He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

by Iris Morland

  “How would you know? You know nothing about him!”

  “He is Sam’s best friend…” Still, how did I know? And wasn’t I being stupid, considering Liam had just tried to blackmail me less than an hour ago? Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the best man, pun intended. That didn’t mean I felt like I was in danger-danger.

  “You need to make sure he isn’t using you for something,” said Dani.

  “Like what? He’s the mob boss of Seattle or something?”

  “He could be a criminal. You never know. Why would he marry some woman out of the blue?”

  “Because we were both drunk and dumb? Besides, I’m hardly a great person to marry. I don’t have any money, so if we have to divorce instead of get an annulment, he won’t get much of anything.”

  Dani let out a breath. “Okay, you have a point. If he is a criminal, he’s a bad one. You’re a terrible mark.”

  “Thank you?”

  “Although he could have a lair in the Seattle underground. Keeps virgins and the heads of his victims down there.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure the tour guides going down there would’ve noticed a bunch of decomposing heads, Dani.”

  “Jacob says he knows a good lawyer who can get your marriage annulled quickly. He even called him this morning.”

  I smiled, even though my heart hurt a little, hearing how happy my sister was. She deserved a good man who adored her, and despite a rocky beginning, she and Jacob were almost disgustingly happy together now.

  He and his family actually owned the rival flower shop that was currently merging with our family’s shop, Buds and Blossoms. Dani had taken over Buds and Blossoms a few years ago after my parents had retired. She’d always been the one good with plants. I was decent with them, but I wasn’t obsessed with them like Dani. Our younger sister Kate, though, was the one with the black thumb. Any plant she touched withered and died.

  “Tell Jacob thanks,” I said. “I have to get back to the reception.”

  After Dani asked me to send her photos of the floral centerpieces since she loved to find inspiration from other designers, she told me to stay safe and not do anything stupider than marrying some random stranger.

  It was strange that I was the misbehaving sister right now. I’d always been the good one. Dani had been the oddball, with plants in her backpack when she went to school, while Kate had been the one my parents despaired over. Not only could she not grow the easiest type of fern that literally needed zero watering, but she was impulsive and always got into trouble. She still managed to get into trouble now despite being almost twenty.

  I didn’t want to be the bad girl. Bad girls always got punished. The feeling that I’d stepped out of line and would face dire consequences made my gut churn with anxiety. Jenna’s wedding had provided enough of a distraction to keep my anxiety at bay, but now it washed over me in full force.

  I wrapped my arms around my middle, taking deep breaths. I felt that prickling of my skin that signaled I was about to get light-headed. Before I knew it, I was sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor with my head between my knees.

  I took slow, deep breaths. I knew, objectively, that this was a panic attack, but it only helped soothe my pounding heart a little. I hadn’t felt this panicky in a long time. Not since I was a kid and my parents had been struggling to keep everything together. When I’d felt like I needed to be good just to keep everyone I loved happy and safe.

  The panic abated. When the light-headedness faded, I forced myself to stand and go to the reception with a smile on my face.

  Chapter Six

  Liam

  My new wife was avoiding me.

  I watched her dance during the reception, her green dress tight against her curves. One of the groomsmen—Kevin? Keith?—had his hands dangerously close to her arse. One more inch and he’d have a nice handful.

  Mari, to her credit, somehow managed to wiggle out of his grip to move his hands to a more appropriate place on her back without missing a beat. It was only her smile faltering that showed she was annoyed.

  I’d got good at reading my wife in the last two days.

  My wife. My bloody fucking wife.

  Me, the guy who hated the idea of marriage. I was a bitter old man in a young man’s body when it came to shite like this. Yet I’d skipped to the altar like a starry-eyed girl the second I got rat-arsed and horny for a gorgeous redhead.

  It’ll make me feel better, she’d said, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy. It’ll make David so mad. And it’d be fun. Don’t you like to have fun?

  I liked to have fun. Fun that didn’t involve signing my life away to a woman in one fell swoop.

