. “I haven’t seen the floors since they pulled up the protective paper. They’re beautiful.”
Bess nodded but shooed them upstairs.
Everything gleamed.
Bess led them into one of the bedrooms.
“Oh, my.” Dolley swallowed. The room was pink. Hot pink. “Is this the color we picked?”
Abby shook her head. “No way.”
“Bad, isn’t it?” Bess asked.
“It’s awful.” Dolley shook her head so hard her curls whipped her eyes.
“Unless we want a Pepto-Bismol room.” Abby grimaced. “Should we advertise it?”
“I have got to capture this.” Dolley pulled out her phone and took pictures. It was so pink, her stomach twisted.
“We can call it the Pretty, Pretty Princess room.” Bess touched the wall.
“And fill it with toys.” Dolley grinned. “Maybe a play castle.”
“It reminds me of Dr. Seuss,” Abby said. “I’m afraid the Whos will come running out.”
They laughed. Dolley snapped a picture of Abby and Bess bent over, the hideous wall behind them. These pictures were definitely going on the website.
“We could advertise this as the most atrocious room in the inn,” Dolley said.
“Guaranteed to keep our guests awake,” Abby added.
“Or give them nightmares,” Dolley said.
“Daniel already knows this is wrong.” Bess waved them into the hallway. “Come check the others.”
“Did you tell him in bed?” Abby elbowed her.
“Maybe.” Bess winked.
Her sisters shared a knowing look. What was next, a secret handshake for engaged women?
Dolley hung back as her sisters walked down the hall. She sighed, but it didn’t release the ache in her chest. Being odd woman out of the Fitzgerald sisters sucked.
They double-checked the paint colors in the other rooms.
“The rest are fine,” Dolley said. “When do we move in furniture?”
Bess checked her phone. “The twentieth.”
“We have guests booked through end of March,” Dolley said.
“It helps to have Liam and his crew here.” Abby looked out the French doors to the balcony. “The wrought iron looks like it has been here forever.”
When Liam’s crew arrived, he would move out of the main house. Maybe then she wouldn’t wander through Fitzgerald hoping to run into him.
She kept waiting for him to kiss her again.
Abby looked at her and frowned. “You’re flushed. Are you getting sick?”
“No.” She redirected her sisters’ attention from her to the room. “We haven’t bought tables for the balconies.”
“If we move chairs up from the courtyard, we can wait a month or two,” Bess suggested.
Abby nodded.
Dolley and Abby added to Bess’s punch list, but Carleton House looked ready to take on guests.
They were pulling on their coats before Dolley got the courage to say, “My lease is up the middle of next month.”
“They aren’t turning your place into condos, are they?” Bess asked.
“No.” She buttoned her jacket, not wanting to look in her sisters’ eyes. It was embarrassing to ask to move home when she’d been on her own for years. “Since I’m only bidding projects for Jackson, what Liam’s paying me just isn’t enough to cover the gap. I’m wondering...can I crash in the carriage house for a few months?” The words rushed out. “It would just be while I’m working with Liam. Maybe for February and March. And April, too.”
Abby and Bess stepped in front of her. She looked into their faces, fearing she’d see disappointment.
“Of course you’ll use the carriage house.” Abby grabbed her hand. “I love the idea.”
“The apartment’s clean.” Bess nodded. “And Daniel and I will help you move.”
“Can you be packed by move-in day, the twentieth?” Abby asked.
“I figured I’d move next month.” Dolley shoved back a curl.
“We’ve got the opening, my wedding and then St Patrick’s Day.” Abby took in a deep breath. “It would be better to move everything on the same day.”
“I guess.” Dolley rubbed her forehead. She might not sleep between then and now, but she could make it happen.
Abby wrapped an arm around her. “It’s perfect timing. With you living in the carriage house, you’ll be right next to all the action. I can work you like a dog.”
“There’s something to look forward to.” But now that she’d asked, she liked the idea of being back at Fitzgerald House. “I’ll start packing.”
* * *
A KNOCK ECHOED through the darkroom. Liam hung the last picture before opening the door. “Hallo.”
“Hi.” Dolley peered in. “I’m not ruining anything by letting light in, am I?”
“No.” He held the door open, forcing her to brush next to him. Her warm scent tickled his nose.
Working in the darkroom would accomplish two things, developing Dolley’s skills and putting her in close proximity.
