Freedom's Price

by Suzanne Brockmann

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, right there on the street, next to his car. He kissed her inside the car, and at every stoplight they hit. The rest of the time he drove with his foot on the floor, pushing the speed limit as high as he dared, finally moving at a pace that didn’t drive Marisala crazy.

  And then at last they were home, racing together up the stairs, fumbling with the key in the lock. But once inside, Liam didn’t throw Marisala over his shoulder and carry her up to his bedroom, the way she’d expected. Instead, he went into the kitchen and took a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. As she watched he took two delicate flutes from the cabinet.

  “Let’s go in the living room,” he said.

  Marisala didn’t want to go into the living room. She wanted to go upstairs. She was done with waiting. She wanted Liam now. But again, she gave in, aware of her resolve to let him lead, afraid of ruining this new image she’d created by suddenly coming on too strong.

  She followed him into the other room and watched as he set the bottle and the glasses down on the coffee table. He turned on only one light and it cast a golden glow over the room, warming the comfortable furnishings. He sat down on the couch and smiled up at her.

  Marisala slowly sat next to him as he began wrestling the cork free from the wine bottle.

  “I bought this to have when Hector and Inez bring the baby home from the hospital,” he said. “But I’ll pick up another bottle, because we’ve got to have champagne tonight.”

  The cork popped with a rush of foam, and laughing, Liam filled both glasses. He handed one to Marisala. “Here’s to an unforgettable evening.”

  He clinked his glass against hers, holding her gaze as they both took a sip.

  Marisala felt her heart do a slow flip as he smiled at her again. He was unbelievably romantic, but she didn’t want romance. She didn’t want anticipation. She wanted him.

  Liam set his glass down on the table, then took her glass and did the same. Marisala knew with a rush of fiery heat that this was it. He was going to make love to her now.

  But instead of rising to his feet to lead her upstairs, Liam dropped to his knees. He took her hand, bringing it to his lips and lightly kissing her palm, her wrist.

  “Marry me.”

  At first she didn’t understand, didn’t grasp what he was saying. His words didn’t make sense.

  “You have to marry me,” he told her, his eyes as intense as his voice. “Marisala, I don’t want you just for tonight. I want you forever.”

  She stared at him in total shock. Liam Bartlett was on his knees before her, proposing marriage. But Mother of God, she didn’t want to marry him! She didn’t want to marry anybody. He wasn’t supposed to want her this way. She’d never dreamed he’d want more than a love affair.

  “But…what about Lauren Stuart?” She knew it was a stupid thing to ask, but she couldn’t help herself.

  He stared at her, confused, but it didn’t take him long to make the connection. “You thought?…” He laughed. “No, Mara, Stuart and I are just friends. We’ve never been anything but friends. She’s my boss. Did you really think?…”

  “I asked if you were sleeping with her, but you wouldn’t tell me. So I assumed you were, and then when I met her…”

  “You were wrong.”

  “I’m glad.” She was. She was more glad than she wanted to be.

  “Look, I’m not perfect,” he continued. “You know that probably better than anybody. I’ve got a lot of stuff to work out. I haven’t written a word in months. I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do with my life if I can’t write anymore. Hell, maybe I’ll go to medical school with you.” He smiled. “Maybe I’ll train to become your nurse.”

  Marisala had to laugh at that. “Liam…” She shook her head.

  “Don’t say Liam, just say yes.”

  He was watching her, waiting with such expectation and anticipation for something she couldn’t possibly give him. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, so she slid down off the couch onto her knees on the floor next to him and she kissed him. “Liam, make love to me.”

  He nodded. “I suppose after ‘yes,’ that’s the next best thing you could’ve said.”

  “I want you so badly,” she whispered. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

  He laughed, and when he spoke, his voice cracked expressively. “Yeah, that was effective too.”

  She kissed him again, and this time he kissed her back with delicious abandon, his hands sweeping her body as possessively as his tongue claimed her mouth.

  His fingers found the back zipper of her dress as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Marisala knew he felt a similar frantic need to rid them of their clothes, but also like her, he couldn’t stop his kisses.

  His arm got stuck in the sleeve and he laughed in frustration, taking a moment to pull it off of him, turning the jacket nearly totally inside out in his haste.

  Marisala wriggled out of her dress and kicked off her sandals, laughing at the volcanic flare of heat in his eyes as he saw her underwear. It was black and sheer and it had cost far more than the dress she’d worn over it. There were some things that were worth spending money on. There would only be one first time with Liam. God, when she’d bought the undergarments this afternoon, she’d thought there was a real possibility there’d be only one time with Liam, period.

  But now he’d gone and mentioned the F-word. Forever.

  With a sudden shock, Marisala realized that Liam had taken one look at her dressed up like a stranger, on her very best behavior, with her makeup carefully applied, hair carefully done, nails carefully polished, and he’d decided that not only did he want her in his bed, but he wanted her there forever.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter. She was getting what she wanted—a chance to be Liam’s lover. If she had known dressing up like this would give her this kind of response, she would have done it years ago.