  I didn’t have the excuse that I’d been too drunk to consent. Unlike Mari, I had a high alcohol tolerance. My mind had warned me that the idea was ludicrous. But it’d been easy to blame the booze.

  The booze made me stand in front of a lisping minister wearing a cheap robe that had seen better days. Our witnesses had been a man wearing black with a sword strapped to his side and another man who kept saying Inconceivable! after the ceremony. Mari had thought all of it was hilarious, especially as she’d tried to explain the plot of The Princess Bride while totally smashed.

  I’d told myself at the time the booze had made me sign my name on that license. The booze had made me think it would be a grand idea. Besides, she’d said she’d wanted to do it to get back at her ex, and somehow that had appealed to me.

  I married the girl you were too fucking stupid to keep for yourself.

  Yet now, in the cold light of day, I could only think: what the fuck was I going to do now?

  My attention was caught by that damn groomsman, who had his hands back on Mari’s arse. Jesus Christ, I’d had enough of this.

  “My turn,” I said, right as the song ended. Keith-Kevin-whoever opened his mouth to protest, but I didn’t wait for him to speak. I took Mari into my arms and whirled her away.

  “That was rude,” she complained.

  I stared at her. “I was saving you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “He had his hands practically up your arse.”

  Mari’s lips pursed. She had this expression—like a prim schoolteacher—that made me want to take her hair down and make her messy. Begging for me, crying out my name. I had a feeling it wouldn’t take much to get my prissy wife to become a total demon in the sack. She was so wound up, so concerned about what other people thought, that she was the type of woman who needed more than just the physical release of sex.

  You sound like a goddamn shrink, I thought.

  “How would he have gotten his hands up my butt? I’m wearing a dress and so much Spanx I can barely breathe. Honestly, if he managed that, I’d give him a medal.”

  “If you keep talking about this other guy, wife, I’m taking you upstairs.”

  I breathed the words into her ear, although the music was so loud nobody would’ve heard me. But I knew she was antsy about me blabbing about our wedding. I’d been bluffing—I didn’t need anyone knowing about it, either.

  Keeping Mari on her toes, however? Worth the little white lie.

  Logically, there was no reason to keep her on the hook. I didn’t want marriage or a wife. Yet somehow I already felt like she was mine to protect. Mine to savor. It was a primal, unreasonable feeling that I didn’t want to examine too much. Or maybe it was just that Mari was so resistant to the idea that I wanted to make her change her mind.

  “I’m not your wife,” said Mari in that crisp schoolteacher voice.

  Speak of the devil…

  “Did you already forget what we did last night?”

  “A drunken ceremony in Vegas doesn’t make us actual spouses. Even you can understand that.”

  I twirled her around and when she returned to my arms, I let one of my hands drift down her back until it settled right above her arse. One I was keen to make mine, along with the rest of her body.

  “Yet your nipples are as hard as diamonds, an
d you’re all flushed. Every time you get near me you’re aroused. I bet those Spanx of yours are soaked right now.”

  She scowled. “You’re annoying. And that’s hardly a sexy image, you know.”

  “Ripping you out of them is pretty sexy, though.”

  “I’d love to see you try. These things are like elastic armor.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  Her eyes flashed, her lips twitching at the corners. I dipped her again, enjoying the flash of her cleavage. What a fucking shame that we’d been too smashed last night to fuck.

  “I think you married me last night because you wanted a real man for once,” I said quietly. “One who wasn’t afraid of you.”

  “Now you think you know me.”

  “What did you say two nights ago? That people were easy to figure out?”

  “So you’ve already figured me out.”

  “I’m getting there.”

  Mari’s smile had disappeared. Once the song ended, she pushed away from me and walked off.

  I wasn’t disappointed at her leaving; it just gave me an opportunity to watch her hips sway as she walked in those heels.

  “What was that all about?” said Sam at my elbow once I’d returned to the reception table. “Mari looked pissed.”