But being in a small space with her might be frustrating—at least for him. Less than a week into his campaign to have her kiss him and his frustration level was spiking out of control.
She took a deep breath but wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t been here in...years.”
“Don’t like the smell?” For him, it was like coming home.
“It reminds me of metal cleaner.” Dolley shed her coat, hanging it on top of his. She walked over to the drying pictures. “What are you working on?”
“Bonaventure shots.”
She moved around the ones he’d already developed. “I don’t remember taking you to this statue.”
“I’ve returned a couple of times.” Every few days, the cemetery drew him back.
“What would you like me to do?” she asked.
“Would you take a test strip of the picture in the enlarger?”
“Sure, but it’s been a while.” She looked over the setup. “Is this the filter you want me to use?”
“Yes.” He set a timer and stepped back to watch her. “Let’s try five second increments.”
Her actions were precise as she waited for the bing of the timer. Then she moved the cardboard down so there were five different exposure times. “Done.”
“Go ahead and develop it.” He moved away from the water baths.
“This is the part I liked.” She slipped the blank paper into the developer bath. “What solution ratio are you using?”
They talked about the pros and cons of different chemicals.
“You did your homework before coming here,” he said.
“Of course.” Her smile flashed in the low red light. “I would hate to fail any pop quiz you throw at me.”
“Now I’m going to have to come up with one.” He peered over her shoulder as the picture began to form. “This is where the magic happens.”
“Oh, it’s Corrine.” She moved the picture to the next bath and then the next. “How many times have you been back to Bonaventure?”
“Four or five.” He was researching a project out there, but he would tell her about it later.
“I didn’t know.”
After running the picture through the final water bath, they stared at the finished product.
“Were you going for regret?” she asked.
“You nailed it.” They were so in sync, why wouldn’t Dolley want to take their...connection to the next level?
“What’s your recommendation?” He knew the exposure he wanted to try.
She leaned over the counter. “You want the most contrast, right?”
“Yes.” He set his hand on the counter, not hemming her in, but invading her space a little.
Tapping the picture, she sidestepped away from him. “Somewhere between fifteen and twenty seconds.”
“Why?”
“At fifteen seconds, we’re able to see the details of her face—see the shadow here?” She pointed to an area behind the statue. “But at twenty seconds, we lose those shadows.”
“Good. We need to burn in this area.” This time he got close because he needed to demonstrate where the burn should occur.
“I was never good at dodging and burning.” She looked over her shoulder at him. Her lips almost brushed his chin.
They both froze. Her eyes dilated. Was that the lighting or desire?
Dolley’s breath whispered across his face. Just a few more centimeters to heaven.
He drank in her scent, her expressive face. Waiting. For Dolley.
“Liam?” Her voice broke the spell.
“Yes?”
She closed her eyes. Her shoulders hunched to her ears. “I...I can’t.”
“You can’t what?” He shook his head. Was she as out of balance as he was?
“Us.” She bit her lip.
“You could.” He shook his head. “You won’t.”
She nodded. “Won’t.”
“What are you afraid of?” he whispered. He longed to touch her soft cheek and run his fingers through her messy curls, but he didn’t.
“That we won’t work out.”
“How can we know if we don’t try?” His hands slapped against the counter.
She jerked. “You...you live in Ireland.”
“That’s just where I store my things.”
“What?” She scooted to the opposite side of the room.
“I love Savannah. I love your family.” The idea of moving to Savannah took hold and rooted inside him and bloomed. “Why don’t we see what happens?”
“I...but...” She shook her head. Her shoulders sagged. “Trust me. We wouldn’t work out.”
“Trust you?” He backed away, rejected again. “Grand.”
He turned to the enlarger, when he really wanted to shake her. “Let me walk you through this.”
Locked in a small room for two hours with Dolley hadn’t been his smartest idea. It was going to be a long, frustrating night.
* * *
LIAM FOCUSED THE camera on the letter in front of him. It was water-stained, and the handwriting was faded but legible. It was from Seamus, Michael’s son, and had been sent to James’s son, also named Michael. The American Michael was the first generation FitzGerald to be born on American soil. They’d still capitalized the G in the surname.
He’d hung the family tree Ian had given him in the attic. It was the only way he and Dolley kept track of the duplicate names. There were too many Seamuses and Michaels.
He started to run his hand through his hair but stopped. He wore gloves to protect the aging paper.
