by Ella James
“I like your hair. It’s really pretty, kind of the color of cinnamon.”
I want to tell her it’s darker in the winter, but I’m too tired to say a word. I just lie there, half asleep, thinking about wisps of things I can’t quite catch and listening to the gentle lapping of the water on the shoreline down below.
When I wake up, I find myself alone on the rock, my cheek pressed into something soft and red that smells like her. I blink into the dim sunlight, then glance around. I sit slowly, and realize there’s a sweater draped over my legs.
I spot Lucy back down at the shore. She’s got her pants rolled up and is wading around, ankle-deep, in the cool water.
I see her lunge for the surface, hands cupped, and watch her stand up laughing. Her hair flows around her shoulders.
I watch her as she does the same thing again, and I realize she’s trying to catch a fish. I smile, thinking of the fishing lodge on the other side of the island. Maybe we should spend the night there instead of the tree-houses.
I grab the pack she left beside me, throw it over my shoulder, and walk around the pile of bags at the top of the embankment, heading slowly down the grassy hillside.
Lucy sees me as I reach the shore. She smiles at me and spins around.
I can’t help chuckling as I approach her. “You look like you’re having fun.”
She tilts her head, still smiling. “I am. It’s gorgeous here. Like paradise.”
I grab her hand, but I don’t twine my fingers through it. I trace my thumb over her knuckles, wanting so damn much to bring her fingers to my lips.
I think about Dru and all her promises. About Ronald. Reality unwinds around me like a sticky web I can’t get out of. I know I can’t. And I would never want her stuck with me.
I let go of her hand and hear my own voice say, “I’m glad you like it.”
I sound hollow. Far away.
Tonight, I need to keep my distance. It’s wrong to have Lucy here at all, but so much worse to get entangled with her.
Lucy
“So, you want to have a picnic? Up there on the rock, or in the trees?” He points.
“Of course. That sounds amazing.”
We walk up the hill together, and I can’t help noticing Liam’s mood. He seems reserved. Even his shoulders are held stiffly. When he looks at me, his gaze doesn’t linger.
Down by the water, when he grabbed my hand, I felt like he was going to kiss it. Now he seems so distant.
We sit on the rocky outcropping again, the same place I played with his hair, and have a lunch of smoked sausage, cheese, and rosemary bread. Liam looks out at the water as much as he looks at my face as he drinks his wine and listens to me talk about my job in Estes.
“I’m probably boring the hell out of you.”
“No,” he says quickly, finishing his wine. He pours himself some more, and once again, he offers me some.
“That’s okay. I’m really not much of a drinker.”
Especially pregnant.
Adrenaline shoots through me, but I cling to my decision not to tell him today or tonight. I turn the conversation to the island, and Liam tells me it’s his family’s private property, a getaway with tree-houses, hot springs, a giant fishing lodge, and zip-lines.
“There’s a staff here when someone from the family has a big retreat. I didn’t call them out, though.”
“Good. I’ll help you if there’s anything we need to do,” I tell him.
He nods, looking distracted. A few minutes later, when he suggests we get our bags and head inland, Liam’s interest in talking to me seems to have waned.
He leads us to a four-wheeler parked between two trees and loads our bags onto it. I sit behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. Liam sets off, driving slowly over the rocky, grassy island landscape, between strange, small trees whose leaves move gently in the highland breeze.
I try to tell myself that nothing’s wrong. I should feel glad that I’m here, that he’s been so nice, that I’m getting to know him before I have to tell him that I’m carrying his child.
Who cares if he’s decided to stop flirting with me?
We drive maybe five more minutes, heading into an area that looks more like a real forest, with taller trees and thicker underbrush. I’m watching a bird fly from one tree to another, lost in thought, when Liam stops the ATV. I look around, but nothing catches my eye—until I cast another glance up toward the treetops.
“Wow!”
