by Lara Swann
After that, Liam’s attention drifts away from me again and I settle back in the wooden chair, looking out at the moon and stars - and the muted illumination of the back yard at night. It’s shadowed and dark, but there’s something quite nice about that…anonymous, maybe. Different.
I get the feeling that the deepest shadow tonight is the one sat right beside me, but I don’t disturb his thoughts, letting my own gently wander. The silence between us is deep enough to sink into and get lost in, but it’s comfortable too. Easy, somehow. Natural.
In the time it takes me to finish the beer he gave me, he’s gone through two more of his own - and it’s only when he notices mine empty that he finally breaks the silence.
He casts a glance at the two remaining beers in the ice bucket, shrugs, and slowly pulls himself up to his feet.
“Wait here.” He says, turning and making his way back into the house.
As if I was going to do anything else.
I watch him go, taking in his lumbering gait as he does - the limp I’ve noticed before more evident tonight than any other time I’ve seen it.
When he comes back, he’s got a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands.
“I’ve wanted to try this since you gave it to me.” He says with a grunt, lowering himself with a thump back into the chair. It’s the first time I’ve seen him anything less than agile, too. “Will you join me?”
It takes me a moment to realize it’s the bottle of wine I gave him when he moved in - I can’t see it well in the dark - and I smile.
“Sure - any excuse for a glass of my Uncle’s wine is good by me.”
Liam doesn’t smile back - and I don’t know whether it’s just the stark shadows from the thin moonlight but his expression seems grim to me as he concentrates on uncorking the wine…or maybe determined. Like he’s very deliberately working his way through something - and probably something I can’t even guess at.
He pours the two glasses and then raises one in my direction. We clink, taking a sip in silence. Or, I take a sip. He swallows down a large portion before sinking back into his seat, sighing softly. I’m not sure whether it’s in appreciation or not, but something about him seems to relax, almost imperceptibly.
I’ve given up my pretense of looking out at the dark scenery. Right now, I can’t take my eyes off Liam. I’m just watching him, and it feels like I’m finally seeing some of what’s underneath all the charm he carries around with him. The man I’ve glimpsed hints of before - carefully hidden and deeply buried - but riding close to the surface tonight. It’s intense…and almost a little bit scary. Dark and dangerous…like you don’t know quite what could be there…but deeply alluring, too. There’s something about him like this, with everything else stripped away, that pulls me in more than an easy smile and clever quip ever could.
“It’s good wine.” He says, taking another few sips. “Should have opened it earlier, but…it’s not a good idea for me to drink wine alone.”
“I would have joined you anytime you’d asked.” I offer, raising my glass in his direction again.
“I know.” He says, his voice pensive.
“Am I supposed to stop you from doing anything stupid?” I ask, keeping my voice light and amused, wanting instinctively to draw him out again.
He half-grunts, half-chuckles, raising his glass to me in return. “Only if I go out looking for another bottle.”
The openness of that comment surprises me, but I don’t say anything about it. I don’t want him to feel like I’m prying, or it’s curiosity that has me sitting here right now.
“Well, I don’t think you’ll have any problems with that in this town.” I say, my voice still light. “Everywhere is closed.”
That does have him looking around at me, his expression twisted in an amused disbelief.
“It’s Saturday night…” He tries to object, but not very hopefully. “But I probably should have guessed that. Pity, this really is good wine.”
“You wouldn’t get this here anyway - he sells most of it in McMinnville, just sends a few bottles my family’s way.” I say, then give him a deliberately wicked grin. “But if you’re thinking of raiding my parents’ house, I’d be up for a bit of midnight skulking around town.”
I decide not to mention I’ve got another case in my house too. That’s probably a little too close for comfort.
“I’m starting to think you’re not the good influence I was looking for.”
“Hey, you asked me to join you.” I shrug. “I never said anything about my behavior under the influence of wine.”
“So you didn’t.” He acknowledges, raising his glass again and swallowing the rest of it.
He pours himself another glass - and tops mine up, either not noticing or refusing to acknowledge I’ve had barely a quarter of it. I’m starting to feel the effects of it anyway. I’m not exactly lightweight, but I don’t often drink beer and I can feel the combination of the two turning the edges of my mind hazy.
It’s not a bad kind of hazy, though, and I find myself drinking a little quicker as I relax back into my chair too, letting the conversation lapse back into silence. Liam makes it through another glass and the grim set to his face returns, whatever brief inclination he had to chat seeming to slip away again.
I don’t complain, content with the quiet companionship as we slowly make our way through the bottle and my own thoughts start slowing down and merging together.
It’s not until he’s halfway through his third glass, with the bottle almost empty - long after I’d assumed we weren’t going to talk any more tonight - that he finally speaks again.
“My best friend died ten years ago, today.” He’s staring off into the distance, not looking at me, but hoarseness in his voice is painful to hear. “I caught the wrong end of a bullet and shattered my leg in some screwed up ambush. I was fucked - couldn’t walk - but the bastard came back for me. Pulled me over to our guys and got shot in the back for his trouble. They tidied my leg up nicely, but…couldn’t do shit about his lungs.”
