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WHEN THE CAT’S AWAY, THE KITTENS PLAY

Lizzie

OCTOBER 31, 2002

S INEAD B IGGS HAD ALWAYS THROWN THE SPLASHIEST, NO-EXPENSE-SPARED BIRTHDAY parties for her children. Because her son was born on Halloween, their house had always been the place to be on the spookiest night of the year.

The only difference this year was Pete’s cousin’s wedding fell on the same day. The wedding was up the country and would be a weekend event, so instead of canceling her son’s party, Sinead enlisted the help of her father to hold the fort in her stead.

Leaving Grandad Healy in charge for the weekend was her first mistake.

Leaving the liquor cabinet in the good room unlocked was her second.

What was intended to be a sensible gathering of friends to celebrate her son’s fifteenth birthday had quickly veered into the mother of all house parties—with Grandad Healy at the helm of the chaos.

After spending a solid hour and a half locked in a battle of wills with Claire over Halloween costumes—and my lack of desire to wear one—we had finally joined the others downstairs.

The moment we stepped off the last step of the staircase, we were instantly swallowed up by a crowd of drunk teenagers. Not only was the entire ground level of the house heaving with costume-clad peers from school but the music blasting from one of the sixth-year boy’s decks was deafeningly loud.

“This is amazing!” Claire exclaimed as she bopped around to “Whoomp! (There It Is).”

She looked ridiculously cute in blue, spandex dungaree shorts, thigh-high white socks, matching white gloves, and a cropped, skintight red shirt. Perched on top of her straightened, blond hair was a matching red hat with the letter M .

“I have a camel toe in these damn dungarees,” I grumbled, readjusting the skintight fabric at my crotch. Because of course we were in matching costumes. “Okay, and now I have a wedgie.”

“That’s because you have a long back,” Claire offered in a supportive tone, as she straightened my green hat. “You are the hottest Luigi I have ever seen.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Right back at ya, Mario.”

She smiled approvingly at the outfit she had managed to emotionally blackmail me into wearing only to frown when she noticed my well-worn high-tops.

“ Converse , Liz?” Claire expelled a frustrated growl. “You are supposed to wear the green heels to match my red ones.”

“Don’t push your luck, Biggs,” I laughed, holding a hand up. “Just be glad I’m wearing everything else.”

“Holy fuck!” some random lad dressed as Batman exclaimed, coming to stand in front of us. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven, girls.”

“Keep holding your breath and maybe you will,” I shot back, instantly on edge.

“Well, Luigi’s clearly on the rag,” the asshole laughed before turning his attention to Claire. “What about you, Mario?” He stepped closer and stroked her chin. The alcohol wafting from his breath was stifling. “Fancy taking a trip to Mushroom Mountain with me?”

“Fancy eating through a feeding tube?” I cut in, smacking his lingering hand away. “Touch my friend again and it’s a done deal, Batman .”

“Christ,” he growled, planting his hands on his hips. “You’re a real bitch, aren’t ya?”

“Better a bitch than a prick,” I shot back before catching ahold of Claire’s hand and walking away.

“That was really mean, Liz,” Claire scolded, hooking her arm through mine as we maneuvered through the mob—a mob that included her grandfather dancing on the kitchen island top. “He was just being friendly.”

“He was being a dog,” I corrected, keeping a protective eye on the gorgeous picture of innocence next to me. “And you need to keep your guard up.”

“How come?”

“Because girls like you look like juicy bones to dogs like him.”

Her eyes widened to saucers. “Why would he think I’m a bone?”

“Never mind,” I sighed, knowing in my heart that she wasn’t quite grasping my meaning. I was fourteen months older than her and acutely aware that I knew things no one her age should. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay, Liz.” Big, brown eyes full of innocence stared back at me. “I will.”

“Good.” Nodding, I smiled back at her. “Because I only want to keep you safe.”

Claire’s gaze flicked to something behind me then, and her entire face lit up before a surge of panic filled her eyes. “Liz.” Her eyes flicked to mine, and she pointed over my shoulder. “Are you going to be okay if I go and talk to Gerard?”

Attending the same school, on top of the forced proximity of sharing the same friendship circle, had helped build my tolerance levels up, but I wasn’t naive enough to believe I would be okay if he came over to speak to me.

“I’ll be fine,” I squeezed out, using every ounce of strength I had inside of me to not overreact. To not blow a fuse and scream. Because I wanted to. I really fucking wanted to.

Christ, I couldn’t even think his name in my head, let alone speak it. On the rare occasion I had to address him by name, I used the only word that seemed to come out: the childhood pet name I had given him.

It hurt a little less that way, and I could manipulate my mind to separate the two. Because the monster never said the name Thor .

“It’s okay if you want to hang out with Thor for a bit, Claire.” I tried to smile then, truly I did, but from her reaction, I knew it had to look like a pained grimace. “I’m fine with it.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. “Really?”

“Really.” I nodded. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Okay, now I feel even worse about how I reacted on my birthday,” she declared before snatching my hands up and going on a full-blown tangent. “I’m so sorry for making you feel bad for being with my brother. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I was just afraid you were going to stop hanging out with me and spend all your time with Hugh. And I think I might have been a little jealous, too. But I’m over it, okay? I swear it, and I won’t try to block you guys anymore. I know how important you are to my brother, and I don’t want to be that mean girl.”

“You have never been a mean girl, Claire, and I’m never going to stop hanging out with you,” I promised, squeezing her hand. “You’re the Mario to my Luigi, after all.”

