“As boys...and men...are wont to do,” she added.
He tipped his wineglass toward her in unspoken agreement. “She’s a smart girl—always has been. She’d have figured out that, whatever bollocks were, we valued ours greatly, so why not threaten to take what we clearly held in highest esteem?” He laughed then, eyes warm with love for the girl his sister had been. “And what of you, Ms. Montgomery? Any siblings?”
“I was an only child.”
“Ever wish for siblings?”
“All the time.” She sipped her wine, opening her mouth to accept a piece of fruit Liam offered. Exotic flavor burst across her tongue, something similar to cantaloupe but with a slightly softer aftertaste.
Head canted to the side, he considered her. “Would you have had a brother or a sister?”
“One of each, if I’d been able to choose, and I’d have been the baby.”
“And if you could only have one?”
“A sister, hands down.”
Liam clutched his heart with his free hand and furrowed his brow. “A shot to the heart of all mankind. A brother would have looked out for you. What would a sister have done but steal your dolls and borrow your clothes?”
“Since it’s my perfect world, my sister would have been my best friend. Older than me, she would have had all kinds of worldly advice about men, clothes and—” she cringed “—makeup that would have spared me the humiliation of my seventh-grade yearbook photo.”
“That bad?”
“Baby blue eye shadow and white lipstick immortalized together, forever.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “Top that.”
“I share this with no one, so repeat it and I’ll disavow any knowledge of this conversation before I hunt you down and—”
“Not a word.” With two fingers, she made a zipping motion across her lips.
“I had my hair permed so I could style it like Donnie Wahlberg from New Kids on the Block.”
Her laughter bubbled up and escaped, peal after peal. Nothing tempered her reaction as she considered this man first in perm rods, then with perm solution dripping around his hairline and, finally, using a plastic hair pick to gently tease out the curls of his new hairdo. “A...perm...”
“Oh, it gets worse.”
“Worse?”
He grimaced. “The band was an American sensation, not so well known in the UK, and my step-mother’s stylist didn’t know who he was. First time around, I ended up looking quite like Weird Al. I believe it’s called a bouffant?”
That did it. Ella handed him her wineglass before rolling onto her side and, clutching her aching stomach, laughing until she cried.
Liam set the glasses down on the side table, retrieved a cloth napkin and handed it over. “You mock me?”
“I don’t need to,” she gasped. “I’m sure your friends did quite well on their own.”
He grinned and chuckled. “They took the mick out of me, that’s for sure.”
“Why in the world did you use your mother’s hairdresser?”
“I could hardly go to a salon, now could I? All of thirteen and wanting to be cool. What if a girl from the area had seen me or, God forbid, been in having her hair done as well? Mum’s hairdresser came to the house, so I had the privilege of being attended privately.”
“And after? When she’d finished with your hair?”
“I may have been single-handedly responsible for the introduction of the ball cap into British society.”
Ella flopped onto her back and dropped one arm over her face. She’d laughed so hard her belly hurt, grinned so wide her cheeks ached. “I can’t imagine you like that. You’re so polished now. So GQ in all the right ways.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment and respond simply by saying a good stylist goes a long way in making the man fit the mold.”
Dropping her arm, she rolled her head to the side. “What mold?”
This time he didn’t look at her when he answered. “The one my father expected I shoehorn myself into.”
She rolled onto her side again, curling her knees so her feet tucked up behind her, her head resting on one arm. “He had expectations, I guess. Given that you came from society.”
“Not just society, but high society. My lineage has been charted since the 1400s. My family tree has been propagated by arranged marriages and pruned by a pragmatic hand when things weren’t just so. I was the only son, so my father was determined from my first breath that I’d carry on the Baggett legacy, and he raised me, groomed me, with that singular goal in mind.”
“And if you didn’t want to be a financial investment guru?” She waggled her hand at his quizzical look. “Or whatever it is you do.”
The bed shifted slightly as Liam rolled onto his back and stared at the star-saturated night sky. “I was never given the option, Ella. Had I gone to him and said I wanted to be a teacher, he would have simply told me, ‘Baggetts do not engage in common occupations.’”
“Teaching is far from common,” she said a bit tartly. “My mom’s a teacher.”
“I’m not demeaning the occupation by any means.” The short laugh that followed was decidedly bitter. “I had him to do that.”
“So what did, or does, being a Baggett mean?”
“I was raised to understand that it meant loyalty at all costs. Behaving honorably, but ‘honor’ was measured by the outcome of one’s choices, not by any bourgeois definition. Carrying on tradition no matter the cost. Carving out the most direct path to your success no matter whom you had to cross, run over or destroy to get to that end goal.” He sighed. “It meant doing your duty even at the cost of extinguishing your desire.”
