The mighty Quinns: Liam - By Kate Hoffmann Page 0,47
the corners of her mouth as she stared into his eyes. “Morning,” she murmured.
“Morning,” he said, stealing a quick kiss.
“What time is it?”
“A little after nine. Go back to sleep.” He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “God, you’re pretty in the morning.”
Ellie felt a warm blush creep up her cheeks. She knew quite well what she looked like in the morning and he was definitely too charming for his own good. But then, that’s what she loved about Liam. He made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Until I brush my hair and have my first latte, I’m a monster,” Ellie teased.
“Then I better go out and get you coffee. I’ll bring us something to eat, too.”
“Maybe I’ll take a shower.”
Liam grabbed her waist and rolled on top of her, pinning her hands at her sides. Then he kissed her softly. “If you wait for me, I’ll wash your back.”
“Deal.”
He kissed her again, then scrambled off the bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
Ellie watched him leave, then moaned, turning her face into Liam’s pillow. Last night had been so wonderful. She’d known it would be. How could it be anything else but mind-numbingly incredible with a man like Liam Quinn? He was so beautiful and sexy, and the things he’d done to her were just so…
She moaned again, then bolted upright, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She’d be waiting for Liam when he came back, but at least she had time to brush her teeth and comb her hair. She hopped out of bed and grabbed the Patriots jersey, tugging it over her head. Then she found her cosmetics bag and headed to the bathroom.
But instead of opening the second door on the left, Ellie opened the first and stepped into a room lit only by a red bulb on the far wall. She quickly turned around to leave, but then her curiosity got the best of her. Photos hung from wires stretched above tables and the single window in the room had been painted black. This was Liam’s darkroom!
Her curiosity piqued, she walked inside. Photos plastered the walls and she stared up at the odd mix of images, hoping to find some piece of Liam in each. His portraits of everyday people were the most striking—waitresses, garbage men, traffic cops. She’d viewed photography in art galleries in New York and Liam’s work was as good as any she’d seen there.
He was talented, and from the photos, she could see a tiny bit of his soul. He saw something through the lens that an ordinary observer would never see, a beauty in the simplicity of everyday life, an honesty that spoke more of him than his subjects.
She turned to examine the photos hanging from a wire above the table. They were strangely distant and a bit unfocused. Leaning closer, she tried to figure out what made the photos so special. And as she looked, a sick feeling twisted in her stomach. Ellie snatched a photo from the wire, then walked to the door and flipped the light switch.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. This was not a photo of an everyday Bostonian. This was a photo of her! In her robe! In her bedroom!
She hurried back to the table and began to pull each photo off the wire. Each was of her, some of her in her apartment, some of her in front of her building, ranging in various states of dress and undress. For a long moment she couldn’t take a normal breath. Her mind was numb and her heart had ground to a stop. Liam Quinn might be a very talented photographer, but he was also a sick, perverted, peeping Tom!
Ellie sucked in a long and ragged breath, that action serving to galvanize her. She raced around the darkroom, grabbing every photo and negative that even resembled her, determined to steal the last image from his possession. When she was finished, she headed for the bedroom.
She’d been so damn concerned about her safety that she’d never even recognized the true danger. In less than two minutes she’d dressed, packed her bag and snatched up the pile of photos and negatives from the end of the bed. Then the front door creaked and she heard footsteps in the living room. Ellie groaned softly. She’d wanted to leave without having to confront him. After all, a guy who took covert pictures of a woman might be downright dangerous.