They’d made a dent in figuring out the correspondence dates. Hard, because water damage had destroyed the edges of the letters and blurred the writing.
“Find anything new?” Dolley’s question had him jerking straight up.
“I think it’s a letter to James’s son from a cousin in Ireland.” He held it up.
She leaned over his shoulder, her scent wrapping around him. He inhaled. His vow to keep his hands off her made him ache.
“The handwriting is lovely.” She tugged on gloves.
He handed the letter to her, relieved when she moved away.
She scanned the page. “Must be the start of the famine. He mentions that families and young people are starting to leave.”
He nodded. “I can’t make out the year, but I believe you’re right.”
She smiled at him. Then noticed the camera. “You took pictures?”
“I might use the letters in the film. It’s real people talking about the problems in Ireland.” He pointed to the pile of items he’d planned to capture.
“Do you want me to take the photos?” she asked.
“That would be helpful.”
They worked side by side. Other than his desire to wrap his arms around her and lay his lips on that pink mouth, they had a good rhythm.
Once she put the camera away, they sat. Dolley carefully worked two stuck pieces of paper apart. Her curls bobbed as she read the first one. She caught her lower lips between her teeth.
Was she a sadist? Didn’t she know he wanted to bite that lip?
Her concentration was a thing of beauty. It was why she was such a good photographer. She waited for the picture to unfold. It was something he hadn’t had to teach her. Something he constantly had to remind himself of.
She set the letter in the early 1900s pile.
He should stop watching her and get back to his own material.
She flipped to the signature page and then back to the first page. A smile erupted like fireworks. “I found one.”
She looked at him, and her eyes flashed a little greener. Her breasts rose a little faster with each breath.
“Found one what?” He couldn’t think beyond wanting her eyes to sparkle that bright for him.
“A letter written in 1831 from Patrick FitzGerald.” She held up the letter, and it trembled in her hand. “It’s what you’re looking for. He’s James’s father, right?”
He grinned, excitement bubbling inside. “Righto.”
“He’s my great-however many times grandfather?” She bounced in her chair.
“Five times.” He pointed at the tree.
“Hang on.” Dolley pushed out of her seat and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t I think of this before? Family Bible!”
She dashed out of the room.
He sighed. Dolley leaving the room was like the sun had set and taken all the energy with her. He picked up the letter.
Dearest son,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your letters telling of finding lodging and the design of Savannah were read and enjoyed by all. And the glad tidings that your ship and shipment of cotton and indigo arrived safely in London is good news indeed. The Captain stopped in Kilkee to drop letters and created a stir when his boat entered the harbor. It is...
A water stain blurred most words after that, but it gave him a chill. These words were written almost two hundred years ago.
“Here it is.” Dolley burst up the stairs, bringing back the sunshine.
She flipped to the page where a lengthy list of births and deaths had been recorded.
“Is this a FitzGerald Bible, or your father’s?” he asked.
“Fitzgerald. We don’t have much from the Oliver side.”
“Good.” He checked the first name in the Bible. “Although this looks like the Bible came from James and Michael’s mother’s side. She was an O’Donahue.”
She elbowed him. “And you call me a walking computer.”
“You are.” He pushed a curl away from her eye. “Was it unusual for your mother to keep the Fitzgerald name?”
“Yes, but I’m glad.” Her nose wrinkled. “The daughter keeps the Fitzgerald name until there is a son. Our papa wasn’t above using the Fitzgerald name to improve his stature.”
“So, Abby will keep her name?” Liam asked. “And all her children will be Fitzgeralds?”
“I never thought about that.” She grinned. “Wonder what Gray will think?”
“He’ll do anything Abby wants.”
She laughed. “I think you’re right.”
They filled in births and deaths on the family tree.
“It’s ridiculous doing this by hand.” Dolley shook her head. “We need a computer and a program.”
He tipped his head. “Can you say research assistant?”
“Can you say happy apprentice?” She tapped his lips. Her eyes went wide, and she snatched her hand away.
And he smiled. Slowly but surely, she was touching him more often. “I think that’s smile number three today.”
“You don’t need to count my smiles.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I’ve smiled more than that in the hour I’ve been up here with you.”
“Then I guess you’re not doing your job.” They were almost nose to nose. Her move.
Dolley’s tongue snuck between her teeth and touched her upper lip.
Her phone rang.