To hear him speak so calmly of a household with such dogmatic, patriarchal values simply crushed her. She wanted to comfort the child he’d been before the worst of the rules were instilled in—or inflicted on—him. He never had a chance to just be a boy, to get his Sunday clothes dirty, put frogs in his pockets or build forts out of cardboard boxes. Ella might not have had siblings, but she’d had friends. She had been encouraged to run and play and discover and dream, to figure out who she was and where she fit in the world. Happiness had been her parents’ end goal for her. Nothing else had mattered. Certainly not to the extent that they would’ve robbed her of free will, enforced antiquated expectations on her contemporary lifestyle or forced her to follow in the footsteps of ancestors who were long since dead.
But nothing she said would change his past, and she had the distinct feeling that showing pity would force him, by conditioning, to defend his heritage. More specifically, his father.
Instead, she asked the only question she could think of. “Are you happy?”
He looked at her, really looked at her, and a slow smile carved its way across a face that had been bordering on solemn. “Right now? Very.”
Her heart tumbled, and not because she rolled onto him and straddled his lap.
Not because his hands slipped up her bare thighs, his thumbs discovering that she, too, could pull off the commando routine with aplomb.
Not because he said, “Gladly,” when she whispered, “Take me to bed, Liam.”
No, her heart tumbled because he’d given her more than a glimpse of who he was, where he came from and what had shaped him into the man he had become. Her heart longed for him in a way that was personal.
Intimate.
Profound.
And what she wanted from him was more than a love affair. She craved the thing she’d never wanted from another man. Not an affair of bodies but of hearts. The free-fall sensation she’d heard about, read about and listened to in songs her whole life. She wanted to feel her stomach wobble, her heart quake and her sense of reason dissolve. She wanted to fall in love.
As she took her own measure, checking off symptom after symptom, feeling after feeling, she realized she was already out o
f control—well and truly falling.
She could only hope Liam would catch her.
* * *
Linen sheets slid over Liam’s body as he stretched, slowly coming awake. A glance at the clock surprised him with the late hour. Breakfast would be over. He’d have to make arrangements to have lunch brought in for Ella.
Ella.
He glanced over at the woman sprawled out beside him, the sun pulling rich highlights from her hair where it fanned out over her pillow. Last night seemed like a dream now, and if it weren’t for the fact she was here he might wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.
Conversation had flowed so easily. Hell, he’d even talked about his childhood—something he didn’t do with anyone, even Jenna.
After hearing about how Ella had been raised—in a loving, happy home—Liam couldn’t help but think she’d make an excellent mother. The kind who made a house into a home. Someone who’d bake cookies and have pillow fights but wasn’t a pushover. A woman who would be able to act as parent and friend to her children.
He respected her even more than he had before, and that respect drove him out of bed, albeit silently, and had him pulling on his shorts before, shirt and shoes in hand, he tiptoed to the front door.
The pile of paperwork she’d left next to her computer caught his eye. Given what he was about to do, he thought it wise to lift the list he’d given her. Maybe he could amend a couple of items before giving it back to her. Nothing major, just...
Without trying to rationalize his actions, he slipped the stapled list free and stepped out the front door, closing it as quietly as possible. He shoved the papers in his back pocket and then finished dressing on the porch before heading toward the resort’s main building. The one benefit to having slept in was that Arvin and his staff should be at work. Arvin would be Liam’s best—only—chance of undoing what he’d done yesterday. And the lead guilt weighing on his shoulders meant he had to try.
Scanning the massive lobby, he didn’t see Arvin anywhere. The event planner’s area, right beside the concierge, was vacant. So he opted for the concierge instead.
“Good morning.” The chipper young woman behind the desk smiled at him. “How has your stay been so far?”
“Excellent, thank you,” Liam answered absently, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Do you know where I might find Arvin?”
The woman affected a concerned look. “I’m sorry. Arvin is off island this morning retrieving some materials for a private event. He should be back by midafternoon, late afternoon at worst. May I leave a message for him?”
“Right. The event he’s out for is actually mine.”
“Congratulations,” she said, beaming up at him.
“It’s not...” He shook his head. “Never mind. Does he have any other staff on hand, anyone who might help me resolve an issue with a change I made to the event?”
“His staff is out this morning, running errands related to your event. However, I’ll certainly have someone call you as soon as they’re back.”
“I really do need to—”
“Liam!”
He whipped around in time to catch the petite blonde who threw herself at him. His mouth opened and closed several times before he set the woman back. “What are you doing here?”
“Um... I’m the bride?” Jenna answered, laughter making her eyes sparkle.
“You’re earlier than I expected.”
“Liam.”
The deep voice drew his attention to the man standing several paces away, arms crossed over his chest.
“Mike,” he returned.
“Nice place,” the groom said, looking around.
“It’s perfect!” Jenna chirped. “I love it. It’s exactly what I wanted. And everyone is so friendly.” She stepped out of Liam’s embrace only to slide an arm around his waist and snuggle into his side.
He instinctively settled an arm around her shoulders as he looked down. “I’m confused, Jenna. Your flight left New York yesterday with a long layover in Paris. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“Nope. We got to Paris so early that we were able to get seats on an earlier flight.”
“The guy at the airline desk was a huge fan,” Mike said, smiling down at his bride-to-be.
