by Celia Ashley
She shrugged. He thought she might be crying again, but he couldn’t see her face. When she spoke, her voice was hushed, distant, as if she’d slipped away. “I don’t know.”
He stroked her unruly hair back from her face in an effort to see her better. “You don’t know?”
“Lovers are—people who hold each other’s hearts. Otherwise, it’s just sex.”
His lips curved. He understood now, or was starting to. It was a matter of trust. Leaning over her, he kissed her ear.
“I’m broken, Liam. That’s what I tried to say the other night. I came back to try to fix me, who I am.”
Grabbing her shoulder, he pulled her around until she lay on her back. He positioned himself over her, one arm to either side, looking her in the eye. “Sweetheart, you can’t fix the past. You can make amends, but you can’t repair what’s gone. It’s not tangible. The past is not a physical object. You can, however, reshape what it’s done to you. You can take what you have in here”—he lightly touched a finger to her breast in the vicinity of her heart—“and here”—and then moved his fingers into her hair, cupping the shape of her skull in his palm, feeling the warmth of her scalp—“and remake it.”
Tears glittered on her lashes in the steep angle of the sun through the window. He pressed his mouth to one eye, then the other, and pulled away, tasting salt on his lips. “And you can rebuild trust. I promise you.”
Even as he said those words, he experienced a sickening, guilty wrench in his abdomen, and yet he believed them with his whole heart. To stop the pain that had begun to flood his veins, he kissed her again, on the mouth this time. Hers opened beneath the pressure with a tiny moan that rushed against the tide, pushing culpability and anguish back into that dark cubbyhole he’d created inside him for its keeping.
“So,” she whispered against his scar. He doubted she even noticed it. “It’s not just sex?”
He closed his eyes and shuddered at the touch of her tongue along his jaw, his throat. “It’s not just sex, Paige,” he said, struggling to manage coherent thought for words. “We might be undefined right now, but just sex it is not.”
“All right, Liam. I’m going to do my best to trust you.” She breathed warm and oddly effervescent air against the hollow below his ear. Guilt flared once more in a brief conflagration and vanished as she did something to him that made him cry out and forget everything but the moment.
Chapter 16
He had remarkably sensitive earlobes. Every man possessed some point of contact from which he could not return. Paige heard his cry and let it rush over her skin like water. She tugged his T-shirt out of his jeans and closed her thumb and forefinger on the rigid nub of his nipple as she continued her prior ministrations. The sound he made then proved more delightful than the one before. He seized her hands in a sudden flurry and jerked away, gazing down at her with eyes as dark as midnight.
“Good God, woman, I think I should tell you it’s been a ridiculously long time since I’ve…well, you know, done this. How about letting me set the pace?”
She heard herself purr like a cat as she arched her body toward his against the gentle restraint he maintained on her wrists. He slid back on the mattress, pulling her up onto her knees.
“Stay there,” he said. “Don’t move.”
Perfectly willing to be compliant, she lowered her buttocks onto her heels and waited, observing him with a fascinated eye. First he pulled off his shoes. Not the work boots she was used to seeing him wear, but a pair of canvas deck shoes. His socks followed. He set both aside and stood. He yanked off his shirt and tossed it. She watched the blue-striped fabric flutter and land somewhere beyond the chest, and then she snapped her gaze back to him. He had a long spine and a back marked by lean muscle and strength. Paige found her breath coming in short bursts and forced her respiration to lengthen, to restore oxygen to her brain. She failed miserably when he turned to face her and her breath caught again at the expression on his face, the contours of his chest and arms, the clear and present danger evident behind the fly front of his jeans.
She held her arms out to him.
“Not yet,” he said. “Your turn.”
Her blouse had a deuced amount of buttons down the front, and it took her forever to unfasten them. When she neared the hemline, she opted for expedience, and went to pull it over her head. His voice stopped her.
“There are only three more. Take your time. There’s no rush.”