They jerked like children caught with their hands in the sweets bowl.
She fished her mobile out of her pocket. “Hey, Anne.”
He turned back to the paper, eavesdropping. He’d heard her talk to this Anne more than once.
“That sounds like fun. I’ll see you around eight.” She pushed the phone back into her jumper pocket. “Are you interested in another foray into the pub scene?”
She bit her lip again. Was it because she hadn’t meant to invite him, or because she wanted him to accept the invitation?
It didn’t matter. “Sure. Bring your camera and we’ll work on nighttime indoor pictures.”
And he would work on getting her to make the next move.
* * *
MAYBE DOLLEY SHOULD have taken this night to get some distance from Liam. But when Anne had called, they’d been having—fun. She glanced at him as they headed down the steep steps to River Street.
What if she took a risk and changed their relationship? Maybe Liam would be different. But how cliché was a mentor and apprentice dating? It sounded sordid and definitely not professional.
“Hang on.” Liam slipped his camera out of his bag.
She hung back, trying to figure out his picture’s focal point. The cobblestones were damp, and the dim streetlights gave her an impression of bleakness. A man moved ahead of them in the dark.
How could she frame a picture to show hope? She pulled out her own camera and zoomed in on the streetlight pushing back the gloom. The glow of the light was a beautiful warm orange.
They exchanged cameras. In Liam’s picture, the man was an eerie shadow in the dark street.
He stared at her pictures. “Do you find hope in everything?”
She didn’t answer. “Do you see only isolation and solitude?”
“Probably.” He chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. He didn’t seek joy. His dark outlook on life was a good reason not to change their relationship.
“What’s my smile goal tonight?” he asked.
She didn’t know how to help him change his attitude. “What do you think it should be?”
“Two.”
She snorted. “Ten.”
“Four?”
“Eight, and I’m not dropping lower.”
They stopped one more time to take pictures of the river and the boats docked upstream. “They’re not as dreary as your last pictures.” She handed his camera back.
“Maybe I need you to remind me every day to look for the joy in life.” His blue gaze caught hers and snatched her breath away.
She wasn’t capable of being his happiness monitor. She was learning from him. If she was good enough, maybe he could connect her to the right people to take her work to the next level.
But that sentiment felt—wrong. She’d come to value her time with Liam.
He held the door for her. “Okay. Eight smiles.”
“Don’t feel you have to be stingy.”
He grinned. “One.”
Groups gathered next to the bar. She searched for Anne. “Let’s see if she’s near the stage.”
Anne and a couple more work friends had commandeered a table near the windows, a little back from the stage. Empty glasses filled the table. Anne waved them over.
“I missssss you.” Anne gave her an enthusiastic, inebriated hug.
“Been here a while?” Dolley whispered.
Anne giggled. “Yeah.”
Hmm. Drunk Anne could be good or bad. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be crying in her beer by the end of the night.
She and Liam headed to the open chairs. Liam pulled hers out, so she could sit down. Had anyone ever held her chair before?
After making introductions, she and Liam ordered pints, and the rest of the table ordered another round.
“I love your accent,” Anne gushed. “Dolley told me how fabulous it was, but it’s nothing like hearing it in person.”
Dolley glanced at Liam.
He grinned, holding up two fingers.
She racked her memory. Hopefully, that was the only embarrassing thing she’d confessed to Anne.
There was a rustle of people, and the entertainment moved onto the small stage. One man held a small flute and another a mandolin. A woman carried a fiddle.
Liam’s eyes lit up. “Are they playing traditional music?”
“Of course.” Sliding her chair around, she faced the stage. She leaned closer to his ear. “The tourists eat it up.”
She stayed there too long, absorbing his warmth. When she slid back in her seat, Anne grinned at her. Dolley shook her head.
“Who’s driving you home?” Dolley whispered.
Anne pointed down the table.
Faith had a soft drink in front of her. She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’m designated driver.”
At least Dolley didn’t need to retrieve her car and cart Anne home.
The music started. A sad, lilting ballad.
Liam leaned forward, hands on his thighs, his focus on the stage. He could block out everything else. Was that why he was so good at what he did? Did she need to focus more? Take up meditation to calm the racket inside her head?
What if Liam focused on her? A thrill ran down her spine and curled into her center. Ever since their kiss, it was hard not to think of kissing him again. Of being free to touch him and run her fingers in the black silk of his hair.
