“But then…the apps. You taught yourself to make them. Amazing.”
“It’s not unusual,” he says coolly.
“It’s not? How many successful apps do you think there are, Liam?”
“Between two and three dozen, at a given time.”
I shift in the water. “Did it take you long? To teach yourself?”
He shrugs. “It’s just math.”
I snort. “I can do math. I can’t make apps.”
“Are you trying to make me feel better about not being able to read?” Maybe I look surprised, because he lifts his eyebrows.
I spend half a heartbeat fumbling for a reply before settling on a lame-ass, “No.”
He splashes his face with water. He spends so long massaging his temples, water dripping off his chin, hand covering his face, I realize he’s embarrassed…or upset.
“I can’t swallow pills.”
He looks up—clearly confused.
“Well, I mean, I can. There’s nothing wrong with my throat. But I’m scared to. I got choked on a vitamin when I was a little kid and ever since then, I just…don’t do pills. Also, you were my first Big O in years. It helped me get my mojo back.”
His eyebrows arch, and I’m not sure how to read his face. He gives me a skeptical look, and I figure he’s going to ask about the orgasm. Instead he says, “Are you telling me these things to make me feel better, Lucy?”
I feel my face flush. “Did it work?”
He laughs, and it’s a helpless kind of laugh. “That’s nice of you,” he says as he scoots closer to me. His hands run up my forearms, light and gentle. “Why are you so nice?” he whispers.
“I don’t know. Because you are? I’m just reciprocating.”
His lips find mine, and before I know it, I’m reciprocating that as well.
He sits me on the tub’s side and kneels between my legs, licking my pussy with so much zeal, my cries echo off the walls. When he’s finished, he picks me up and carries me to his bed, where he tucks me in and stands there, naked, dripping, staring at me.
“I don’t make a habit of this,” he says quietly.
“Of screwing around with women who don’t reciprocate? Because I gladly will…”
His lips twitch. “Of letting women in my bed.”
I snort, and his hand closes around one of the thick bed posts. “I mean my bed. Here in my room.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“Not big on sharing?” I ask.
“No.” His lips form a thin line. He tilts his head, regarding me. “Did you plan this, Lucy?”
“Did I plan what? My dramatic bedroom coup?”
He swallows. Shakes his head. He gathers his hair into his hand. I see his shoulders rise a little as he takes a bigger breath.
“You’re putting me off-balance.” He snatches the covers off me, his eyes perusing my body in a way that can only be described as proprietary.
“Same to you, Liam.”
“Never Prince Liam,” he murmurs, trailing a finger down the outside of my thigh. “Why not?” His eyes hold mine.
“Because you’re not a prince. You aren’t. Your blood is. Your position is. I’m not a ‘first world’ female, or inherently a television star.” I push up on my elbow. “Punish me if you will, Prince Liam, but you’re not your title any more than I’m a credit at the end of Rhodes of Concord. You’re just a guy.” I reach for his bare chest. My fingers brush his abs. “A really hot guy. One I like. But you’re just Liam to me. I don’t do reverence.” I walk my fingers down his happy trail. “Not unless this—” my fingers close around his cock— “is what you’re wanting me to revere.”
I watch his eyes glaze over. I’m just starting to stroke him when there’s a knock at the door.
“Shit.” With my hand still around his cock, he tosses the covers to me and struts toward the door.
“You’re—”
He pulls a robe off the back of the door and looks over his shoulders with arched brows.
“Not naked now,” I whisper.
He grins as he slips into it, then pulls the door open.
A woman stands there, holding two dresses. I notice that her eyes never veer toward me as she says something to Liam in French. I always sucked at French, so I don’t know what it was.
He says something back. I think I recognize the words “thank you” before she goes, and he closes the door.
“That red…” I smile and nod at the dress in his right hand. “Totally you.”
“I thought so.”
He lies them on the bed beside me. “Not sure if any of these will work.”
“Are they my size?”
“Are you a six?”
“How did you know?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “You’d have to ask a real prince. I’m just Liam, remember?”
“Seriously.” I sit fully up and run my fingers over the red dress. “Tell me how.”
“I called for them the night you got here. It’s something I do for my female cousins and anyone who will be here for a while.”
“OMG, that’s so Downton Abbey.”
“Did you just say ‘OMG’?”
I clutch the dresses to my chest, giggling. “I like nice dresses. Is that a crime, Prince Liam?”
He gives me a quirky little smile. “You’re funny, Lucille Rhodes. You want to try them on and go out to the country somewhere? Or want to stay here?”
“I could stay here a little while, if you want. It doesn’t really matter to me.”
“We’ll stay here for a little while, then go. As long as you’re okay that we’ll be seen together. Talked about. That’s why I mentioned leaving. I want you to be comfortable.”
“I don’t mind. I feel good and safe here.”
“Good. That’s what I want.”
Liam
It is what I want. So I send Heath a list of people who should be turned away tonight. It’s a texted list. I’m showering when I hear him text back.
‘Are you fucking serious? That’s everyone we know.’