Nestled in thick branches a dozen or two feet above our heads are several gorgeous, geodesic tree-houses. Their semi-round roofs are slightly pointed at the tip. Their walls and walkways are made of rich, red wood. I notice one is larger than the others, and that several of them seem interconnected with bridges, ropes, and walkways.
Liam gets off the four-wheeler, placing one hand on his hip as he looks up. “This is one place we could spend the night. Other is the fishing lodge.”
“Here! Totally here! If that’s okay with you…”
“Sure. There are rope ladders up, bridges across, and zip-lines down. Does that work for you?”
“Absolutely! This is like something out of a magazine. Damn!”
He gives a small nod, as if to say I’m glad you like it.
Liam insists that I wait on the ground while he carries our things up to the largest tree-house. As I watch, I start to feel a little sick to my stomach. By the time he gets back down, I’m leaning against the four-wheeler, bathed in cold sweat and feeling slightly sea sick.
“Fuck, Lucy. What’s wrong?”
I push my hair off my forehead. “I don’t feel so great. My stomach kind of hurts.”
As Liam helps me up the sturdiest of the ladders, I curse myself for coming here with him at all. Thinking we could connect before I dropped the bomb: that’s stupid. I can’t even enjoy the beauty of the tree-house as he pushes the small door open and ushers me gently inside what turns out to be a surprisingly large, open-concept living area. Living and dining, I notice as I glance around. It’s decorated with burlap curtains, rustic wood pieces, and cozy plaid. I inhale, smelling something citrusy that makes me want to barf. Liam gives me a sympathetic look as he leads me to a bedroom. Its queen bed is topped with a powder blue bedspread, the long, cream curtains decorated with a bird pattern.
“Cute room,” I murmur as he fluffs the pillows and I stretch out on the mattress.
Liam makes one of those noncommittal male noises, then disappears, returning with a cold wash cloth. I feel a little better with it over my face. I guess it distracts me from my nausea.
“You want a bath?” he asks me. “There’s a big tub here.”
I rub my temple. “I don’t know.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Was it the food?”
I shake my head, grateful for the hand towel to cover my red liar’s face. “I have stomach issues sometimes. It wasn’t the food.”
Liam strokes my hair, and my mind races as I wonder what will happen when I tell him. I feel guilty for withholding things and suddenly miserable knowing he might hate me when he finds out. Behind the towel, my eyes fill with tears.
Another wave of nausea sweeps through me, and I realize I should eat something.
“I have ginger snaps in the bag. Would you mind getting them?” I ask him in a voice I hope sounds steady.
“Yeah, no problem.”
He’s back in a moment with a bowl of ginger snaps and a bottle of water. I sit up when I hear his footsteps, reluctantly pulling the towel off my face.
As I take the bowl, I find I can’t quite meet his eyes. “Thanks.”
He props the pillows up behind me. “Sure.”
Why is he so nice? I thought he was a manwhore. Correction: Maybe he is a manwhore, but why does he have to be a gentleman, too? I know it’s probably hormones, but I feel like shit as he sits in a chair beside the bed and looks me over like he really cares how I’m feeling.
“I’ll be better in a minute,” I say, to fill the silence.
Liam’s hand covers my shin. “You want to go back to the castle? I can row us back, wrap you up, and you can sit in the bottom of the boat.”
Damnit, did he really just say that? I shut my eyes, feeling like a monster.
“It’s okay.” I sink into the pillows, drink some water. “I’m feeling a little better now.”
The bottled water is so cold, a shiver ripples across my shoulders. Liam folds the covers over me, then surprises me by climbing up in bed beside me. Without a word, he stretches out and when I lie back more against the pillows, he positions himself closer to me, wraps an arm around my hip, and folds himself behind me.
“Is this okay?” His voice is low and husky.
“Yeah.”
It feels good to have his body pressed against mine. I haven’t felt so safe and cherished in a long time, maybe ever. And it would be him. Wouldn’t you know the dark horse playboy prince who treats me like a princess is the only person on the planet that I can’t really impress, the man from whom I’m keeping a life-changing secret.
