by Melody Anne
“What are we doing here, Liam?”
“I’m taking you out, showing you the sights of New York,” he said as she accepted the rose, and then his hand as she emerged from the golf cart and began walking with him. “Unless you think Sam was sufficient for the task …”
She ignored that remark. “What? We’re going up in that thing?” she asked, drawing back as they reached the helicopter’s doors. “Who’s flying it?” Yes, that was fear in her voice.
Liam laughed as he gave her a little nudge inside. “Don’t worry. I have a very responsible pilot. I want to be in the backseat with my hands all over you,” he said with an elaborate wink.
Where had this playful Liam come from? Was this a new tactic? If it was, she sort of liked it, though she didn’t think it a good idea to admit that out loud.
“Liam,” she warned, but somehow she found herself sitting in the chopper with the doors shutting, and then the seat belt was being strapped around her, and a headset was placed over her ears.
“Can you hear me?” he asked, his voice right in her ears.
“Yes, but I have to confess that I’m a bit scared. I’ve never ridden in a helicopter before. I’ve heard they’re dangerous.”
The blades began to whirl deafeningly, and her stomach dropped as the copter began lifting in the air. Somehow she found her hand clasped in his, resting against his hard thigh.
“Ah, then I’m glad I’m with you as you take your virgin voyage,” he said with a gargantuan grin. ”We’re taking a circuitous route.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but their conversation ceased as they began flying over the beautiful lighted skyline along the harbor.
Her fear vanished as they soared over the Empire State building, and then the Brooklyn Bridge, the cars crawling across it, and then Ellis Island with the Statue of Liberty holding her flame high right next to it.
“This is incredible, Liam.”
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, tugging her against him. In her happiness, she allowed him to do it.
“Is that Central Park?” she asked as they looped back.
“Yes. It’s beautiful, isn’t it, especially at this time of year? All the Christmas lights make it so much more festive. Hold on now; we’re going to be landing soon.”
They began their descent a few moments later and Whitney was clutching Liam even more tightly as the copter touched down. They were far too close to another helicopter for her liking.
“Do they always land this close to each other?” she asked, taking her first deep breath of the whole ride when the rotor blades stopped turning.
“At this helipad, they do,” he told her. “But it’s a great place to land for where I want to take you for dinner.”
Then the door was opening and Liam was jumping out and then reaching up for her, his hands wrapping around her waist as he helped her from the chopper. Whitney lost her breath again when he pulled her against him.
“I need one kiss before we go any farther.”
She didn’t even try to fight it as Liam’s mouth connected with hers. She expected heat, passion, an ardent assault, but instead, he caressed her mouth softly before nipping her bottom lip and soothing it with his tongue.
This man could kiss — really kiss. He managed to make her knees grow weak and her core tighten all at once. He made her want the impossible.
Just when she was ready to grab ahold of him, he pulled back, heat in his eyes but a gentle smile on his lips. “Mmm,” he said, “that will satisfy me … for a little while.”
But not her!
Somehow she managed to avoid saying that out loud. Instead, she accepted the arm he was offering her and proceeded about twenty feet down a walkway to where a black stretch limo awaited them.
“You know, a regular car would do,” she told him. “I really don’t want to get used to all this fancy stuff. It will make going back to the real world a bit depressing.”
He ushered her into the warmth and the fine leather seats, and waited for the door to be shut before he responded.
“You deserve to be pampered. Every woman does. But if you’d rather I get a moped next time, I can accommodate you,” he said with a laugh.
“It might be a bit cold for a moped, Liam, but a nice sedan would do just fine.”
“But I wouldn’t get to sit behind this nice privacy glass, where all sorts of crazy things could be done.” He slid his hand up her thigh as he said that.
“Cocky, aren’t you?” she said, pushing his hand down.
“Always,” he told her, resting his fingers on her knee. She liked the touch enough to let it stay there. “Some people might say that I pack a lot of heat.”
Whitney wasn’t about to touch that remark with a ten-foot pole.
“Where are we off to now?” she asked, deciding to get off this track of conversation.
“We’re going to have a nice glass of wine as we drive to one of my favorite restaurants. I hope you’ll find the evening very romantic.”
Her last night on the town in New York had been nice enough, but far from romantic. No smoke, no fire. And as they drove along through the city, she was already making comparisons. And this night was markedly better. Dang it.
“And do you think this will get you a happy ending?” she asked boldly, going right back to where they’d been before she’d changed the subject.
“I don’t expect anything,” he said before grinning. “However, I wouldn’t say no if you decided to ravish me.”
Whitney could have gotten irritated with the man, but instead found herself laughing. If one thing could be said about him, it was most certainly that he was persistent. She couldn’t remember any man ever chasing her this hard.
They pulled up in front of Il Buco, which Liam informed her was known as one of the most charming restaurants in New York. “It began as a rustic antique store,” he said, “and the place still attempts to give off that ‘vibe.’ Check out the furnishings.”