‘No. It’s every woman we know. And not every woman.’
‘Bloody near most of them!’
I send him the bird-flipping emoticon and pull on some charcoal pants and a button-up. I look in the mirror and wish I’d thought to cut my hair. Too caught up in bullshit.
Which reminds me.
‘Have staff double check for anyone I wouldn’t want here.’
‘Hm. Okay.’
Heath knows what I mean—or rather, who I mean.
I spend the next half hour drinking scotch, pacing around my room, and trying to resist bothering Lucy. Eventually I can’t help himself. I knock on her door, and she lets me in. Her breasts are spilling out of a hunter green gown.
I lean down to kiss one, and she steps away.
“Not before the party. I want to stay looking fresh.”
“Fresh is not a problem for you.”
She rolls her eyes, and I notice she has on makeup.
“You look great.” Her hair is done up in a bunch of little braids. “I like your hair thing.”
“Haha. Braids?”
“Yeah.”
She touches my hair. “I like yours too. Is it annoying down?”
I pull it up in my fist. “I want to cut it. Haven’t had the time.”
“You look nice with it long.”
I walk her downstairs, cutting through a massive, glass-walled greenhouse room.
“I heard about your glass room,” I tease her, “in the Hamptons.”
“Hey—I’ll have you know, that was my mom’s idea!”
I snort, and then we stop talking because the roar of voices from the party reaches our ears. I walk into the foyer area with her, and find it filled. The moment we appear in a doorway, all eyes shift to Lucy and me. I have to work hard not to cringe as a few hold up their cell phones to take pictures. Then I’m distracted by the Beatles cover band I figure is set up in t
he game room.
I get drinks for us, and down mine fast. Events like this make me nervous lately. Who knows what could happen.
We move more fully into the foyer and parlors and are accosted by an English pro footballer, Fergie, and Emma Watson, who tells us she’s here on the island for a wedding.
I talk to and dance with Lucy, and then I step into the hall to grab another drink. I smell Dru before I see her: Chanel Grand Extrait. I feel her hands around my elbows.
“Liam. How lovely.”
My body stiffens and my heart starts beating hard—but I don’t pull away right off; I refuse to let her see how much her touch repels me. “What do you want?”
“Some kind of car. A Ferrari? Your cousin’s Lambo? What do you think is right for me?”
“Fuck off, Dru.” I jerk my arms away from her. “Security can have you out of here the moment I say the word.”
“Are you going to send a voice text?”
“Fuck you.” I feel my neck and chest heat up.
“I’m serious, Prince Liam. I have needs.”
“Not tonight. You shouldn’t be here, and you know it.”
“Just give me what I need, and I’ll go.”
My heart pounds. My temples throb. If I have her hauled out, what will she scream as they drag her away?
In the space between seconds, I lunge for her. I lock my palm over her mouth and my other arm around her bony back, and pull her into one of the bedrooms on the first floor. I can feel her teeth and tongue against my palm as she goes crazy, but I can barely hear her muffled cries. I push her down on the bed and hold her there with the weight of my body as I get the window open with one arm, still covering her mouth with my other.
“You better not try to come back again. You better not come back here ever.”
I feel her teeth, trying to bite the thickness of my palm. I jerk her up and push her head under the open window. Then I jerk her back out.
“Legs first,” I growl. “It’s something of a drop.”
I’ve climbed out these windows many times. It’s a drop, for sure, but Dru is tall. She might twist her ankle, but she won’t get badly hurt. Not that I should care.
“I’ll scream when I get on the lawn.”
“A guard will meet you there. I’ve got the voice text covered.”
I hoist her up again, pointing her legs out the window, and Dru scrambles to get hold of the window sill. I jeer at her long, perfect, red nails.
“Don’t break a nail,” I sneer. Then, when I can tell her arms are stretched out and she’s dangling, I push her fingertips with mine until she drops.
This room, like every other, has an intercom. I punch in the emergency code and reach my head of security.
“There’s a woman on the lawn. She’s tall and wearing black and just went out a window in the lion room. Kindly escort her off the property, note her company and vehicle. I don’t want to see her here again.”
“Yes. Yes sir. I do apolo—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I let go of the intercom button, my eyes clinging to the massive lion’s head mounted on the tall wall as I turn to go. Before I find Lucy, I stop off in my library and pour and down a tall glass of scotch.
Twenty-Six
Lucy
I see Liam disappear behind a tall wood door. It looks thick and old and fortified, like many of the downstairs doors. When I reach it, I find it locked.
I look over my shoulder, my heart pounding in my ears. One of Liam’s classmates from high school is here, and he was telling me how he and Liam used to talk about me. How they wanted to meet me after watching the show. He offered me a glass of wine and when I didn’t want any, I saw his eyes go down to my stomach.
Ugh.
I’ve only been downstairs a little shy of an hour, but I’m exhausted. My stomach hurts a little, even though I’ve sneaked a few ginger snaps from my purse. I just want to go to sleep.