Isn’t that just my luck?
Tears are building in my eyes again when I feel his mouth against my hair. A tear falls down my cheek. I turn my face into his chest, my lips pressing a kiss against his strong throat before I get a handle on my runaway emotions.
I feel his body tense. “Lucy…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The words are groaned. Then his hands are in my hair, his fingertips stroking my cheek; he tilts my face up, then he meets my lips with his. I’m surprised by the tension in his kisses—the feeling that he’s holding back as his mouth moves on mine deliciously, in thorough, gentle kisses that have me panting as I pull away to catch my breath.
I see his eyes on me, then shut my own, moaning softly as he strokes a hand over my spine. I feel him shift his hips and moan again, anticipating his hardness against me.
I want this.
I need this.
Even though it’s wrong, I need to feel this.
Liam’s arms go around me and his mouth rests on my temple. “Jesus, Lucy.”
He rubs his head, as if he’s trying to get his bearings. I don’t want that, though. I nuzzle up against his chest, then wrap an arm around his waist, easing my hand up his shirt, so I can stroke the warm, hard muscles of his back. I can feel goosebumps under my fingertips.
Liam groans. “You’re driving me crazy…”
“Same.”
“Lucy?” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t answer for a long time, just breathes deeply with his face against my shoulder. I trail my hand over his hip and up his rock-hard lower abs, and my wrist brushes the erection pushing at his pants. Now that he’s like this, so still and somber, all I want to do is make him moan.
My heart races as I stroke him through his pants, and Liam starts panting. With his face still warm against my collarbone, he lets out another groan. My free hand finds his nipple through his shirt and pinches.
“Fuck.” His body shudders, then—in the work of a second, and his two strong hands—I’m on my back. Liam’s moving between my legs, kissing my throat so hard I cry out. Between kisses: “Christ, Lucy! Tell me to stop.”
All I can do is moan as his mouth tortures me. I arch beneath him, praying that he peels my clothes off next. I tug his hair and Liam breaks away for a few heavy breaths before his mouth finds my hard nipple through my shirt and bra.
He groans. “I can’t stop.”
“Don’t.”
He presses his forehead against my chest. I wrap my arms around his head. He’s delicious like this, his huge body curved atop mine, held up by his strong arms, his chest and shoulders heaving with the weight of panted breaths.
I’m wrapping an arm around his big, thick shoulders when Liam draws away. His face is taut, his gaze avoiding mine as he gets off the bed and leaves the room.
I find him on a balcony off the living room, leaning against the wooden rail. His hair is down. One of his hands is fisted in it.
“Sorry,” he says as I step onto the porch. He doesn’t look at me.
“Me too.”
He rubs his face and sighs.
“It’s not just you,” I tell him quietly.
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. When he turns around to face me, his eyes are urgent and intense. “I’m not usually this way.”
I’m not sure what he means, but I feel the need to reassure him, so I lift one shoulder, sighing. “It’s okay. I’m not usually this way either.”
Liam shakes his head, then leans it back and shuts his eyes. “My mother died here,” he says, rubbing at his neck.
I blink. “She did?”
His lips press tightly together as he stares at something right beside me. “The press said ‘on one of the family’s private islands.’ It was this one.” He gives a bitter smile. “This one was my parents’ favorite. I don’t come here often now.”
“Of course not.”
His eyes finally meet to mine, and he looks lost.
“Liam…what happened to her?”
“She was pregnant.” His hand moves over his mouth as his bleak gaze clings to mine. “She had an aneurism.”
“God. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
He looks down at his boots, his face a mask. “It was unexpected, of course. Ain—my mother’s chief of staff—he brought me here. Over near where we parked today. I think my father had called him, and they were hoping she might still come through. I was supposed to sit in the car until Ain got me out to see her, but I jumped out about the time they loaded Mum into a helicopter.” I watch his thick throat as he swallows. “She was dead already.”
