Page 28

Chapter Nineteen

Nancy

I ’d known this was going to be awkward. I couldn’t let him psych me out. Not yet, anyway. I stuck out my chin, crossed my arms over my chest, and stared him down.

“I was under the impression that you’d invited me, Liam,” I said.

“I did. Then you blew me off.”

His tone chilled me. “I did some thinking this morning and realized when I got to Enid and Peter’s place that I’d made the wrong choice,” I said.

“What changed your mind? Another ambush? Sniper fire? Arson?”

“I made a mistake,” I said crisply. “And I regretted it, almost immediately. Can’t a person make a mistake?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. People make them whether they’re allowed to or not.”

“Don’t be snide. I’m serious.”

He was grimly silent. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Nancy,” he said. “I think getting serious would be a bad idea for us.”

I fought for control of my face. Be a big girl. Be a sport. God knows, I’d had plenty of practice. Forget I ever said anything. Thanks for your help. Sorry for the bother. Sorry for the bruises. Have a nice life. It’s been grand.

It just wouldn’t come out. This was worth trying a little harder, damn it. I might end up looking like a pleading, bleating fool, but who cared? Only Liam would ever know.

I cleared my throat with a delicate cough. “So, Liam. Are you all done with the scolding and punishing part yet? Because it’s really boring. I’d like to skip it and move right along to the good stuff.”

The darkness in his eyes shifted, like clouds in a turbulent sky. “I’m not scolding or punishing you. Just trying to be clear.” He waited a moment, eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t help himself. “What exactly do you mean by the good stuff?”

Ahhh. Now I had him. I let my eyes drag slowly, appreciatively, over his gorgeous body—the open shirt showing off his ripped belly, cut pecs, that dark, silky treasure trail. “If you have to ask ...” I said throatily.

He started to speak, then stopped himself. “I’m not the kind of person who takes this kind of thing lightly,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “Neither am I.”

His eyes searched my face. “We’ll hit a wall eventually,” he said.

I ached to touch his face and smooth away that worried look. “You’re so sure?”

“I feel very strongly for you,” he said. “Even though we’ve only known each other a few days. But I see that wall, right in our path.”

Tears welled up, and I swiped them impatiently away with my knuckles. “Maybe,” I said. “Right now, I don’t really give a shit.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “No?”

“Let’s just go for it. Top speed. We’ll hit that wall together.”

The wind whipped my hair around my face as we stared into each other’s eyes.

“Nancy,” he said. “If this is because of those assholes who attacked you?—”

“Actually, no,” I assured him. “And I’m glad you mentioned that. It’s a point I particularly wanted to make. I appreciate your offer to protect me. That’s really sweet and generous of you, and it melts my heart. But that isn’t what this is about.”

“It’s not?” He frowned. “Then what is it about?”

I took a deep breath, and went for it. Balls to the wall.

“Nope. This is about unbridled carnal lust, Liam. You rocked my world last night. I want more, like I’ve never wanted anything, ever. And I don’t want to wait. Not one more second.”

I held my breath and waited for the verdict.

And waited. And waited. He was doing his silent smoldering thing, and it was agonizing to go this far out on the limb, and just stay there, fighting for balance.

One last, desperate sally before I retreated in ignominy and despair.

“One more thing,” I said. “I want to give you a blowjob.”

His eyes went blank. “What? You do?”

“Yes. We never got around to that last night, so I’ll make it my first priority.

I hope you’re not too shocked, but the last few days have pretty much burned away all my maidenly shyness.

I can’t promise any world-class technique, but I think that going down on you right now would be the absolute highlight of my day. ”

Liam blinked. Swung his ax in a big arc. It landed in the block with a thunk that made me jump. He grabbed my cat carrier and headed toward the house. “Follow me.”

I trailed after Liam, up the steps of the wide wraparound porch. So dizzy with the success of my last-ditch ploy, I barely even saw his home. Just a vague impression of fresh-smelling, airy, minimalist rooms, big windows, sparse furnishings.

In the living room, he knelt down and flipped the lever that opened Moxie’s carrier. The cat poked her head out, sniffed his hand, and stalked away to investigate this new situation, tail high.

I wanted to break the tension somehow, but the purposeful way that Liam started up the stairs discouraged speech. I hurried after his long strides. He didn’t even bother turning to see if I was being pulled along in his wake. He could feel it.