  The movement of his eyes sweeping down her body was as tangible as a caress. She could see his desire for her etched onto his face, giving him a wolf-like, hungry look. He unfastened his bow tie and then his cummerbund, and then the tiny, shiny buttons of his tuxedo shirt, moving slowly now, all the while watching her.

  She reached up to unhook her bra, watching him watch her, aware that she was breathing much too quickly, aware of him gazing at the tops of her breasts as they rose and fell, at last free from the ultra-sexy bra she’d bought for him. Would he look at her that way if she were wearing her cotton underwear? She didn’t like feeling this doubt.

  Liam looked up into her eyes and smiled, a fierce, scaldingly hot smile as he pulled his shirttail from his pants and his arms from his sleeves. “Maybe we should go upstairs.”

  His smile wasn’t enough to reassure her. Dreadfully uncertain, Marisala remembered the words Liam himself had told her over and over again. When in a social situation, and you don’t know what to say or do, let the other person lead. Well, this wasn’t quite the social situation he’d been talking about, but letting him lead seemed the best thing to do.

  “If you want.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want whatever you want. I want to please you.” She didn’t dare be more specific, although she would have liked to be. She couldn’t remember ever being so ill at ease with him. He wanted to make love to the woman in the black party dress. Mother of God, he wanted to marry that woman. But she didn’t know who that woman was. All she knew was that it wasn’t really her.

  He stood up and she let him lead her up the stairs, up to his bedroom.

  Her words had been a lie. She didn’t want to go upstairs. She didn’t want to take the time. She’d wanted him right there, in the living room. She wanted him on the stairs, standing up. She wanted him in the hall, right on the floor.

  But she was letting him lead, and he led her to his bed.

  “Do you want me
to put on some music?” he asked.

  She could see his arousal straining hard against the fabric of his pants. How could he think about music right now? How could he want anything but to rid them both of the rest of their clothes and to bury himself deeply inside of her?

  She wanted to push him down onto his back and straddle him, impaling herself on him, leading them to ecstasy. She wanted to spread herself wide and guide him to her, but she didn’t. She slowly sat down on his bed, afraid to take control of their lovemaking, afraid to do anything for fear she would give herself away.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, sitting down on the other side of the bed. “You’re so quiet, are you sure you want to do this?”

  She had to laugh at the irony. “Do I want to? God, I’m sitting here, dying for you to touch me!”

  He reached for her and she fell into his arms, pushing them both down onto his bed as he kissed her. The sensation of his skin against hers made her moan as she slid her hands along the hard muscles of his shoulders and back.

  He was touching her everywhere, and kissing her everywhere else. The feeling of his body on top of her, the weight of his legs intertwined with hers set her on fire.

  She felt him slip his hands between them and unfasten the button of his pants. She moved to help him, working his zipper down and filling her hands with all of him.

  But he pulled back, out of her reach, as he worked to rid her of the remaining scrap of satin and lace she’d taken such pains to wear for him.

  She sat up, wanting to touch him again, wanting to push his pants down his legs, wanting to see all of him. He was so beautiful—so hard and muscular and utterly, thoroughly male.

  But he stopped her, pulling away again. “I want to look at you,” he murmured.

  She throbbed with need, but she obediently did as he asked and lay back against his sheets and pillows, letting her legs fall open, willing him to touch her, but again, afraid to ask. She was afraid to be demanding, afraid he wouldn’t want her if she was.

  But then he did touch her. He trailed his fingers and his mouth lightly down her body, driving her half-mad with desire.

  “Please,” she gasped as he touched her in her most intimate place, finding her slick and ready for him. “Liam, please!”

  This time when she reached for him, he didn’t move away. This time he let her caress him, and she realized he’d already covered himself with a condom, taking precautions to protect them both. But then, with a groan, he pulled her hands away from him, pinning them up above her head, pressing himself down on top of her. Marisala shifted her hips, searching for him, wanting him, needing him now….

  “Mara, look at me,” he commanded, and she opened her eyes.

  His face was so familiar, so dear, and when he gave her one of his crooked smiles, she thought her heart might burst. It was an overwhelming sensation, and it overpowered everything she felt, even the tempest of her desire.

  “It’s been a while for me,” he admitted raggedly. “And…” He took a deep breath. “And I want you so much I know I’m going to embarrass myself. And all I keep thinking is, God, I better not. I better do this right, or you’re not going to want to marry me.”

  He tried to laugh, tried to pretend that it was funny, but she could see in his eyes just how important this was to him.

  “You don’t actually think I’d base a decision like that on one time and only one time, do you?” she teased. “Even in baseball, you get three strikes before you’re out.”

  His laughter was more genuine now. “That’s a relief.” But still he hesitated, just gazing down at her. “I want you to be my wife,” he finally said. “I need you, Mara. When I saw you tonight, I…It was just so obvious. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize the truth.”

  The truth. He’d found what he thought was the truth from her deceit, from her dress-up games. He didn’t truly want her—he wanted the woman he thought her to be.

  But there was one truth she’d discovered tonight while looking into Liam’s eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. It was true. She loved him—completely, absolutely, and endlessly. She always had and she always would.

  “I know. I wasn’t sure you knew, but…I did. I knew you were mine a long time ago,” he told her quietly. “Now all you have to do is tell me, yes, you’ll marry me.”