They passed American Primitive country tables and other antiques. Candles and kerosene lanterns lit the room with the help of artisanal chandeliers.
But Liam wanted to kick the romance up another notch, it seemed, because they were led to a flight of stairs. They descended into the cellar, where more candles burned, and the room was basically empty except for one table set up in the center and a waiter standing at the ready.
“This is perfect,” she almost gasped.
“I thought you might enjoy it,” Liam replied.
He pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit before moving across the table to his own seat. The waiter immediately showed Liam the wine menu. Liam chose one without delay, and he approved it in the classic fashion before a glass was poured for Whitney.
The night drifted away as they tasted cuisine inspired by Italy and the Iberian Peninsula, including bread and Umbrian olive oil, cast-iron-roasted Spanish octopus, mint crudo, and pan-roasted filet of Florida black bass.
The meal was as delicious as the company.
“Did you know that, according to legend, Edgar Allan Poe was a regular visitor to this area?” Liam told Whitney, “And some say that this very wine cellar was where he was inspired to write The Cask of Amontillado.”
“Are you making that up?” She was a major fan of Poe’s work, and to just be eating in the same place he’d once been in was a serious treat. Knowing that such a story might have been inspired in this very spot had her almost giddy.
“That’s what the legend says. No one knows for sure.”
“Oh, I’m going to think it true, then. I can’t wait to tell … ” But she couldn’t finish her sentence. Who did she really have to tell? That was an incredibly depressing thought, one that she didn’t want to have right now, not when her night had been so magical so far.
As if he knew what her thoughts were, he rose from his seat and moved over to the chair next to her, took her hand and lifted it to his lips.
“I’m ecstatic that we bot
h love that great American writer, troubled though he was.”
“Yeah, you either love or hate Poe. I don’t think there’s an in-between,” she said with a laugh. But the laugh turned into a sigh as he caressed her wrist with his thumb. But as she thought about that classic story, her eyes turned into slits.
“What’s the look for?” he asked.
“You do remember the plot of Poe’s story’s, right?”
“Well, yes.”
“Explain it, then,” she said.
He seemed to think about it a moment before deciding it couldn’t get him in any trouble to reply. He took a sip of wine before speaking, though, as if to let her know he was doing it on his own timeline.
“The short version is that it’s about a man taking revenge on a friend he believes insulted him,” he said. “But you know that.”
“Fatal revenge,” she reminded him. “Where the so-called friend is buried alive.”
“And don’t forget the story is being told from the murderer’s perspective,” he added.
“So are you telling me something by bringing me here? Am I your enemy?” She was only partially kidding when she lobbed that question at him.
“You are far from my enemy, Whitney,” he told her. “I would never bury you … though I might bury myself in you.”
“You think you’re amusing now, don’t you?” she said.
“I’m so many things — including amusing,” he told her.
“Fine. So what are your plans for me?”
“Here’s one — let’s leave. The night is still young.” Anticipation was evident in his voice.
“Yes, Liam.”
And she was saying yes to more than a ride. Maybe it was foolish, and maybe her heart would get broken — hell, that was more than just a maybe — but this night had been magical. Soon she would leave this world behind, and she wanted to take some memories with her.
He seemed to realize what she was telling him. He paid the bill, stood up, and escorted her from the restaurant. And she went along willingly. She refused to let doubts creep in on the journey home.
Her mind was made up.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Liam walked her to her bedroom door and then his lips were pressed against hers and he was twisting the knob, pulling away and gazing down into her eyes.
Why did men always do that? But it was working.
“Yes, come in,” she murmured.
He didn’t need to hear anything more to spring into action.
Whitney knew they should probably slow down, but it had seemed like an eternity since she’d last felt his touch. She wasn’t able to stop what was happening, but even if she could have, she wouldn’t have wanted to.
He backed her up until her legs hit the edge of her bed, and he pressed against her. She felt his arousal pushing into her stomach, and she wanted to reach out and grip him there, but she was unsure of herself. Would that be too bold, too shameless?
But she moved her hands from his well-defined shoulders and brought them slowly down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. She was desperate to feel the contours of his solid chest. While she was working on removing his clothes, he was slowly stripping hers off too. She could feel the cool air as it whispered along her skin. Excitement surged within her.
“I need you,” he growled, and nipped her earlobe.
She felt his words all the way through her body. She couldn’t get any words past her closed throat. The entire night had been about magic, and this was the perfect ending to it all. The perfect flourish of the magician’s wand.
All their clothes finally discarded, he lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed. She instinctively tried to shield her naked body from his roving eyes, but he joined her on the bed and drew her hands away.
He started on a journey, to caress every inch of her body. His fingers skimmed over her satin skin, sending ripples of delight all through her. She became more daring in her need and her desire, and began running her fingers across the hard planes of his torso.