She nearly broke the last one in frustration when she couldn’t push the button through the hole.
“Let me.”
Placing one knee on the wrinkled bed linens, he bowed his head to the task, his dark hair brushing across her cheek, and then her breast as he bent closer. She could smell his shampoo, something with coconut, and the fresh air. His fingers grazed her belly as he pushed her blouse back and straightened. He slid the sleeves from her arms. She followed the trail of his gaze down her body, saw him pause, nostrils flaring.
“Look at you.”
“I don’t, very often,” she said.
Placing two fingers into each cup of her bra, he pushed the fabric down, popping her breasts free. Her nipples hardened in the air, in the intensity of his gaze. She reached behind to unfasten the confining garment.
“I’ve got it.” He raised her arms above her head and left them there, then slid his hands behind her back to work the triple hook and eye. His breath drifted across her skin, causing the rosy flesh of her nipple to pucker more. He placed his lips beside it, and then under it, pushing softly against her breast. She wanted to scream out for him to take her into his mouth, but she waited, barely breathing. He unhooked her bra and stood.
Circling her upper arms with his fingers, he urged her upright, helping her to find her balance on the mattress. He pulled her unfastened garment off her body and dropped it at the foot of the bed. “Jeans next.”
Paige unzipped them and pushed the denim down past her hips, wriggling them to her ankles. Taking her hand, Liam placed it on his shoulder for stability and removed her pants himself. They went the way of his shirt, flying onto the floor. She started to ease back down.
“Wait,” Liam whispered.
Standing on the bed in nothing but her panties, she crossed her arms over her breasts, suddenly timid. He uncrossed her arms, holding them away from her body. “You’re beautiful.”
“No, I’m not. I could—”
“What? Be perfect? Perfect is a flaw in itself. It’s not perfection but who we really are, every imperfection of form, every element of personality, every quirk of insight and opinion, that captivates and enthralls.”
As he spoke, he slid aside her soaked underwear, parting and exploring with a touch as light as air.
“Oh God, Liam…”
“Shhh.”
With a small ripping noise, the material of her panties parted at her hip and slid down her thigh. His mouth closed over her, the flat of his tongue moving in inexorable strokes. She shoved her fingers into his hair, drawing him in, widening her stance, feeling his fingers on her buttocks in an effort to keep her upright, to prevent her toppling off the bed. His tongue’s movement accelerated, focused, circling and suckling as her nipples hardened to stone on her breasts and heat flashed like flame over every surface of her body.
She cried out in wordless ecstasy, and he still did not relent. Her knees buckled and he caught her, dropping down with her onto the bed. She had no idea at what point he’d shed his jeans, but his boxers followed as he spread her legs. He kissed her thigh, the curve beneath her ribs, and then he latched onto her nipple. He didn’t linger. His urgency was palpable in the goose bumps on his flesh, his labored breathing, the turgid position of his penis, tight against his belly. She took him in her hand and guided him in. She didn’t need hours. She needed this now, the enveloping blindness of yet another climax while he thrust himself into her, hard and without control, two bodies in passionate, abandoned consummation, qui
ck and frenzied and on fire.
Were they lovers by her definition? She didn’t care. She would sort that out later.
* * * *
Liam lay with his head on his arm on Paige’s pillow. Her wild mane curled across the linen and onto the bend of his elbow. He pondered her breast in its rise and fall beneath the sheet, calm now, steady and rhythmic. Her mouth had parted about fifteen minutes ago, showing the pearly edges of her teeth. No other sound issued from her mouth but soft, raspy breath.
He wished he had some way of looking into her mind, stealing into her thoughts. Although she had curled against him after lovemaking, craving physical closeness, he’d witnessed her emotions close to him. She’d made small talk, avoiding any mention of the photos, her experience at the standing stones, the fact they’d made love without restraint in this damned cramped bed more than once. He refused to refer to what they’d engaged in as sex, even though technically, it was no more than that. He didn’t want what they’d shared to fall into such an inadequate category.
