“This is amazing!”
He takes the lead, and I follow, through a forest. Then we’re at the edge of a large field, and there’s a stream winding through it.
I see something shiny in the distance and realize it’s the car.
“Oh, wow. Who drove it here?”
“One of the staff. He’s going to ride one of the horses back.”
“How will we get back?”
“On the other horse.” He smiles. “Don’t want to ride rump?”
“On the horse’s butt? No way!”
He laughs, and we ride up to where the tent is already assembled. He hands off his own horse, but the guy won’t take it. He waves and walks off into the night. Liam has to stalk after him and convince him to get on the horse.
I look up at the stars. “This is seriously incredible.”
“I’ve always liked the outdoors.”
“Did you get to do a lot of that stuff growing up?”
“Some. Lots of group things.”
“At school?”
He nods.
“So you weren’t in Gael that much the last ten years.”
“Not really, no.”
“That seems kind of sad.”
“Does it?” He unzips the tent’s top. “What about you? You spent your childhood outdoors, right?”
“Yeah. It was pretty awesome. I always had a horse, and there were woods all around our house. We all hunted deer with bows and fished in the ponds. You’ve seen it all on TV.”
“Your family was happy?” he asks.
I can read between the lines; he’s asking me if it’s real, as opposed to made-for-TV. I nod. “Pretty happy. My parents had a rough spot or two, but we were always happy. I’d say they’re very happy now. My dad gets tired of the show sometimes. My mom, too, honestly. I don’t think they’ll do it a whole lot longer. But it’s been an experience.”
Liam pulls the tent flap open, and we crawl inside onto the sleeping bags. Liam fires up a lantern, and I stretch out on my back, looking at the ink black sky and all the sparkling stars.
Tell him, Lucy.
I shut my eyes. They’re still shut when I feel his hand playing at the hemline of my shirt. His fingers slip inside, cold against my warm belly. I “brrr” and fold myself around his arm to warm his fingertips against my skin.
“Too cold?” He chuckles.
“Hell yes.”
I rub my hands over his, through the fabric of my shirt, and then he’s inching downward, fingers walking to the top of my pants. I lie there, very still, as he unbuttons them.
I shouldn’t—I know that—but all I really think is: this is the last time, before I tell him. This is the last time, and I want it.
Liam lies on his side, watching my face as his long fingers stroke me through my silk panties. I can’t help lifting my hips, which is his cue to peel back the elastic waist and delve inside. He’s toying with me very lightly, stroking when I need him to plunge. It makes me moan. After a few times of his fingertip skating around my clit, I buck my hips and grab his wrist.
“Liam…”
He laughs, a low, dark sound. “Yes?” he says as he teases me everywhere but there.
“Inside,” I manage.
He parts my lips and delves down, slowly, gently, teasing where I’m slick and need him most.
“Please…”
“You want me inside?”
I push up against him, groaning.
“I want in, too, Lucy.” He draws his hand out of my underwear and moves atop me. I shimmy beneath him, working my pants and panties off. And then he’s rubbing against me; he’s teasing me.
“Oh God…”
His head skates up and down my throbbing slit, pushing lightly when he reaches my entrance, but not enough to penetrate. I push against him.
“Please…”
He drags himself up, rubbing his head on my clit until I’m groaning, shaking.
“I want you inside me. Please…”
He kisses my clit with his head for a few more minutes, groaning just like I am. Then he moves back down. He props himself up with one hand; with the other, he strokes my neck.
“Are you sure?” His voice is barely louder than a whisper.
“Yes—please.” I grab his nape and pull him down on me. Liam kisses my breasts, then he rises up and crawls back down me. I can feel him reach for something, see the glimmer of the moonlight on the condom wrapper, hear the soft pop as he puts it on.
Then he’s there again, aligned with me. Our eyes meet and we thrust at the same time, then groan together.