Liam tried to think, tried to put things in order, but his mind had blitzed out. Jenna was early, and Ella was going to flip out.
Ella.
Again, her name whispered through his mind like an invocation, his heart beating faster and breath coming a bit short.
“Liam?” Jenna asked as she wiggled in his embrace. “I mean, I know you’re glad to see me and all, but you’re going to bruise me if you clutch me any tighter.”
“Apologies.” He forced himself to relax and take a deep breath. Ella was going to flip her shit when she found out Jenna and Mike had arrived a day early.
“Mr. Baggett?”
The young lady from the concierge’s desk held out a cordless phone. “I have Arvin on the line for you, sir.”
“Thank you—” he glanced at her name tag “—Becky.” Taking the phone, he stepped away from Jenna and Mike. “Arvin.”
“What may I do for you, Mr. Baggett?”
Liam lowered his voice. “Arvin, my sister and her groom have arrived a day early. I need to know where you’re at on the task I gave you yesterday.”
Arvin swallowed so loud Liam heard it. “It’s done, sir. It wasn’t easy, but I do think you’ll be pleased with the...results.”
Stomach clenching hard, Liam lowered his voice further still. “I’m not certain it will be in the bride’s best interest to have it done as I requested.”
“I—I’m sorry, sir? Are you asking me to undo it?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“It’s temporary color, sir, but it won’t wear off for several days.”
Damn it.
“I’ll figure something out, Arvin. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back this afternoon and—”
“I’ll see you then.” Liam hastily disconnected as Jenna bounced over to him.
She poked him in the ribs. “I hope you weren’t working.”
“Uh, no. It was nothing.” Handing the phone back to Becky, he smiled. “Thank you. It’s all in order.”
He turned back to Jenna. “So what would you like to do since you’re here early?”
“I want to walk through everything for the wedding, see what it’s going to look like.” She grinned back at her fiancé beatifically. “It’s going to be incredible, getting married in paradise. Perfect way to start our lives together.”
“If it makes you happy.” Mike moved closer and held his arms open.
Jenna slipped out from under Liam’s arm and into Mike’s embrace. She whispered something in his ear, and the man leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “You’re footing the bill, so I’ll shut up. Most important thing is that we end up husband and wife.”
Liam bit back the caustic words that burned his throat. Mike had just confirmed what Liam most feared—that the minor league baseball player was, indeed, riding along on his sister’s dime. And now the guy was officially a free agent, which was sportsspeak for “unemployed.”
Jenna deserved better than a tag-along kind of guy. She deserved someone who was her equal. Sure, Mike might be considered a handsome man, but there were issues beyond looks. Serious issues. Things like the guy’s temper and his tendency to take his frustrations—any frustrations—out on Jenna. Add his just-confirmed financial leeching and it came together to equal one fundamental truth: the man wasn’t remotely fit to be Jenna’s husband.
If Liam were to compare Mike to, say, Ella, she would take the win in every category. She was far more loyal, driven and accomplished than the baseball player ever would be.
A
s if she’d heard his innermost thoughts, Jenna glanced up at Mike and said in a rebellious stage whisper, “I’m telling him.”
Her groom rolled his shoulders, looking back and forth between his soon-to-be wife and future brother-in-law. “It hasn’t hit the news, sweetheart.”
“So? It’s happening, Mike.” She twisted inside his embrace and faced Liam. “Mike’s been called up.”
Liam’s brows rose. “To what?”
“You’re so British,” she said, laughing. “The major leagues, Liam. He’s been called up as their relief pitcher. He’ll be going to spring training with the team.”
“I assume that comes with a paycheck.” He stared at the other man, who simply stared back.
“A good one.”
“And what, exactly, is ‘good’ in your ledger? Does ‘good’ provide for my sister under any and every circumstance?”
“Liam!”
Mike moved in front of Jenna, all but physically shoving her aside. “What the hell is your problem, Baggett?”
“Problem?” Liam laughed out loud. “It begins, and ends, with you.”
“Stop it.” Jenna’s hissed command was ignored until she wedged herself between the two men. “Just stop it. This is my wedding.”
“Our wedding,” Mike corrected, his sharp tone cutting through the air.
She shot him a look. “Our wedding.” Rounding on Liam, she drove a finger into his chest. “You need to stop provoking Mike. Now. And I don’t want either of you ruining the wedding with this bullshit posturing and chest thumping. Do you hear me?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mike said softly before kissing the top of her head.
Liam said nothing.
Jenna glared at him.
Silence.
Mike broke into what was fast becoming a battle of wills. “The concierge was able to get us into rooms early. Some family ended up having to go home early, so we’re taking their rooms until the ceremony, when we’ll be moved to the honeymoon suite.”
Liam almost choked.
Mike continued, unaware. “Let’s go check out our rooms, unpack and get settled in. Then you can call Liam, maybe have him introduce us to the event coordinator you hired. She can show us around.”
Wicked Heat Page 11