  “Doesn’t she always?”

  “Mari? No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her angry. She’s always pretty cheerful.” Sam frowned at me. “Gallagher, I told you to leave the bridesmaids alone. You’re not screwing around with Mari, are you?”

  I almost choked. Christ, Sam would kill me if he found out what we’d done last night. “She practically has an ironclad chastity belt around her. I’d probably lose a hand trying.” It was only half a lie.

  Sam looked a little mollified. “She was really messed up when her fiancé—well, just don’t be an ass. She’s been through enough.”

  I looked around for my wife, but Mari must’ve left the reception entirely. I considered going after her. But why bother when she was pissy?

  Instead, I danced with a few more of the bridesmaids to pass the time. One of them, Reagan, was giving me such obvious signals that she was interested that I was halfway tempted to take her up on the invitation. It wasn’t like my wife would welcome me into her bed tonight.

  “You’re from Ireland?” Reagan’s eyes widened exaggeratedly. “No wonder your accent is so sexy.”

  Subtle, this one. “I’ve been in the States for a while now.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to London. Isn’t the queen there? I wanted to marry Prince William when I was younger.” Reagan giggled.

  My Irish side bristled, but Americans weren’t known for understanding the history of Ireland and the United Kingdom. They thought it was all the same country, for Christ’s sake. I’d been amazed when I’d met an American who’d actually known Ireland and Northern Ireland were two separate countries.

  “Do you speak—oh, what is it called—”

  “Gaelic?” I said gently. “Irish is fine, too.”

  Reagan lit up. “Yes! Like Jamie from Outlander. If you speak it, I’ll probably burst into flames. It’s so hot. Oh my God, do you ever wear a kilt?”

  I couldn’t help myself. She was so earnestly stupid. My Gaelic was rusty and had never been great, but I leaned down and whispered, “Is cuma sa toll feisithe liomsa.”

  The girl’s eyes almost rolled back inside her tiny brain. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re beautiful,” I lied.

  Translation: I don’t give a fuck.

  An hour later, when Reagan tried to get me to go upstairs with her, I found myself totally uninterested. She’d be a fun lay, but she didn’t fire my blood like another girl I’d got stuck on since the moment I first saw her. I instantly imagined wrapping that red hair around my fist, pale limbs sprawled across white sheets—

  “How about we go back to the reception?” Reagan was currently trying to burrow under my jacket like an overeager monkey.

  “I want to stay right here.” Her quick little hands were on my belt, and I had to stop her from exposing me. Christ, I didn’t need to get arrested for public indecency because some chick was desperate for cock.

  I pushed her away gently, ignoring the hurt on her face.

  I needed to get out of here before I did something even dumber than get married to a woman I barely knew.

  Except, apparently I hadn’t pushed Reagan away soon enough, because I heard an intake of breath and knew, I just fucking knew, who it was.

  Mari. Just great.

  “What’s your deal?” said Reagan. The flirty woman hanging onto my arm had turned into one who looked like she’d gladly stab me in the kidney.

  Couldn’t blame her. I’d bolloxed this all up like a total gobshite.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  I went back to the reception, but Mari wasn’t there.

  She’s not your wife, man. Why the fuck does it matter?

  It didn’t matter. We weren’t together. We weren’t really married, as she’d told me multiple times. Yet logic wasn’t on my side in this instance.

  I walked back to the hotel, which was only a few blocks away. And then I was knocking on Mari’s hotel room door loudly enough that I knew she’d open the door just to tell me to be quiet.

  “Will you be quiet?” she said scathingly.

  “You look mad, wife.”

  “I’m not your wife.” She drew herself up. That motion put her breasts on display, and I realized she was wearing nothing but a short, silky nightgown.

  How was I supposed to concentrate with her magnificent tits right there? Did she want me to seduce her? Based on the fact that we’d made out twice already, she wasn’t immune to me. I had a feeling I could get her pussy wet and swollen within two minutes, if she didn’t stab me first.

