Love & Liability (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 2)

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  “I was running away.”

  “And Laura stopped you?”

  Here’s where I could salvage the situation—possibly. I could secretly text Laura to go along with the lie, and I’m pretty sure she would.

  “No. I got to the airport and didn’t have my passport, so I had to come back. I’m sorry. I was freaked out and hurt and thinking crazy.”

  Jeremy says nothing. He’s looking at me, but his eyes are doing that faraway thinking thing. After what seems like an hour, he shoulders one bag, lifts the largest one, and starts up the stairs. I’m so relieved, I have to catch my breath before I can grab the rest and follow.

  When I enter our room, he takes the bags I’m carrying, tosses them to the floor, and kicks the door closed.

  “Three nights,” he mutters, and then he’s kissing me and undressing me at the same time.

  When he picks me up to lay me on the bed, I choke up. This. This feeling of being safe in his arms is what I never want to be without. He’s my protector. My lover. My man. Even now in his desire to make up for three lost nights, he kisses me gently, moving slowly.

  “No,” I tell him, “I want you inside me now. Now.” I reach for him, guiding him. I’m desperate for him. “Make me scream. Make me lose my mind.” I claw at his back.

  “No, wait. No.”

  “Yes. Yesss.” I wrap my legs around him tighter. He’s my captive. My slave. “Do it.”

  I’m delirious with wanting him. We’re delirious together. And then everything explodes at once. It’s heaven.

  “Oh my God, woman,” he says when he collapses beside me. “That was insane. Who are you?”

  “Hold me,” I say, snuggling up to him.

  “I’ll do anything you say.”

  “Maybe we should take a hiatus more often.”

  “If you do that to me every time after, I don’t think my heart will last long.”

  I laugh, but a second later I’m crying.

  “No, no, please don’t.” He squeezes me tighter. “I’m sorry. I love you. We’re fine now. Aren’t we?”

  Now I’m laughing again. He tilts my face up toward his. He looks so bewildered it makes me laugh harder. He sits us up and grasps me by my shoulders.

  “Chelsea, are you all right? Should I call your mother?”

  That question sobers me pronto. “I need to pee.”

  He’s still sitting up when I come out of the bathroom. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  He looks crushed. “What can I do?”

  I climb on the bed and straddle him. “You can kiss me.”

  He smiles. “Is that all?”

  “Not by a mile.”

  Later, when I’m satiated again and on the edge of sleep, my brain echoes something Jeremy said at Ethan’s: “I will never be wealthy, and that’s why I can’t marry you.” I sit up. He never explained what he meant by that.

  “Jeremy?” He doesn’t respond, so I push his shoulder.

  “What? What?”

  “Why do you need to be rich to marry me?”

  He groans. “Misunderstanding.”

  “Yeah, I don’t understand, so explain.”

  “Sleep. Leave it till morning.”

  He rolls to his side and pulls the covers over his head. Like that’s going to end this conversation. I’m thinking back to his “all right” reaction. He may not have been happy about my decision, but still. Something doesn’t add up … unless. I was right! I shove him. Hard.

  “You were going to call off our wedding.”

  He groans again.

  “Get your ass up, Jeremy. You’re not sleeping until you explain yourself.”

  He sits up with a huge drama-queen sigh. “Why must you beat a dead horse?”

  “This horse isn’t dead.”

  He opens his mouth, shuts it, and then rubs his face hard. “I want to marry you. You want to marry me. So why can’t we leave it at that?”

  “Because you haven’t told me why you—”

  “You want more than I can give you.” He glances at me, then leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes.

  I don’t know what he means. Or maybe I do and can’t face it, but if he’s saying what I think he’s saying, why would he change his mind and marry me anyway? I feel sick.

  “Why would you marry me if you don’t love me?”

  For the hundredth time tonight, he looks at me as if I’m totally out of my mind.