Maybe it was a mistake to agree to the party. It could be going on for many more hours. Maybe I can find a nice armchair and curl up there, and Liam won’t even mind. I wonder if he’s drunk. I wonder how hard he actually parties.
I knock three times, softly. I hear heavy footfall, then the door opens about a half foot and I see his wary face. His eyes soften once they meet mine.
“Lucy.”
“It’s me. I got tired, and I saw you come in here.”
The door opens a little more. “Come in.”
He gives me a small smile before returning to the massive, throne-like chair behind his desk. He gestures to an armchair set in front of it.
“Have a seat, Miss Rhodes.”
He sinks into his chair. “How can I help you?”
I drop into the arm chair. “I’ve lost my edge. I’m so sleepy.” I stifle a yawn.
“You want to go to bed? I’m kind of tired of this myself.” His face looks tight. He looks unhappy, I realize.
“Not having a good time?”
He rubs his forehead. “Just a lot to deal with.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I don’t like having people here. Something always winds up missing, no matter how many plain-clothes guards are in the crowd. If there’s a pariah anywhere around, you’ll find them here.”
“I’m surprised you have parties here at all.”
“I don’t. It’s Heath.”
“Does he have the ability to do that?”
“I wouldn’t ever shoot the idea down.”
He still looks unhappy. I just want to kiss those pouty lips. I walk around the desk and run my hand over the chair. “This thing is huge.” I drop down into his lap and smell alcohol. I run my hand over the light beard on his cheeks. I feel his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He shuts his eyes.
I kiss his chin. “Maybe we should run away together.”
“Want to spend the night on the boat?”
“I know how much work that is. Boats are a lot of work. Maybe we should pitch a tent somewhere. Do you have one?”
He laughs. “A tent?”
“Yeah. I’ve been living in Colorado, remember? Tents are something everybody has.”
His mouth curls slowly up. “You want to spend the night in a tent?”
“I do.”
“I’ve got a tent.”
“Do you?” I can’t help running my hand between his legs, where there is a definitely a tent.
“Mm.” His eyes shut.
“I want to see this tent. I want to go inside it and then see what’s inside this tent.” I fondle him, and Liam groans. “Christ, Lucy.”
When his eyes peek up at mine, I grin. “You like it.”
“Yeah.”
He sets me on my feet and stands up. “Let’s get going,” he smiles. He laughs, hands on my shoulders, looking down at his pants, which are very much still tented. “Tell me something terrible, Lucy.”
The first thing that comes to mind, I push aside. I glance around the room.
“There’s a moose head on your wall. A moose that was killed, his head was hollowed out and stuffed, and now his decaying head is on your wall.”
He laughs, turning to look at said head. “I guess that’s true.”
“Did you kill him? Are you the murderer, Liamie?” I slap his cheek lightly.
“Did you just call me Liamie?”
I shrug. “It works.”
His hand catches mine. “You’re a strange one, Lucy Rhodes.”
“I know.” I smile. He smiles back. I look down at him.
“Quit looking. That just makes it worse.”
“That moose probably had a wife, you know.” After a few more seconds, Liam laughs again and shakes his head, and we’re ready to go.
We pass a bunch of people on the route upstairs, and Liam is polite and friendly to all of them. He introduces me a time or two, and other times, people know who I am.
Upstairs, h
e uses the intercom to tell someone to get the camping stuff ready for us and put it in the Jeep. Then he calls the kitchen, asking for a basket of food and a case of bottled water, also to be put in the Jeep.
“Do you want to ride, though?” he says when he turns toward me. “I can have the Jeep driven.”
“Hmmmm. Horses at night could be fun.”
He calls back and relays that, then has the horses saddled.
I can’t help laughing.
“What?” he asks, thumping me.
“It’s a hard life, coordinating so many things.”
He ruffles my hair, and I screech. “I’m all pretty. Don’t mess me up!”
“I couldn’t mess you up if I tried.”
We kiss for a few long, hot moments, where my heart races and blood rushes through my body. I wrap my arms around him.
“God. I’m getting hooked on this.”
“Me too,” he says against my hair. He hugs me tightly. “Want to go get changed?”
“Yeah. Is it cold out?”
“Maybe a little. Wear a jacket, or I’ll get you one.”
I return to his room half an hour later, dressed in riding boots, suede riding pants, and a plum-colored wool Burberry cloak that seems perfect for a nighttime horseback ride.
He grins as soon as he sees me. He’s got on old-looking, faded jeans with a hole in one knee, hiking boots, and a thick, gray sweater.
He grabs his pack and mine, and I walk out of his room, starting down the stairs. He pulls me another way.
“We’ll take the stairs for the help. When I was little, we used to call them the ‘help me’ stairs, because they’re so steep.”
We go outside, where people are mingling on the lawn. We cut into the shadows, into a large garden, then veer through a grove, toward the stables.
“Why are they so far from the castle? Is it a form of fire protection?”
“It is.”
I watch him pack Pegasus, then we both get on and we are riding in the moonlight, over green, green grass, the smell of the sea in my nose, a gentle wind on my cheeks.