  “What?” she said, breaking through my lurid thoughts. “I was sleeping.”

  “You left the reception twenty minutes ago. I doubt you were asleep.” I moved past her into her room.

  “By all means, come in. Would you like something to drink? Should I order room service, too?”

  “And risk having you poison my drink? I’m good.”

  Mari paced behind me like an angry cat. Why hadn’t I just taken her back here and fucked her until we were both drained last night? My sober brain tried to figure out the logic behind my drunken decisions, but there was no understanding it. I’d had a moment of insanity in marrying her but then not having sex with her. That was the only way to explain it.

  Mari sat down on the bed, her arms crossed. She’d put on a robe that matched her nightgown. I remembered her matching emerald bra and panties last night in a heated rush. My wife liked pretty lingerie. And fuck me, but I wanted to see her wear more.

  “Did you need something?” she said finally, cocking a sassy eyebrow. “Because I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “I was here to claim my husbandly rights, actually.” I couldn’t stop the brogue from dripping from my tongue. If I weren’t careful, I’d end up sounding like that fucking Lucky Charms leprechaun.

  “Your husbandly rights? Are you serious? Go back to your room, Liam. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You’re jealous I was with another woman.”

  “Oh, you can read my mind now?”

  “Nah, but you have an iron bar up your ass right now, which can’t be comfortable. It’s written all over your face. You’re not good at hiding how you feel.”

  She looked so offended I had to bite back a laugh. “You don’t know anything.”

  “What you saw at the reception…”—I shook my head—“wasn’t anything. I was just messing around.”

  She looked away, her face in profile. I wished I had my camera right now. She’d make a beautiful model, the line of her jaw and the slim arch of her nose, her lips full and rose red. The low light in the room cast a warm glow across her pale skin. I’d have her keep the robe on, but have it sliding off one shoulder. Just a hint of sex appeal…

/>   “I don’t care who you sleep with,” she said, but if I weren’t studying her face, I would’ve missed the tremble in her bottom lip.

  I felt triumph. Yeah, I felt fucking triumphant. Sue me. This woman who was so straitlaced and acted like I was a bug squashed under her shoe was jealous.

  “You do care,” I said. I touched her chin so she had to look me in the eyes. “You care so much that you’re thinking about gouging out my eyeballs.”

  “I wouldn’t ruin my manicure for your eyeballs.”

  “You’d use a spoon, then. Gloves to protect your nails. You’d figure it out.”

  “What a compliment.”

  She hadn’t moved away from me, though. I wanted to flip her nightgown up, revealing what would surely be the prettiest pussy imaginable. I had a feeling it’d be as pink as her nipples. My mouth watered.

  I moved my thumb down her throat, feeling her pulse flutter.

  “You’re jealous,” I said in a low voice, “because you wanted me to fuck you. Didn’t you, Mari? You can’t lie to me.”

  She swallowed. “Physical attraction is just hormones. Chemicals. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Then why are you shaking?”

  “I’m cold.”

  “I’ll warm you up.”

  I didn’t wait for her to protest. To give me her long list of reasons, because I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t need to hear her pros and cons, how this wasn’t in her plan, how it wasn’t practical.

  I kissed her. I kissed her like I wanted to fuck her. I licked inside her luscious mouth, and her shivers only increased.

  I hauled her into my lap. I wanted her to feel how fucking hard I was for her. Her legs were splayed, and I bucked against her pelvis as I kissed her.

  I wanted to blot out the memory of any man who’d kissed her before. I wanted her to forget her gobshite of an ex and only think of me.

  “Is this just chemicals and hormones making you rub your pussy against me?” I said as I kissed the delicate shell of her ear.

  “Liam.” Her voice was a gasp.

  “I know what you need.” I pushed that robe off her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. I sucked on the skin of her shoulder, knowing it’d leave a mark. I ran my hand up her thigh. Her skin was silky soft, and I had to groan when she tugged at my hair.