There was another reason to stay away from him. If she was thinking about kissing him, she wasn’t concentrating on what he could teach her.
She sighed.
Liam turned and smiled. And held up three fingers. Almost halfway to the goal. Would they leave when he smiled eight times?
He held up his camera.
She was supposed to be working. See. Lack of focus.
She debated what to shoot. Lights shone from the floor up to the performers. Dust swirled in the beams.
She moved closer, holding up her camera to the woman with the fiddle. The fiddler nodded, her hands flying up and down the neck of her instrument. The bow wove a pattern in the air.
If she kept the shutter open, would she capture the energy of the song? She screwed the camera onto her tripod.
Concentrating only on the fiddler’s strong hands against the dark wood of the instrument, she blurred the background. If she captured that power, she would be happy.
Then she did the same with the other musicians. With the flute she wanted to evoke gentleness during a sad song. The mandolin, sweetness.
She pulled back the focus and framed the trio. They’d morphed into a rollicking reel. Their faces were dewed with sweat. Energy. She was still snapping pictures as they ended the set with a flourish.
She moved back to the table.
Liam held out his hand. “Let’s see.”
She chewed on her lip.
He scrolled through the photos, pausing on the close-ups. “I don’t know that I would have done the close-ups, but I love them.” His fourth grin of the night. “You’ve a talent, Miss Dolley Fitzgerald.”
Heat rushed through her body. “Thank you.”
He pulled release forms out of his bag. “Now for the not-so-fun stuff.”
He tugged her to the stage. A few customers were talking to the trio.
The fiddler approached them. “Hallo.”
“A countrywoman,” Liam said. “Where might you be from?”
“Dublin.”
Liam and the trio talked. Dolley listened to their travel discussion. Envy hollowed out her stomach.
“We’re here through St Paddy’s Day,” the fiddler said.
“I’m wondering if you might sign releases in case the pictures my associate took are used in a film and book I’m putting together.”
The woman nodded.
Liam handed her the papers and a pen. She took them to the two men.
Dolley’s mouth dropped open. Associate? And he wanted to use her pictures?
Liam tapped her chin, making her teeth clack together. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“You want to use my pictures?” Her voice squeaked.
Another grin swept across his face. “Aye.”
“Any chance we could get copies?” the fiddler asked.
Liam looked at Dolley, but she was speechless. “Absolutely,” he answered for her. “An email would do.”
Dolley stumbled back to the table. It was happening. Her photographs might appear somewhere other than Bridal Party Today and the B and B’s blog. She sank into the chair, her heart pounding a little. Her dream was coming true. And it felt—fantastic.
Anne shifted chairs, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She leaned over Dolley and said to Liam, “How are you doing helping our Dolley find a career in photography?”
Liam frowned. “What?”
“She was hoping you’d give her a leg up in the industry.” Anne looked between the two of them.
“Anne.” Dolley settled her friend back in her chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words were so fast, they ran together.
Anne frowned. “You wanted Liam to get you a job, right?”
“She told you that?” Liam’s gaze turned a glacial blue.
“Last fall. Before you’d agreed to mentor her?” Anne blinked and shook her head.
“Anne,” Dolley choked out.
“Remember. You told me your big secret. You wanted Liam to fast-track your career.” Anne’s eyes grew huge. “Secret. I forgot. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
“A secret.” Liam’s jaw clamped tight.
Dolley closed her eyes. “Liam, it’s not as...mercenary as it sounds.”
He nodded. His expression was as impenetrable as granite.
All this time she’d worried dating Liam would ruin her chances of learning about her craft. And it was Dolley’s own ambitions and her friend’s big mouth ruining everything.
* * *
LIAM WATCHED DOLLEY’S fingers twist into knots.
His gut burned. It was Kieran all over again.
Did Dolley feel guilty for using him? Did it matter? She’d seen an opportunity and grabbed for it. Was she holding out on him until she could ask about helping her find a job? Maybe this—connection between them was fake. Shite.
No wonder Dolley hadn’t kissed him. She was only in it for what he could do for her. Mercenary. He rubbed at the ache in his chest. She’d used the ugly word. He wanted to get as far away from her as possible. She’d fooled him once. Once was enough.
“Right, then.” He pushed away from the table and slung his camera bag over his shoulder. “I’m off.”
Dolley pulled bills out of her purse and tossed them on the table. “I’ll come with you.”