  She wanted to hear more from him. She wanted to hear him say he loved her too. He wanted her. He needed her. It wasn’t enough.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she said very softly. She didn’t want to give in—but she knew she had no choice. As miserable as she would be to lose her identity through marriage, she knew she’d be twice as miserable without Liam.

  He kissed her slowly and so sweetly. And then, still taking his time, he pressed himself so perfectly inside of her, finally joining their bodies as completely as their hearts.

  She could hear him breathing hard, trying to control himself. But she didn’t want him in control. She wanted him wild and frantic. She wanted him as lost in his passion for her as she was for him.

  She lifted her hips, driving him more deeply inside of her, pulling his mouth down to hers for another kiss, a harder, hungry kiss. She felt more than heard him groan as he began to move, first matching her rhythm, then kicking it even higher.

  “Mara—” He tried to slow them down, but she pushed him even faster. Yes, this was what she wanted.

  She felt his shuddering release, heard her name in his ragged, breathless cry. She gripped him tightly as his name, too, was ripped from her throat, as she, too, exploded with wave upon scorching wave of pleasure that shook her until she trembled, until she lay exhausted, her face buried in the warmth of Liam’s neck.

  And then there was only silence. Minutes passed, and Marisala started to float, half-asleep. Liam was no lightweight, but she loved the sensation of his body still on top of hers. She hoped he would stay there, still inside of her, all night long.

  But finally he stirred and rolled off her, pulling her into his arms. “That was incredible,” he murmured. “Do you always do that? It was unreal….” He paused. “It was real, wasn’t it? I mean, you weren’t just trying to keep me from being embarrassed because I, you know, couldn’t stop myself from…”

  Marisala opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Real?” she repeated, not quite understanding. “You don’t think I’d actually just pretend to?…”

  “Some women do. They fake it so the man doesn’t feel bad. And the guy never even knows that it’s not the real thing.” He smiled sleepily down at her. “You’ve honestly never done that?”

  Marisala shook her head no.

  He kissed her. “Good. Don’t start, okay? I like the real thing.”

  He pulled her so that her back was pressed against his front, and draping one arm possessively across her, he sighed. “Let’s get married over Thanksgiving break.” His voice was distant as if sleep were very near. “We can go down to San Salustiano, have the ceremony there.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Marisala whispered.

  “Yeah. I want to make love to you in the moonlight, on the beach. And up in the mountains too. I want to take you back there as my wife.”

  Emotion closed her throat and she couldn’t speak. “My wife.” He sighed again, his breathing slow and steady as he drifted into sleep.

  He wanted her to be his wife. Or did he? He had been drawn to the way she’d looked tonight, the way she’d walked and talked and acted. But that wasn’t her. That wasn’t the real thing.

  It wasn’t even close.

  TEN

  LIAM KNEW AS soon as he opened the door that there was going to be trouble.

  The man standing there was in his early thirties, and he was accompanied by two little girls—a four-year-old and another, slightly older, maybe a second grader.

  The man held out his hand. “Ron Hughes,” he introduced himself. “We’re here about Fluffy.”

  “Fluffy?”

  “Hi, I’m Marisala. We spoke on th
e phone.” Liam turned to see Mara coming down the stairs, Evita in her arms.

  The smaller of the two girls let out a shriek. “Fluffy! Daddy, it’s Fluffy!”

  Evita let out an excited bark, and Marisala set the puppy on the floor.

  Little girl and puppy met in a tangled heap of arms, legs, and paws. The older girl soon joined the pile. “Sally’s right, Daddy,” she called out joyfully. “It is Fluffy!”

  “It looks like you found our dog,” Ron said cheerfully.

  Liam’s heart sank and he swore silently. He knew this was going to happen. He’d told Marisala….

  She was sitting on the stairs, arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she watched the two girls hugging the puppy she had come to love.

  “I’ve never done this before,” Liam told Ron, “and I’m not sure how we go about proving the dog’s yours. Do you have papers or pictures or—”

  “The dog is theirs, Liam,” Marisala said quietly. “Look at them. The dog is theirs.”

  Ron reached for his wallet. “I’m prepared to pay a reward, of course.”

  Liam’s temper flared. “We don’t want your money. Although it might be nice to know how you could lose a puppy and not manage to find her until weeks later.”

  Ron lowered his voice, his eyes apologetic. “The girls’ mother was in an accident while on a business trip in D.C. We had to fly down there to be with her while she was in the hospital. I got a neighbor to take Fluffy, but the dog managed to get free. I do appreciate your caring for her all this time, and I’d like to reimburse you for—”

  “Is your wife all right?” Marisala had come to stand beside him. Liam slipped his arm around her shoulder, and she pressed herself against him, as if she needed his solidness and his warmth.

  “She’s got a pin in her hip, but she’s going to be okay.” Ron had his wallet out again. “Please, I’d like to repay you—”

  “Send a donation to the Boston Refugee Center,” Marisala told him. “That would be a good way to repay us.”

  Ron nodded. “I’ll do that.” He looked down at Fluffy and his daughters still giggling together on the floor. “Well, I guess we better get going.”