“Jesus, Lucy…”
I can feel his pleasure in the way his body tautens and quivers. He just holds there for the longest moment, his fingertips gripping my shirt sleeve as his eyes shut and I feel him throb inside me.
I tighten around him, and he makes a low, hoarse sound—and then he’s moving. Slowly out and hard back in, out then in, filling me up then leaving me bereft and arching.
All I know is overwhelming pleasure, and the feeling of his strong arms underneath my grasping hands. He moves inside me like we both were born to be joined like this, drawing moans and gasps and grunts from me like music, till I’m shaking and he’s breathing loudly and his thumb is on my clit and then I’m coming.
Liam thumps hard inside me, his elbow bending so he’s half collapsing on my chest as his cock swells to fill me and his muscles quiver and he pants.
“Lucy…dear Christ.”
His forehead rocks against my ribs. He drops a kiss on my arm, through my sleeve—and then he’s pulling out. I curl over on my side, surprised to find that there are tears in my eyes. I’m not even sure why.
Minutes later, I hear zipping—or unzipping—and he’s drawing covers over me; he’s settling beside me, curling around me.
He pulls me close and kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”
“Thank you too,” I tell him sleepily.
“You are amazing.”
I wake up in the middle of the night to find him wrapped around me. He’s warm—really warm—which is good because the air is cold. I snuggle up against him and pull him to me, and he wraps his arms around me. His head ends up right against my stomach, and I know I’m ready.
He deserves the truth.
Tomorrow morning.
Twenty-Seven
Lucy
I wake up to Liam kissing my shoulder. The sex we have before the sun is even fully up is so intense it makes my chest ache when we finish and we’re sitting by a nearby stream. I’m wrapped in one of our blankets. Liam’s arm is wrapped around my back, holding me close to him.
We’re both sipping cider he warmed up over the fire behind us. And I’m feeling like I might be sick.
Still—“I love it here.”
“I’m glad,” he says.
“Do you love it? I mean, is this where you’re going to be living fulltime?”
“I do live here.” He smiles.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say softly. “You don’t seem as peaceful here as I feel. When you were calling me, you weren’t sleeping. Tell me about your next few years. What will happen as you get older? What will you need to do…like, for the country?”
“Is this a trade?” He smiles weakly. “My stuff for yours?”
“It can be a trade.” I smile back. “I trust you. You can ask me anything.”
“I like it here,” he says. His words are soft. “But…it doesn’t feel like home.”
My throat aches as his eyes briefly meet mine, then return to the water. “I didn’t grow up here. My mom died and…not that long after, I was at school. And at another school. I grew up in the states, and I didn’t feel at home there either. My father re-married, he has other kids, you know. Sometimes they would invite me for the holidays, but other times they didn’t. If they thought they could get by without the tabloids picking up on it—which is to say, if my alternate plans involved me being secluded
somewhere, not photographed, or vice versa and they wouldn’t be photographed—I didn’t get invited. This country…the land, the ocean—it’s fucking beautiful. I love it. But I don’t know if I’ll live here forever. I don’t know if I’ll take over from my dad.”
“Wow, really? Why wouldn’t you?”
He shrugs. His jaw is tight.
“Do you already know for sure that you aren’t going to?”
His mouth makes several tiny movements in the span of one second—and I can tell. He’s keeping something to himself.
“Liam. I’m sorry.”
He presses his lips together and shakes his head, and my mind races with the possibilities. His dad has one daughter and two sons by his new wife. Is one of them going to take over? Is Liam’s dad changing the rules that say he needs to step down by a certain time? Is it because Liam can’t read well?
I wrap my arm around him.
I expect him to tense against me, because he’s obviously upset. Instead I can feel his body relax.
“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if she had lived,” he says softly into my hair.
I hear the things he isn’t saying. He’d have grown up a prince—really a prince, and not a castoff. He’d have grown up with a parent’s love. He would have a little sister.