But so what? In the morning, or whenever he chose to leave Paige’s bed, would what he wanted really matter? And, honestly, did he have any right to expect it should?
Lifting his right hand, he curled a chestnut lock around his index finger, studying its color, the texture in the darkness. What would she say if she knew not all her secrets were hidden? Would she hate him for that?
God, he hoped not. He didn’t think he could take it.
After another fifteen minutes of watchfulness, he required fresh air, a stretching of his legs. Deep down, he understood what he really needed was familiar surroundings, a tether to the life he knew. He exited the tangle of sheet and blanket with exaggerated care and climbed into his jeans, followed by the shirt he finally located under the foot of the bed. He listened for any change in Paige’s breathing, but she slept on undisturbed.
He’d laid the keys on the kitchen counter earlier and they remained there, gleaming slightly in the darkness. Although he didn’t intend to be gone long, he planned to lock the door, and scooped the keys quietly into his palm. He had no way of knowing what Paige’s reaction would be when she woke up and found him gone, but he certainly wouldn’t leave her unguarded.
Outside, he strode several yards away from the cottage door. Standing beneath the stars, the flags of silvery clouds, he listened to a nightjar calling in the stand of pines across the road. Sometimes the nighttime occupation of Alcina Cove’s establishments reached him out here, but when the wind blew off the ocean it snatched the noise away, driving human clamor inland, and then he might as well have been the only human in the world. He welcomed those nights more than he cared to admit.
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Liam headed down to the beach. He heard a radio blare as a car sped by on the road, then fade quickly into a tinny melody. He thought of the soft places on Paige’s body and increased his pace, falling into a pattern parallel with the water surging toward the shore. Several times an energetic wave flooded across his bare feet, soaking denim. He changed direction, striding away from the tide toward the jetty with its huge, black boulders. As he approached, a shadow rose up.
Shock jerked him to a standstill. He yanked his hands from his pockets. “Who is that?”
A second shadow broke away from the inky darkness surrounding the stones and moved to stand beside the first. “Who the hell do you think it is?”
* * * *
Paige sat bolt upright. It took a second to remember she hadn’t been sleeping alone, and then another to figure out her bedmate had gone. The noise that had woken her was a scratching, like metal at the door. Her heart hammered up her throat and into her temples, nearly drowning out the sound. Throwing herself from the bed, she fell to the floor, tangled in the bedclothes. She yanked the blanket free as she struggled upright, tossing it around her naked shoulders. Hurrying across the floor, she headed to the last place she’d seen her cell phone. She tried to snatch it from the dresser, nearly knocking it through the air. Catching the phone as it spun across the wood, she prepared to dial the police. At a muffled murmur, she flew instead on bare feet to the light plate beside the sink and flipped on the outside light. A key rasped into the deadbolt and the door opened. The beer bottle from the sink missed Liam’s head by a bare inch as he stepped inside. The bottle didn’t break, but tumbled to the floor, rolling in a wobbling ellipse. The remnants of yeasty liquid sprayed across the boards.
“Shit, Paige, you could have killed me.”
“That was the plan,” she said, grabbing several paper towels. She tossed them down to soak up the beer. “How was I supposed to know who was coming in?”
“I know. I’m…I’m sorry.”
Crouching to sop up the fluid, Paige paused, staring up at Liam’s ashen face. Abruptly, she straightened, flipping the trailing edge of the blanket around her hips and tucking it under her arm to keep it in place. “What’s wrong?”
“What?”
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, striding across to the bed. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just needed some fresh air.” He sat. Heavily. Paige frowned.
“Are you…are you ill?” She glanced at the bottle, still rocking a little on the ground. “Are you drunk?” She didn’t see how he could be, but he could have gone home. She hadn’t any idea of the time and not a single clue how long ago he’d left. Heck, he could have gone out to a bar somewhere. Although, spotting his bare feet, she decided he probably hadn’t.