“Stay with your friends.” The words came out in a harsh growl.
“No.” She leaned down to Anne. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Liam strode toward the exit, not waiting. He’d wanted to stay and listen to the music, but his pleasure was gone.
Her light footsteps echoed behind him. “Wait.”
He kept going. His legs chewed up the distance. Disappointment was the only companion he wanted right now. That and maybe Jameson.
“Liam!” The click of her shoes moved faster.
He couldn’t bear to look at her. He should be making sure Dolley got home safely, but everything inside hated her duplicity. Didn’t she know he would have helped her no matter what?
Now everything had changed.
He took the steps up to Bay Street two at a time, his thighs complaining at the pace. But he couldn’t shake the echo of her footsteps.
There was a smack of leather on stone. And a grunt. “Ooohh.”
Don’t turn around. But he couldn’t stop himself.
Dolley was splayed over the steps, cradling her bag.
He closed his eyes and exhaled. Then headed down the steps. “Are you all right?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “No.”
He bent and took her elbow to help her off the cold, wet steps.
She winced and stood slowly. Her arm shook under his fingers.
“Can you check my camera?” Her voice trembled as much as her body.
Liam slid the strap over her shoulder, bumping the side of her breast. “Sorry.”
His body perked up, and he slapped down his desire. His campaign was through. Pulling out her Nikon, he checked that there weren’t any dents. Then he turned on the power, focused, shot pictures of the steps above them. “Everything’s savage.”
“What?”
“Fine. It’s fine.”
“It’s not what you think. Really. I told Anne about the possibility of you becoming my mentor.” Her words ran together. She grabbed his hand and stared into his eyes. “I might have said it would be great if you could help me. But that’s not why I wanted to learn from you. You’re talented. That’s why I wanted to work with you. Not so you would find me a job.”
He yanked his hand away but couldn’t stop staring at her face. She gnawed on her poor lower lip.
“Please, Liam.” She touched his arm.
He shrugged away her hand. “Are you okay to walk?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
He started to climb the stairs but stopped to check on her.
Dolley grabbed the railing and shuffled her feet one step at a time. Each time she put weight on her left leg, her face contorted.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered.
Retracing his steps, again, he stopped next to her. “What did you do?”
“I tried to save my camera, so I twisted and landed on my left side. My hip took a beating.” Her words came out in a shaky gasp.
“Hang on.” He shouldn’t have come to the pub with her. Why hadn’t he left well enough alone? He placed one arm under her thighs and the other around her waist. “Up you go.”
“Oh.” She grasped his neck with her hand.
He’d imagined holding her countless times, but this scenario wasn’t in any of his fantasies. How could cuddling her into his chest feel so right and be so wrong? As he climbed the stairs, he tried to make sure he didn’t press his fingers into her sore left side.
Obviously, he wasn’t meant to be part of any relationship. Even Dolley only wanted to be around him for what he could do for her career.
“Please, forgive me.” She set her head against his chest. “It wasn’t like Anne made it sound. I just want to do something special with my photography. Is it wrong to dream?”
“It’s wrong if you’re using me.” His head brushed against the curls peeking out from her woolen hat. They were as soft as he remembered. Her warm scent wrapped around him.
“If I was using you, would I have fought so hard to keep things businesslike?” Her fingers twisted the button of his coat. “Wouldn’t I have encouraged a relationship?”
“I don’t know what goes on in the computer you call a brain.” His anger was fading. He wanted to clutch it tight, so he didn’t get hurt.
“It wasn’t that way.” She touched his face. “It was the day you offered the mentorship. I was so nervous. I have no idea what I told Anne.”
He looked down at the curvy bundle in his arms. Mistake. Tears hung on her eyelashes. “Apparently, you told her you like my voice.”
“I love your voice.” She hiccupped. “I could listen to you all night.”
Was that an invitation?
He’d never understand Dolley.
He focused on the sidewalk and not the woman in his arms. He was going to get mental whiplash from her.
“I can probably walk.” She tucked her head deeper into his chest. Even through the layers of coat and shirt, her touch had him heating up.
He set her on her feet, if for no other reason than self-preservation.
“I’m sure it’s just a bad bruise.” She took a few hobbling steps, favoring her left leg. “Trying to walk up the steps was too much. I’ll be fine.”