Liam shrugs, downing the rest of his wine and then pouring what’s left from the bottle into his glass. He finishes that off with another long gulp before slumping back into his chair.
“Shit.” I say, my own head falling back against my chair as disbelief washes over me.
What the hell can I say to that?
It’s so far away from anything I’ve experienced that I can’t even begin to understand it. Just the wave of sympathetic pain in my chest feels like too much to bear for a brief moment. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to live with something like that. It makes my wishes for excitement and adventure shrink into a silly insignificance - and I can suddenly understand why he has no desire for anymore of that. Not all experiences are things you want to look for, and it seems like he’s had more than his fair share of bad ones.
I reach out instinctively, finding his hand and clasping it in mine, squeezing it firmly as my mind stumbles over anything else.
“Shit, Liam.” I say again, still unable to find a better response.
His eyes flick to mine and in the dark I can’t see any of the sparkling blue that’s usually there - just darkness and shadow.
“Yeah. Shit.” He agrees, then shakes his head, looking off into the distance again. “I’ve never gotten over it. I don’t think I ever will. The only reason I’m still here at all…is because of Maya. If she hadn’t come along, I would have destroyed myself a long time ago.”
He tries to knock the glass back again, but it’s empty, and I watch as his lip curls in frustration before he sets it back down on the table and pushes it away with a sigh.
“Ten years. Doesn’t change that I still feel it as if it was yesterday. But with Maya here…I don’t let it swallow me anymore. Except today. Just one day, out of the year.”
I can feel the pain and rawness in his voice all along my skin, hairs rise on my arms and my heart beats with grief for him.
“Liam…”
His head turns back toward me, and there’s a heavy silence between us for one long moment, the air thick with too many things to name. Everything feels slightly unreal and impossible, the haze of the alcohol only accentuating that—and then, just as I’m trying to work my way through how to finish that sentence, how to say something—he kisses me.
I’m still holding one of his hands, clenching it fiercely in mine, when his other comes around the back of my head and pulls me to him. In one breathless movement, he’s pulled us both up out of the chairs and he’s pushing me back against the table, his fingers tangled in my hair and his mouth hot and heavy against mine.
My brief shocked noise is cut short as his lips crash against mine and my whole body seems to melt against him. This is no soft, gentle kiss - no exploratory gesture - instead, it feels like the very essence of him crashing against me, with all its inviting power and decadent danger. It’s only an instant before I’m kissing him back with the same fervor, the tension between us finally exploding in the way I’ve fantasized about but tried really hard not to think of.
It’s like everything has built to this moment and I can’t get enough - of his mouth, his skin, his body - all of it suddenly so accessible and right. I can taste the wine on his lips, inhale the scent of his sweat-slicked musk mingled with sugary-sweetness that could only have come from baking.
It’s delicious and I want it and so much more, my lips parting as his tongue pushes forward, insistent and warm as it explores me and my own wraps around it. My hand slips out of his in its eagerness to explore so much more - wrapping in his hair before sliding down his neck, his arms, his chest. He’s just as keen - those strong, powerful hands roaming over my body with a roughness that has me immediately wet. This isn’t quite how the fantasies went - but fuck it’s hot. One hand wraps around my breast through my top, his finger and thumb finding my nipple even under the bra, pulling and stroking in a way that sends electric currents down to my core. I cry out against his mouth and my body arches up, putty in his hands.
Fuck.
He growls into my mouth, his breath hot and heavy and perfect as he nibbles on my lip, both of us barely coming up for air, too desperate to get more of each other. I find myself tugging at the top of his pants, wanting to get one hand into them, eager for the hard shaft I can feel pressing against them as his mouth takes everything it wants. Rough and hard and totally mind-blowing as the hand on my neck keeps me pressed close against him, holding on as if he’s never ever going to let go.
Please don’t ever let go.
The thought bursts through my lust-and-alcohol-clouded mind at the same moment his other hand pulls my top out of my jeans and slips up underneath it. The feeling of his rough, slightly callused hand on my skin makes my whole body shudder with pleasure, energy crackling through me as I moan, deep and long.
Oh my god, yes. Yes. Please.
Then in the next instant - before I even realize what’s happening - he’s gone.
He pulls away with the same abrupt force that had us crashing together, staggering back and clutching onto the table.
“Shit—sorry—I shouldn’t—” He gives a quick shake of his head, as if trying to wake up from the dream I desperately want to plunge back into. I take a step forward, ready to do exactly that, as he takes another one back. “I can’t—not like this—sorry, I—I need to go.”
He turns and walks back into the house before it even gets through to my confused, lust-filled brain that I’m alone. His gait is staggering and uneven, obviously drunk, but all I can feel is the heat he left behind on my skin and I want him back.
My inner voice yells that petulantly at me, as I lean back against the table, my hands clutching at it for support.
“Damn.” I whisper, still looking at the dark face of Liam’s house and the door that closed behind him. “Double-triple-damn.”