Paige took a couple of steps toward him. “Liam, is this all just a little too strange for you? Are you feeling, I don’t know, regretful?”
He lifted his gaze to her, dark eyes shadowed with sleeplessness, jaw tight. “Regretful seems a mild term.”
Her stomach turned over, and she sucked in a breath. She felt as if she’d been slapped. “You could have said no.”
“What do you mean? In response to your question?”
“No. In response to the sex. You could have said ‘no’ and gone home while the sun was still shining.”
Wearing an odd expression, he shook his head a couple of times. “I don’t regret it, Paige. Not at all. I was only remarking on the fact that regretful was a mild way to express what people sometimes feel after getting together. And, once again, I’m not saying that I have any regrets.”
She made a face, uncertain how to respond. His voice sounded strained, his commentary rambling.
“Do you, Paige? Have regrets?”
She sat next to him, taking his hand. “No.”
He closed his eyes. The color still had not returned to his face.
Paige stroked hair back from his brow. “Something is not right with you, though. I can see it.”
Liam slipped his arms around her, pulling her down onto the bed as he stretched out across the mattress. “I’m fine. I promise. Let’s try and get some sleep.”
“I’ll turn the porch light out first.” Paige attempted to get up, but he held her tighter. Not in a manner she would consider arousing, or even alarming, but as though he didn’t want her far from his side.
“Leave it,” he said. “Leave it on.”
The way he uttered those words worried her. “Liam—”
“It’s nothing, Paige. Really.”
“Do you want to take your pants back off?”
“I’m good.”
Even that concerned her. He appeared shaken, uneasy, but she couldn’t imagine why. Releasing the edge of the blanket, she threw it over them both against the draft of the overhead fan. In time, she relaxed against him, but didn’t sleep. Neither did he.
Chapter 17
Paige fell back asleep sometime before sunrise, having witnessed the dark window turn pale. By that time, Liam was snoring lightly, his arm flung across his eyes and his head turned away. But when Paige awoke he had gone, slipping from bed and covering her back up without disturbing her. He did, however, leave a note. One of the sticky notes from the pa
d hanging on the wall beside the kitchen counter was affixed to her face. After her initial confusion upon awakening to a tacky, crinkly object clinging to the curve of her cheek, she smiled at the image of him placing it there. When she turned the page toward the sunlight to read the penned words, her smile faded.
I will only be locking the doorknob since I don’t want to take the key to the deadbolt. I have to go away for a couple of days. I wanted to be here to keep an eye on you, but since I can’t, please, please be careful and don’t hesitate to call the local PD. Shadow will need looking after if you don’t mind. I’ll leave his food and bowl on your doorstep. He’s good company if you want to let him in. I’ll see you soon. ~L.
Something had happened last night. As she bounced out of bed, she wondered if he’d received a call. Perhaps something had happened to a family member? Why hadn’t he told her? But why would he? She headed into the bathroom to shower. One toss about in bed didn’t make her his confidante. She didn’t know what it made her. The see you soon in his note signified some kind of promise, though.
“God, Paige, you’re an idiot,” she chastised herself in the mirror as she applied her facial cleanser. There had been a time when she hadn’t worried about such things. What made Liam different from the other men she’d known? What made her want him to be different?
Because maybe you’ve fallen a little in love with him, her inner voice whispered. Paige frowned at her reflection. And how much hurt would that bring if it were true? She’d fallen in bed with him, not in love, damn it. In like, perhaps, but she’d never been willing to wager on the positive outcome of love. She knew better. Love…well, love just wounded people.
Even her mother spent all those years alone after fleeing Alcina Cove, not even dating another man. Or at least not one Paige knew about.
Making a deliberate decision to not consider the complications of emotional connections, at least for a while, Paige climbed into the shower. At the far side, pasted to the tile wall, the ink running a little from the splash of water, hung another sticky note, the three words large and clearly legible.