“God. I’m sorry.” When he doesn’t speak, I ramble, “I can’t understand why things like that happen.”
“There is no why.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no way to understand. That can’t ever be my goal, because it won’t ever happen. I just have to live with it.”
“I wish you didn’t.” I take his hand and stroke the long, strong fingers. “I think your mom would be thrilled to see what you’re doing. She’d be proud of you.”
“What am I doing?”
“Running a good business. Being a nice guy. Rescuing pregnant damsels in distress.”
I feel his body freeze in place before it hits me. “What did you say?”
“What?” But I feel the heat rush through my head. I hear the echo of my words. Fuck!
“Pregnant?” He me go, leaning back on one arm as his eyes pop saucer-wide. “Lucy, did you say pregnant?”
Tears fill my eyes. I jump up, striding toward the tent. He grabs my arm. “Lucy, what the fuck? Are you pregnant? Look at me!” He grabs my chin. “Lucy, are you fucking pregnant?”
“I don’t want to talk to you about it.” I turn around and start to cry.
Jesus! I’m so, so, so stupid!
“You are. Fuck! You’re fucking pregnant! Is that why you came here? Fuck, of course it is. I got you fucking pregnant.”
“Stop saying the F-word!”
“I’m sorry. Jesus Christ. Oh fu— Oh Christ. Lucy.” His hands close around my shoulders, and he turns me toward him. “How long have you known?” he asks more softly.
“How long do you think?” I’m sobbing now, covering my face and trying to turn away. Liam locks me up against him, arms around my back.
I feel his chest pump underneath my cheek with his hard breathing. “Is it…mine? Is the baby mine?”
I lift my head so I can look up at him. “Yes it’s yours!”
“You’re pregnant. And it’s mine.” He lets me go and sinks down to the damp grass, knees drawn up, his eyes closing. “God. God. Lucy—Jesus.”
He’s clutching his head as if it’s going to explode. I drop down beside him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let it out like that. I didn’t mean to get pregnant.” I cover my own face, letting tears drip down my face. “I’m so sorry I just said it. I was going to tell you…”
“When?” He lifts his head; his eyes are hot. “After we rode horses again or drank spring water? Christ, Lucy—I could have hurt you!”
“We haven’t done anything that dangerous.”
He points to his chest. “I could have hurt you.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “That’s now how it works,” I tell him quietly.
“No? Is it not?”
“No.”
He holds his head, his eyes trained on the grass. “Goddammit. You knew when you came here?”
“Yeah.”
“I could have come to get you.”
“I was fine.”
“You traveled here alone. I tried to push alcohol on you. Damnit!” His eyes fly to mine. His hand comes out, melding around my knee. “Are you okay? Is— Do you feel…well?”
“Pretty much.”
“You’ve seen a doctor?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“And they said everything is fine?” I don’t miss the moment that it hits him: what I think must be a memory of his mother. Liam’s face goes sheet white; he sways a little. Then he fumbles to his feet and paces to the stream.
From behind him, then aside him, I can see his head dropped down into his hands.
I stand beside him, wanting more than anything to touch him, not sure if I’d set him off. Then I see his shoulder shake once, and I can’t stop my arm from wrapping around his back. I wrap my other arm around what of his chest I can reach, and pull him up against me. Liam doesn’t resist.
Half a second later, he’s got his arms locked around me. His face is in my hair. He’s hugging me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“Jesus. I just…can’t believe you’re pregnant.”
He lets out a mighty breath. I lean my face up, kissing the first spot my lips reach on his face—just below his temple. “It’s okay,” I whisper in his ear. “You might be upset about the baby, but everything otherwise is fine. I’m doing—”
“You think I’m upset about the baby?” His eyes are serious and round.
I shrug. “It wouldn’t be weird if you were.”
His eyes shut, and I watch him swallow. “I don’t know how I feel about the baby,” he grits. His eyes open, holding mine. “I know how I feel about you, Lucy, and it scares me. I don’t like it.”