  “If you can harbor any doubt that I love you, you are mental.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “Love is what I can give you. It’s the other things I can’t. I’ve watched your reactions to everything here. To Dovewood House especially. I was hoping you’d find the Pearce family lifestyle a bore, actually. But you didn’t. You’d love having two houses and six cars and a busy social life and—”

  “Holy shit.” I’m slapping his chest while he leans away as far as he can without falling sideways off the bed. “You frigging hypocrite.”

  “What the hell are you on about now?”

  “I’m the one who jumps to conclusions? What do you call thinking I’m so shallow that after I saw Dovewood I wanted to dump you and find some rich guy to marry?”

  “Well … but … I—”

  “Of course, there is Richard …”

  “Don’t even.”

  I pull him back to cuddle. “Actually, it’s kind of funny that you thought I wanted the exact things I thought you were sorry you’d given up.”

  “I’m not sorry. I told you there are no losses—”

  “Okay, but could you get them back?”

  “You mean, could I give up writing, go back to the family’s law firm, and kiss my father’s arse for the rest of my life?”

  “Yes. Could you?”

  “Yes. I could do.” He slides down to lie flat on the bed, pulling me with him. “But would I? No.” He kisses my nose. “No.” He kisses my lips. “Never.” He kisses my neck. “Not if it meant giving you up.”

  “But what if you could have the money and me too? I mean, that country house is hella mind-blowing, and that Rolls …”

  He interrupts his trail of kisses down my body to study my face. I struggle to keep a giggle in, but it escapes.

  “You are a cruel, absolutely heartless woman, Chelsea Cole.” He moves back up on the bed and raises himself on one elbow. “I’m crazy about you. Will you marry me?”

  “Hmm. I think I need to see how you rate in the sex department before I can answer that.”

  “Ah. Then get out your tally sheet, woman.”

  CHAPTER 14

  We leave for home in sixty-six hours. Jeremy and I are walking back to Laura’s. She had to go into work for a couple of hours today, and Mom’s out with Uncle Bert, so it was just the two of us for lunch. Ethan’s invited us to a party at his place tomorrow night, which means Laura, Jeremy, and I will be wiped out for half of Saturday, and then Uncle Bert and Mom are taking us out for the evening. I’m cool with those plans. What I’m nervous about is tonight’s dinner with Gordon and Amanda.

  “So,” I say as we’re crossing Portobello Road, “we’re going to be open and honest from now on, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “With everyone?”

  “Well … define open and honest. Define everyone. I mean, there are instances where—”

  “I’m talking about your parents. About me. My look. The real me.”

  “Oh. In that case, yes. Which, if you recall, is how I wanted you to be from the start.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So I need to find a salon and do a little shopping.”

  He stops on the corner and pulls out his phone. “Laura and I favored the same salon. I’ll get you in.”

  Two minutes later, he’s booked me for an “emergency” color and styling. A last-minute appointment. On a Friday. Boy does money talk.

  “Now, your clothes.” He looks up the street. “This way, I think.”

  The first
shop Jeremy pulls me into has fabulous real vintage clothes—with prices to match—and I nix that one. In another shop, we find a supercute print dress. The background is black with fantasy butterflies in jewel tones, which sounds dopey, but it’s not. Jeremy declares it “smashing.” But it’s sleeveless, so we go in search of a light jacket. I’m just about to give up when we turn a corner and find the dream shop. I gather an armful of possibles and head to the dressing room. To get the full effect, I put on the dress. The third jacket I try is a hit. It’s a silk bolero, purple, red, and black plaid. (It works. Believe me.)

  “Shoes?” Jeremy asks when we’re walking down the street again.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll save the money and wear my black pumps or borrow a pair of boots from Laura. With black tights, it—” I shut my mouth because I see what Jeremy’s pointing to. The coolest stiletto ankle boots I’ve ever seen. They’re purple suede with a fringed cuff. Adorable.

  Jeremy’s already ushering me in the door.

  We don’t finish at the salon until well into teatime, so Jeremy and I stop in a crowded pub for one drink and a nibble. I try not to notice the looks I’m getting. I wonder what they’re making of the contradiction between my conservative clothes and funky hair.