She reached his hip and circled around to touch his arousal, then couldn’t suppress her excited gasp. He was so ready for her, and so … so … big. She didn’t know how the two of them would manage to fit together, but she was more than willing to try.
He sensed her fear. “I won’t hurt you, I promise,” he told her.
She couldn’t help but relax at his words and touch. He was being so gentle with her; how could she do anything but trust him?
He kissed her deeply, exploring the sweet recesses of her mouth, touching every satiny surface. When she was absolutely breathless from that kiss, he moved his head down her slim throat and urged his mouth against her heightened pulse. She brought her hands up, running her fingers through his hair, holding him firmly against her.
He arched upward and brought his lips over her breasts, swiping his tongue across her peaked nipples and then blowing warm air across those tender buds. She arched off the bed and groaned. She felt the wetness building up in her core. She was done with foreplay, and she ground her hips against his. Her fears had vanished.
“Patience” was all he said as he continued his travels down her body.
She couldn’t protest, since what he was doing was melting her from the outside in.
He reached her thighs and spread them apart, something no other man had ever done. She wanted to hide from this intimate exposure, but he wouldn’t allow it. She was on display for him, and to judge from the look in his eyes, he was enjoying what he saw.
“You are breathtaking,” he whispered before he brought his head down and grazed the sensitive skin on her stomach.
She stopped fighting him and simply enjoyed the sensations washing through her. He moved his lips farther down, his tongue sliding against her hot flesh. When he inserted his finger into her tight core, she nearly shattered. It was too much.
But he was relentless. He started moving faster, pressing his hands and mouth forward in a rhythm that had her exploding in passion.
Her head fell back as wave after wave of intense pleasure mastered her. He slowed his movements and made sure she enjoyed every single second of the prolonged orgasm. After the final shudder passed through her body, he started moving upward once again. But she felt so spent. She couldn’t possibly do anything further. She couldn’t even open her eyes.
And yet, when he nibbled on one of her hardened nipples, she was proved wrong. That gentle bite started to wake up her body again. How could he pleasure her so well and then make her want even more?
He lavished attention on her breasts and then took her mouth with his in another deep possession. He was no longer slow and gentle. He was fast and demanding and she was answering his call. The more fevered he became, the more she needed him to join the two of them together.
He reached down and lifted her leg around his hip, pressing his generous arousal against her core, with just the tip teasing her there. She jerked her hips, no longer afraid of his size. She wanted him to finish what he’d started.
He continued to caress her mouth with his while rubbing his hand along her hip and the smooth curve of her backside. His every touch sent shivers through her. She jerked her hips again, tired of waiting. Finally, he started to go in inch by amazing inch.
She was so slick, his thick shaft slid effortlessly inside. There was no pain, despite her fears, only pleasure, and she felt fuller than she could have ever thought possible. He sank deep within her, up to the hilt, and paused so they could both relish the sensations.
He looked into her eyes, and the moment was so beautiful that she almost wept. She realized despite it all that she loved him, and there was no better way for them to be close. He started plunging in and out, and the pleasure of it completely consumed her.
He locked his lips back on hers, gripped her hips tightly in his hands, and started thrusting hard. She met him stroke for stroke and their movements grew frantic.
Her entire body started shaking as she shattered
yet again, and then Liam threw his head back and groaned. She gloried in feeling him pumping his release inside her.
He collapsed on top of her, and she could hardly breathe from the weight of him. But she didn’t care. She just sank back into the bed.
With the last bit of energy he had left, he shifted her so that he was lying on his back with her snuggled tightly against his side.
“Thank you,” he whispered as he stroked her back tenderly.
She couldn’t even reply. A veil of darkness took over and she slipped into a deep, blissful sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Whitney sat frozen and terrified in her room. She knew nothing about fancy fundraisers. The outcome was obvious — she’d make a complete fool of herself. Why had it seemed so easy for Cinderella?
No fairy godmother here. All she could see ahead of her today was hours of fraught nerves and then more of utter disaster. The only choice she had was to contract some sort of vile intestinal flu. Projectile vomiting always gave you a good excuse to get out of things.
She drank her morning tea, trying to compose herself but without any success. How could she help but feel sorry for herself? And then she heard a knock on her door. She wasn’t up for visitors, but maybe one of the children needed her for something.
“Come in,” she called out reluctantly.
Darcy walked into the room with a rare smile on her face. “We have a surprise for you, Ms. Steele.”
Whitney almost didn’t recognize the maid as the stern woman she’d met when she first arrived.
“I can’t imagine what you have up your sleeve, Darcy,” Whitney replied. The maid’s happiness had pulled her from her depressing thoughts.
“We have a full day of what some people call ‘pampering’ scheduled for you,” the woman said.
Whitney stared at her in confusion.
“I don’t need that,” she finally managed to stutter. She’d never even had a pedicure, let alone a full day of freaking “pampering.” How was it pampering when you went through hours of torture? What if there was a bikini wax? Hell, she’d seen the movie Miss Congeniality.