He looks miserable. So much so, I turn away and start to cry again. “I’ll just go home now!”
“No.” His hands are on my shoulders once more, turning me to face him. When he sees my tears, his face collapses. “No. No, Lucy… I’m not asking you to go.” I start to sob harder, and Liam wraps me back up in his arms.
“Shhhhh.” His hand smooths over my hair. I feel his lips against my forehead. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry.”
“Why would you want me here? I’m…nothing but the bearer of bad news!” I sob into his sweater, unable to stop myself. I’ve never felt so lost and lonely. So defeated. That he seemed to like me before now—
“Lucy Rhodes, look up at me.”
I shake my head, still crying.
Liam’s hands find my cheeks, forcing me gently to look up. “I don’t know how bad this news is yet, but that’s not all you are. It’s not,” he says again when tears fall down my cheeks. “You have to know you’re more than that to me. I’m half in love with you, you know I am.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Surely you can feel it. Do you think I do all this with anyone but you? I’ve never been to Pirate Island with anyone. No one, Lucy. Only you. I told you I can’t fucking read and you’re still here, and I still want you. It doesn’t even seem that weird because you make it okay. You make everything better.” He draws me gently to his chest and wraps an arm around my upper back and head. “I would fucking hate it if you left, so please don’t. Stay.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I cry.
“Mean to what, acushla?”
I pause at the strange word. “What does that mean?”
His arms around me tighten, and I feel his cheek against my hair. “Cushlamachree,” he breathes. “It’s like… It’s a word for lovers, Lucy.”
Tears drip down my cheeks, unfettered. “Are we lovers?” I whisper, so quiet that even I can barely hear.
His lips press down against the top of my head. I can feel him draw a long, deep breath and tense before he whispers, “Yes.”
And for the longest time, that’s
all that either of us says. We just stand there, Liam’s hands stroking down my back and through my hair, my cheek pressed against his gray sweater, so tightly I can hear the beating of his heart.
“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want it,” he finally says. When I stiffen, he spreads his palm behind my head. “I didn’t know I wanted it.” His voice is hoarse. He doesn’t speak again, but I can feel the frenzy of his heartbeat through our clothes, and I can sense his feelings right up near the surface, running rampant. His breaths feel strained, his arms around me heavy. “I don’t know if I can do this well.” I feel his cheek come up against mine, our heads pressed together as his voice murmurs into my hair. “I took this class in college—it was something in psychology. The teacher lectured everything; there were no notes. One of the things he said,” Liam confides quietly, “was that you can’t…learn to love someone…if you weren’t. All that stuff is…learned.” He inhales deeply, and I wrap my hand around his warm nape, pressing his face to my shoulder. I can feel him let his breath out. Then his body shudders slightly. “If I can’t— Lucy…” He pulls away from me, so he can look into my eyes as he says, “You deserve someone who can.”
I see him struggling to swallow, see his slightly red eyes and his tensed-up shoulders.
“You don’t have to stay with me,” he tells me in a strong, clear, neutral tone. “All the choices here are yours.”
And that’s the moment that I know I love him.
Twenty-Eight
Lucy
Liam and I sit by the stream talking for a long time. He’s got my hand in both of his and is sitting close enough so that I’m almost on his lap.
I tell him the whole story about me finding out that I was pregnant, knowing I should tell him but not wanting to because I figured it would change all this. I tell him I don’t want to be an obligation; I have means and support and my own strength, and I don’t need him to be any more involved than he wants to be. Liam’s lips brush softly over my ear, and in that low and sexy voice of his, he says, “Don’t worry about me, Lucille.”
He asks me questions. Lots of questions. Am I sure I’m feeling okay? Am I nervous? Do I know the baby’s gender? Can I feel the baby move yet? He tells me how a friend of his and Dec’s got married to a model several months ago; she’d had his child at the end of last year.