  “Do you feel like yourself again?” Jeremy asks as he pulls out my chair.

  “Yes, but I’m worried about how your parents will react.”

  “Right. Without their approval, I’ll have no choice but to call off the wedding.”

  “Point taken, smart-ass.”

  “So there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”

  “Yes. There is. You don’t care what they think of me, but I do. And now they’re going to meet the real me.”

  Jeremy sighs and goes to the bar to get our drinks and order our starter. Some guy comes up and slaps him on the back. They talk until our pints are ready. I notice how many women give Jeremy the eye as he walks toward me. He looks only at me. I can’t believe we broke each other’s hearts only a few days ago.

  Jeremy sits down. “You are the most beautiful woman here.”

  “Which means you’ve looked at them all?”

  “No need to.”

  He takes a drink and then takes my hand. “Where were we? Oh, yes. Except for the way you looked, do you actually think you hid the real Chelsea from my parents?”

  “Ohmygod. What did I do wrong? Why didn’t you tell me I was embarrassing you? Or insulting them?” His eyebrows have risen higher with each question.

  “Conclusion jumping, love. You did nothing wrong. Even the outburst at lunch on Monday was my fault, not yours. You charmed them.”

  “They told you that?” The wait for his answer while the appetizer is set before us is agonizing.

  “They offered to hold our wedding at their home, and when we declined that, they lobbied for a second wedding reception.”

  “Well, that’s just because you’re their son.”

  He shakes his head like he can’t believe I said that and pops a pakora in his mouth. His eyes bulge and start watering. I try but can’t hold in a laugh as he struggles with how to stop the burning. Finally, he thinks to take a gulp of his beer.

  “Thanks for the sympathy,” he says.

  “I would have spit it out.”

  “Yes, you would have.”

  “And you would have been mortified.”

  He looks past me for a second, considering, and then shakes his head. “Once I would have … but not any longer.”

  “That’s the most loving thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He cocks his right eyebrow. “I’ve clearly been wasting a lot of effort.”

  “We’re going to love each other for the rest of our lives, aren’t we?”

  He grimaces. “For that long?”

  I smack his arm. He jumps up, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me right in front of everyone. Then he looks me in the eye. “Even death won’t stop me.”

  I try to play it off, but tears sting my eyes. I can’t believe it when he stands back and sweeps an arm toward me, announcing, “My angel and fiancée.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” I say amid the cheers.

  He shrugs. “Let’s go. I need to shower again before dinner. Since we’re being real tonight, I think I’ll leave my hair down.”

  That’s my man, willing to go down in flames with me.

  “In here,” Laura calls out to us when we walk in the door. She and Mom are having a gin and tonic. I hide behind Jeremy until we’re in the living room, and then I pop out.

  My mom’s mouth drops open when she sees my hair. Laura laughs. “Now that’s the way to liven up a Pearce family dinner.”

  “Hush, Laura.” Jeremy walks toward the bar. “I’ve just talked her out of being stressed.”

  “Maybe you should have waited to change your hair,” Mom says.

  “Hell no,” Laura says. “It’s about time she showed her true colors.”

  “Ha. No pun intended?” Jeremy says. “I never wanted her to hide them in the first place.”

  “And you shouldn’t have,” Laura says to me. “You’re on trend. Bomb ass.”

  Jeremy gives me a thumbs-up. “Wait till you see her outfit.”

  “Oh my.” Mom gulps her drink.

  “Geez, Mom, you’re not helping.”

  Jeremy hands me a Batiste. “Drink this before you have a panic attack.”

  “Are you serious?” Laura says. “Do I need to slap you, girl? You’re the bold one. The one who doesn’t give a fuck what others think.”

  “I am?”

  “Well, you were when I first met you.”

  Oh yeah. I was. I throw back my drink. “Okay. This is me. Love me or leave me.”

  Jeremy grins and pulls me toward the hall. “We’ll see you in a bit.”