In the long second of silence that follows, I can almost see him: tiny Liam, watching the sky as a helicopter lifted off with his mom—never to return her. What an awful thing for any child.
One small step, and I’m close enough to wrap my arms around his waist. I drag them up, so I can squeeze his lower back. Liam’s chin is on my hair. He turns his head and rests his cheek there on the top of my head.
I feel him take a heavy breath, and grip him tighter. For the longest time, we’re frozen there. Then, with a murmured “thanks,” Liam pulls away. He’s looking everywhere except my eyes as he steps back, the rail behind him, leaves and limbs lending him a gorgeous green backdrop.
I step closer, and he reaches out. I think he’s reaching for me, but I realize that his hand is open and out, as if he’s telling me to stop.
“I’m going to kiss you again if you…” He shakes his head.
“Am I tempting?” It’s a stupid thing to say—especially whispered, like it is—but I find Liam is nodding.
“Yes. So goddamned tempting.” He grabs me and pulls me close. His lips find my throat. “Everything about you…” His mouth roves under my jawline, his kisses so forceful, they make me groan. “I need you underneath me, Lucy…”
I can’t help myself. I pull him back into the house, where we tumble down onto the couch. I’m on my back, and Liam is over me. Heavy, needy, panting, kissing—tugging my hair as his mouth punishes mine. I can feel him hard and long against my inner thigh. I raise my knee between his legs and Liam grinds, groaning.
“Jesus, Lucy…”
I can’t help but reach down and rub him. His eyes close as he thrusts into my hand. I try to grip him through his pants, and when I can’t, I reach inside them, delving past the elastic of his boxer-briefs as Liam unfastens his pants button.
Then I’m reaching in, my fingers encircling his thickness. I’m pumping and he’s groaning. He’s pulling his pants down; I’m stroking his balls. I cup them in my hand, then gently tug.
I can feel him shaking, feel his cock twitch.
Liam tweaks my breast, then reaches down to rub me through my pants. He’s quaking like he’s going to come. His cock hardens further in my grasp. Then he draws his hips slightly away.
I’m grabbing for him when his hand delves into
my pants, pushing my underwear aside so he can stroke through my slit: up and down, until I’m gasping. Then he rolls a fingertip around my clit. My body quivers.
“That’s right, Lucy…”
I clamp my knees around his shoulders.
“Oh God! God!”
I feel a finger glide inside me, then his thumb is tracing my clit in smooth, soft circles. He leans down, and I can feel my body melt before his mouth meets me. I see the top of his head, and I know what’s coming. I’m crying out before his tongue has fully touched down, pleasure bursting through my body.
Then it’s his turn.
I let go of his hair—which at some point, I caught hold of—and grab him by the shoulders.
“Sit back.”
He licks his lips, casting a glance down at his firm erection.
“Do it.”
Liam chuckles, but he does as I ask. He leans back against one arm of the couch, legs out in front. His pants are still unzipped, and I can see his hard cock straining through the cotton of his boxer-briefs.
“I want you,” I breathe.
I settle over him, and his hands cover my shoulders. As I lean down, peeling the boxer-briefs away from his incredible crown jewels, his hands play gently through my hair.
I’m stroking his warm, rock-hard shaft when he groans, “Luce—you don’t have to…”
I answer with my mouth on his head. I take him deep into my throat and love each twitch of his hips, each rough sound from his tight throat, the way his hands clench in my hair, the way he groans my name. He whispers it over and over, moving his hands down to my shoulders, squeezing as I feel his cock grow harder, longer, as I tease his balls and Liam moans like a man undone.
His whole body tightens right before he blows. I know he’ll try to pull out, so I’ve got my hand around his hip; when he comes, I try to hold him into place and swallow.
“Goddamn, Lucy.”
I love every quiver of his big, hard body, the way his hands go lax around my shoulders, like he’s spent.
When I lift my head, I’m surprised to see him grin. “That was incredible.” His voice is hoarse, sincere. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, laughing. “Lucy. I’m trying to be your friend.”