I understand it. I know why he left. Why this wasn’t right, but…ugh, couldn’t we have ignored that? For just a little bit longer?
I groan, tilting my head back and looking up at the moon and stars, knowing deep down that he’s not going to come back out tonight. It still takes me a few minutes to push myself up and - with one last look back at his house - make my way over the fence again and into my own.
And it takes me a lot longer than that to get to sleep that night. I’d like to pretend it’s the things he told me that keep me up - that make me think - but it’s nothing like that at all.
It’s the things he did - and my endless fantasizing of where they might have gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Liam
I can’t get last night out of my head.
And not for the usual reasons.
It almost makes me feel a little guilty, but when I wake up the next day slightly hungover and with hazy memories, it’s not Brandon’s face that flashes into my mind.
It’s Kelsey’s.
My aching body flushes with heat when I think of her, when I remember the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her against me…god. It was nothing like it felt after kissing her the first time. No, last night…was something else.
It shouldn’t have happened. It was the wrong time, for the wrong reasons, but…I just couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t even thinking. Pulling myself back was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done - turning and walking back into the house worse still - but now, this morning, I’m grateful for it.
This way, I get to do it right.
I try not to let Maya sense my urgency as I get her ready for Mark to pick her up for her fortuitously arranged play date, but she gives me a couple of half-concerned looks anyway. I don’t say anything about it - she’s used to me being a little all over the place the day after the anniversary of Brandon’s death, though she doesn’t know the reason. I wish she wasn’t used to it, either. I wish I could keep even this much of it from her - but it’s enough to make sure it only spills into a couple of days.
Everyone should get a few days of clemency, for whatever shit they’re dealing with.
I arranged the outing with Mark deliberately - I took the three of them to the park last Sunday - though I’d hoped it would be for yesterday instead. That’s always the worst day. Today, I’m just a little hungover and grumpy.
Usually, anyway. Now…now I’m incredibly grateful today was the day Mark could do.
He gives me a once-over when he arrives too, and I know those attentive eyes see more than I’d like, but at least he doesn’t say anything. That’s one of the things I like about Mark - he’s the strong and silent type. Knows when not to ask too many questions.
Unlike his sister. And yet…and yet…
Last night, she didn’t. I’m not sure she asked a single thing. She was just…there. In the infuriating, implacable you-might-as-well-give-up-now kind of way that I haven’t known since…well, since Brandon, way back in the Marines. As fucked up as that is.
It got to me, too. It got to me, and she got to me, and…well…just about everything. I was high on emotion and drunk, no fucking clue what was really going through my head for any of it. But this morning…I know what stands out. I know which parts of it were real.
The moment Mark’s truck disappears around the corner, I’m out of the house.
I don’t bother with her front door - I don’t know why, maybe because last night ended out back - but I walk through the gate separating our back yards and up to the decking surrounding her house, knocking on her back door instead. There’s a curtain covering the window there, so I only see her outline before she opens it - the sweetest little frown of puzzlement on her face - and then I’m inside.
I don’t wait - I don’t say anything - I step right into her arms and bring her face to me again, kissing her with al
l the passion and need of last night, but hopefully less of the angst and alcohol. She gasps and I can see the shock on her face - right before she melts into it, letting me step further into the house until I’m pressing us both against the small kitchen island behind her.
“I’ve been thinking about this since I left last night.” I say as I pull back to look at her, my eyes hot and intent on hers. “It was wrong - I shouldn’t have done that - not last night. But now…now I get to do it right.”
“Liam…”
I don’t catch the rest of what she says, because my mouth covers hers again, tasting her like I’m a drowned man sucking down air. She moans, her hands coming up to wrap around my neck and her body moving against me as my hands roam over her body, letting them do all the things they almost did last night.
“I can’t get you out of my mind, Kelsey.” I murmur to her, nibbling at her lip and letting my mouth drop kisses along her jaw and down her neck, until I’m sucking and nibbling at the place where it joins her shoulder, making her shudder and moan against me.
The scent and taste of her is gorgeous here and I take my time, enjoying it as my hands work their way up under the blouse she’s wearing today and start caressing her smooth, soft skin. My cock is thick and pulsing against my jeans, already eager for more, but I’m going to take my time with this. I want to enjoy every moment.
Kelsey’s hands play in my hair, running down to trace the muscles of my back as she presses herself into me, her body open and soft and willing in all the best ways. When my hands stroke the underside of her bra, holding the weight of her breasts and squeezing lightly, she moans against me and buries her head into my shoulder, kissing and nibbling herself and tugging at my t-shirt. I take the hint - throwing it off a moment later - and she sighs appreciatively, biting her lip as her hands run their way over my skin.
They hover over the scars and ink I’ve got there, tracing and touching almost delicately, and I give her a moment before I claim her mouth in mine again, the need in me too strong to slow things down much more. She responds in all the best ways, kissing me back as hard and fast as I give and pulling me into her. I chuckle against her mouth, biting her lip as my cock strains forward even more and my skin burns everywhere she touches it. Her delicate, smooth hands…god, I don’t think there’s anything better.