  When I come out of the bathroom, ready to go to dinner, Jeremy’s pulling on his boots. I stop dead. He’s wearing black jeans and one of his highland shirts—the kind that made me think he was some kind of poet when I first saw him. His gorgeous hair hangs a few inches past his shoulders, but he usually pulls it into a tail before he goes out.

  “Are you really going to leave your hair down?”

  “I am.”

  “And you’re wearing those clothes?”

  “You don’t approve?”

  “You know I do, but your—” He cocks that damn brow at me. “Okay. You’re right. We’re being ourselves.”

  He stands and pulls me to his side before the full-length mirror. “What do you think?”

  “I think we’re fabulous. And formidable. The hottest couple in two countries.”

  “Only two?”

  I go to the closet and pull out his black leather racer jacket. “You need to wear this.”

  “Too right.”

  Mom’s tightened lips when she sees both of us being ourselves says she’s still worried about the Pearces’ reaction. But her lips curve into a half smile when Laura applauds us.

  Ten minutes later, we’re walking into the Pearce’s town house. I assume we’ll start with drinks, like we did last time, before going up to the drawing room, but Laura ushers us toward the stairs. I hold Jeremy back. “Can we have a drink down here first?”

  “Laura.” He motions her toward the parlor or whatever they call the little room off the entry hall. Mom sighs with relief. Jeremy walks straight to the bar and mixes our usuals—our London usuals, that is.

  Laura taps her foot as she sips. “Why are you so anxious for us to go upstairs?” I ask her.

  “It’s been a long time coming.”

  “What has?” my mom asks.

  Grinning, Laura points to Jeremy. He gives her a steady look that says he’s not clueless, but he’s also not sure he agrees.

  “I don’t get what’s going on,” I say.

  Laura swallows the last of her drink and stands. “You’re what’s going on, Chelsea. Come on. Drink up and let’s go.”

  At the top of the stairs, Laura grabs my mom�
��s hand and rushes through the door to be greeted instantly. Ten seconds later, Jeremy and I enter. The room goes dead silent. Surprise propels Gordon to his feet. He casts a frown at Jeremy and then fixes his gaze on me.

  “Your hair is … gray … and purple,” he says.

  “It’s silver,” Amanda says, ignoring the look Gordon gives her. “And I love it. You look beautiful, Chelsea.” Her gaze travels over both of us twice. “Quite handsome, Jeremy. And don’t the two of you look perfect together?” Gordon stares at her like she’s some crazy woman who’s wandered into his house. “Breathe, Gordon,” she says without looking at him.

  “I do like your style,” Uncle Bert says. “Smashing.”

  Gordon sinks back down into his chair.

  “Cool jacket, Jeremy,” Richard says.

  Jeremy pauses, and I know he’s waiting for the barb he expects to follow. I squeeze his hand, hoping to remind him of the conversation I had with Richard at the end of our Dovewood visit.

  “Thank you, Richard,” he says. “You should buy yourself one.”

  We drink and chitchat until dinner’s announced. And then the discussion turns to the wedding and the two receptions. (Jeremy’s accepted that we’ll be returning here in June for the second.)

  We’ve just been served the main course when Gordon looks at Jeremy. “Will you be cutting your hair before the wedding?”

  “No.”

  Gordon sighs, looking so defeated I feel sorry for him. For a moment, he stares at his plate, and then he looks up hopefully. “Shave the beard?”

  Jeremy glances at me. We’ve already discussed this. “Yes,” he says and smiles.

  Gordon smiles back. “Good. That’s good.”

  A few minutes later, Richard speaks to Jeremy. “Are you ever going to write that literary novel?”

  Jeremy looks at him blankly.

  “You know, the one about the guy who volunteers to aid in Haiti after an earthquake and finds—”

  “How do you know about that?” Jeremy barks.

  “You told me. That night we got … uh”—he gives Gordon a nervous glance—“the night we smoked together?”

  Jeremy’s mouth opens, but then he just stares at Richard.

  After a moment, Richard says, “Did I remember the story wrong?”