He stayed right next to her, wanting to put his arm around her waist, just to help her keep the pressure off her sore side.
Her jaw gritted with determination, but with each step, her shoulders stiffened.
“Oh, devil take me.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and took her weight every time she stepped on her left leg.
“Thanks,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“Just...take me to Fitzgerald House. I’ll crash in the carriage house.”
“Grand.” Everything was grand, right?
Her curls brushed his nose, enticing him with the scent that was all Dolley. He tried to hold on to his anger, really tried, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want the wound from her mercenary talk to heal.
“What did you think I could do for you?” he asked.
“What?” she croaked.
“When you were talking to Anne, what did you think I could do for you?”
“I have no idea.” Her head rubbed back and forth in the cup of his shoulder. “I guess advice more than anything. It was a nebulous desire. I want to...to be you. Travel and see the world through my camera lens.”
“I’ve done it.” He thought about sleeping on the ground in bug-infested tents. Of making acquaintances for a month or two. Of never belonging. “It’s not as romantic as you think.”
“But you’ve done it.” He felt her sigh. “You make a living doing what you love.”
She stumbled, and he tightened his grip. “There’s more to living than making a living.” But she’d never understand that. She had what he wanted—family, friends, roots.
“Too bad we can’t change places,” he mumbled.
“Why would you want to be a nobody website designer stuck in Savannah?”
“You need to work on your self-image.”
“That’s what I am.” She shifted, and a moan rumbled through her body.
“I want to get back to the B and B before next month.” He swept her back up in his arms. “You’re a partner in a successful business. You’re incredibly bright and a brilliant photographer.”
He felt her head tip back, but he wasn’t going to look down at her. If he did, he’d kiss her. How could this woman not understand she was amazing?
“In Savannah, I’m just the youngest Fitzgerald sister. Everyone knows about Abby and Bess. I’m the other one.”
He stared at her. Gave in and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “You are so wrong.”
He took a side gate into the Fitzgerald House courtyard. Lights spilled through windows and curtains in the main house. The bushes glowed with tiny blue-and-white lights. A nighttime fairyland.
It would be safer to leave Dolley at the foot of the carriage house stairs, but she needed his help. The thump of his steps on the stairs echoed in the night.
He set her gently on her feet. She dug in her purse and came up with a key chain sporting a fob with the Fitzgerald House logo.
Everything she touched carried the mark of her family’s success. How could she think she wasn’t a key ingredient to that recipe? He’d heard the three sisters discuss their business. Everyone’s voice was heard.
He wanted desperately to be valued like that. Not for his talent, but because he was Liam.
Dolley had no clue how lucky she was.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said, unlocking her door.
“You’re welcome.” He started to turn, but she clutched his arm. He reached out to steady her.
Her face, normally so animated, was solemn. “I’m sorry.”
She tugged on his shoulders, forcing him to bend.
Her lips settled against his mouth. Just a soft brush, but enough to set his body churning.
He clutched her, tugging her onto her toes.
Her mouth opened under his.
He should push her away.
Instead, he wrapped his arms under that sweet behind and pulled her so she didn’t stand on her sore leg.
His tongue chased hers. There was that taste he craved. All Dolley. He swept kisses along her cheek, running his teeth along the delicate shell of her ear. He blew softly into her ear.
She moaned his name, tugging him back to her mouth. This kiss was deeper, hotter.
His breath rasped in and out.
Her hands roamed down his back, cupping his butt and pulling him closer.
He braced her against her door to take more.
It flew open, banging on the wall and bouncing back. He caught the rebounding door before it smacked her.
She dropped her head to his shoulder and laughed. A laugh that vibrated through her whole body.
“We’re barking mad,” he gasped. Hugging her close, he let his rusty laugh join hers, their chests rising and falling together.
She wiggled down his body. He held her until she was steady. He hated the cool air that filled the space where they had touched. He leaned against the door frame, not wanting to leave, but knowing he wasn’t going to stay. Pity, that.
“Are we okay?” she asked. “I don’t want my stupidity to screw anything up.”
“We’re good.” He stroked her cheek. “I’ll wander back to my room.”
“Thank you for helping me.” Her green eyes were huge as she shuffled into the apartment.
He tugged the door closed with a click.
Setting his hand on the wood, he sighed. He’d gotten what he wanted. Dolley had kissed him.
What did it mean? Had she kissed him so he would keep helping her? Was it panic—or real?