So. It looked like I was going to be making good on my rash offer. My toes were curled up with excitement at the thought. But truth be told, I hadn’t pictured going down on him when the weather conditions were this, well … stormy. Tension and anger in the mix made it a little weird.

He stopped outside one of the upstairs doors. “I’m sweaty,” he said. “I need a shower.”

“No,” I told him. “You absolutely don’t.”

He gave me a doubtful look, and I waved him in the door. God forbid I lose my nerve, or miss my precious, fleeting window of opportunity. Besides. He looked great gleaming with sweat, hair damp and spiky. Salty, virile.

He opened the door and beckoned me in.

I might have guessed that his bedroom would look like this.

The room was stark in its simplicity. An antique brass bed sported a beautiful Irish chain quilt.

An earth-toned Navajo rug lay on the wooden floor.

Musical instruments from around the world decorated the plain white walls.

A straight-backed chair sat next to a narrow, upright antique chest of drawers, decorated with a photograph of an attractive elderly couple, both smiling.

An old, turn-of- the-century steamer trunk.

Old-fashioned. Sparse. Neat. A room from another century.

Sunshine blazed through the open window, lighting up the rug. Liam stood in the middle of that patch of sunlight, and turned to face her, in a wide-legged stance.

So, then. No banter, no chitchat, no lead-in. He was still angry, but he wanted his blowjob anyway. Well, fine. It was a weird vibe, but definitely a hot one. And I was getting comfortable with weirdness in these strange days.

Now I just had to behave like a femme fatale.

It couldn’t be that hard. I’d seen it done in films. But I was excited and flustered.

My breath was coming fast, palms damp, knees rubbery.

My thighs kept squeezing around a pulse of aching heat, just at the sight of him.

At the thought of taking him into my mouth.

A slow, deliberate striptease was the obvious thing, but I was dressed all wrong. I needed more pieces, layers, with delicate straps, complicated lingerie, snaps and ribbons and laces, to draw it out. Not that I owned clothing like that in the first place.

As it was, I could only toss my purse to the floor by the bed, and peel off my sweater with slow, sexy deliberation. I let it fall off my fingertips and walked toward him until the patch of sunlight illuminated my body, too. The air was cool, tightening my nipples to puckered brown nubs.

I twitched my braid over my shoulder, pulled off the elastic, and unraveled it. My wavy hair rose up all around my face, electric and wild. Medusa’s locks.

The jeans came next, which revealed the appallingly plain white cotton panties, and there I was. Naked as the day I was born, but for Lucia’s sapphire pendant.

He stared at me. His burning eyes said it all. But the thick bulge of his erection backed up the smolder quite nicely.

“Do you, ah, want to sit down?” I asked.

He shook his head. Of course not. That would be too easy.

I sucked in a deep breath and reached for his belt. It took forever to get the thing undone, but he did not help me. His hands were clenched. Big fists held rigidly at his sides. Intense emotion emanated from him. I felt it against my skin, like blazing heat.

I moved to his jeans and shoved them down with his briefs—just far enough to free his cock. It sprang up into my hands, hot and huge and hard, the thick flushed knob at the end dripping with pre-come. Ahhh, yes. No lack of enthusiasm on his part.

I swirled my hands around the slick fluid that gleamed on his big cockhead and gripped him, moving up and down his shaft in a long, tight slide. He jerked, shuddered. His groan sounded as if it had been captured in his throat and wrestled into submission.

My rubbery legs gave way, and I sank down to my knees on the rug. Hungry to make him shudder and gasp, helpless in the grip of intense pleasure.

His cock bobbed in my face. I was kneeling in that patch of brilliant sunshine. The sun was hot, but cool air moved from the open window, and the combination was a subtle caress, like fluttering strokes made with feathers.

I stroked him, gripped him, lashed him with voluptuous strokes of my tongue. His hands slid into my hair, tightening. His whole body was rigid.

I went at him with everything I had , licking and lapping, stroking and swirling with my hands. Flicking my tongue against the sensitive slit of his cockhead, savoring the slick, salty fluid that dripped from it.

I drew him slowly into my mouth, intensely aroused by every part of the experience.

My body was flushed and shivering. I relaxed and took him deeper, despite his size, slowly figuring out the sensual choreography.

I kept a steady rhythm, drawing him back into my mouth with every slow stroke, tongue teasing along the way.

I could taste his climax building. The taut stiffness, the desperate sounds he made.