“I know, I know,” she hurried to concede. “But I think it had more to do with Hugh asking you to be his girlfriend and Gerard not asking me—which I know you probably don’t want to hear me say,” she added with a wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I forced myself to say because I couldn’t project my pain on her. “I can’t be the friend you confide in about Thor, but I will always be the friend in your corner.”

Her eyes lit up with excitement. “And I can’t be the friend you talk to about my brother—because that’s just ew—but I will always be the friend in your corner, too.”

“Okay then.” I smiled. “It’s a deal.”

“It’s a double deal,” Claire squealed, bouncing from foot to foot excitedly. “But not a double date.”

“No,” I confirmed, shaking my head. “ Never a double date.”

After briefly hugging it out, Claire scampered off in search of Thor, while I went in the opposite direction, in search of her brother. When I found him in the lounge, necking shots in front of the fireplace with his grandfather, a warm flush of heat swept through me.

Sighing in contentment, I leaned against the archway and took a moment to just look at him.

Unlike almost everyone else at the party, Hugh wasn’t dressed up in a costume. Standing apart from the crowd, my boyfriend wore dark jeans and a tightly fitting white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his ridiculously sexy, corded forearms. His hair was styled in that sickeningly sexy way he always wore it: tight around the sides and back, with a mop of sexily tousled curls on top, held in place by a dollop of gel.

Clocking in at an impressive six feet in height and still growing, Hugh couldn’t have looked more different to the boy I lost my heart to at the age of six. The softness of his face had become more sharply defined, while his once-lean stomach now sported an impressive ripple of finely carved abdominal muscles to go with the generous dusting of hair that began at his navel and trailed beneath the waistband of his boxers. His back was broader, his biceps more prominent, and he possessed a pair of gloriously strong legs, with rock-hard thigh and calf muscles.

And this is the boy I am supposed to not touch!

“Back in my day, you were a man at fifteen,” Grandad Healy exclaimed, dragging me back to the present. Thick as thieves with his favorite grandchild—and a bottle of Jameson—he filled two glasses with amber liquid before handing one to Hugh.

“I can’t drink another one, Granda. It tastes like shit,” Hugh groaned, staring into the amber-filled tumbler in his hands. “Maybe I should stick to cans.”

“Leave the cans for the boys and the whiskey for the men.” Draping an arm around his grandson, the old man clinked their glasses together before knocking his drink back in one impressive gulp. “This will put hair on your chest, my cherished namesake.”

“Aw, fuck it,” Hugh groaned before quickly tossing the drink back, only to splutter and cough violently afterward. “It’s worse than shit,” he strangled out, sounding hoarse. Setting his glass down on the mantelpiece they were leaning against, Hugh looked at his grandfather and said, “You know what? I think I’ll live without the hairy chest.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before adding, “I’ve enough of it everywhere else.” He glanced in my direction then, only to do a quick double take when he registered me standing there. His eyes widened to saucers in surprise. “Holy fuck.”

Now that “holy fuck” reaction was one I was more than happy to hear. Grinning, I pushed off the wall and walked over, loving the way his eyes never once left my body.

“Happy birthday,” I announced with a smile when I reached his side. Hugh automatically raised his arm for me to take my place at his side, which I did without hesitation. “Having fun?”

“I am now.” His arm came around my shoulders, pulling me closer, while his eyes continued to rake over me. “You look incredible.”

Maybe Claire was onto something with this whole costume thing…

“Hey, Granda Healy,” I said, turning my attention to the old man grinning at Hugh. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long, Elizabeth,” the mischievous old man replied, shaking my hand while smirking at Hugh. “And a relief to know my grandson had the good sense to hold on to you.” He winked again at Hugh. “Good lad, yourself.”

“Like I’d be thick enough to let her go,” Hugh chuckled, tucking me into his side. He dropped a kiss to my head before adding, “Liz is the one, Granda.”

Oh God .

My entire body burned with heat. The way he so openly claimed me as his, even to his grandfather, made me feel like I might be actually worth something.

Several hours and several alcoholic beverages later, I found myself getting a piggyback from the sexiest fly half in Ballylaggin.. Maybe even the whole wide world .

“I think we might be a small bit drunk, Hugh,” I snickered on our fourth attempt to reach the top of the stairs. Well, Hugh’s fourth attempt. I was hitching a ride on his back. “And I think”—I paused to hiccup—“it’s from Granda Healy’s whiskey.”

“Oh, I know it is,” my boyfriend grumbled, fighting hard with his feet to go in the same direction. He had lost his coordination, right along with his shirt. “My grandfather is a demon.”

“Your grandfather is a legend,” I cackled and then quickly cheered when we reached the landing. “Yay! My hero!”

“Do you need to pee?” he asked when he crashed against the bathroom door. “Go now if you do because your carriage is making a beeline for his bed.”

I thought about it for a moment and shook my head. “Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“All right then.” Staggering toward his bedroom door, he pushed it open with his head and slurred, “Prepare for a soft landing, baby.”

“Uh, a little privacy!” some random girl squealed, as she rolled around on my boyfriend’s bed with a vaguely familiar-looking boy on top of her.

“Goddammit, Feely!”

“My apologies, Hughie.”

“Out!” Hugh ordered, leaning heavily against the door to support both our weights. “Now!”

“Yeah, Feely ,” I snickered, watching through bleary eyes as our friend grabbed a pile of clothes and hurried out of the room, with a semi-naked girl hot on his heels.

“Prick,” Hugh grumbled, kicking the door shut behind them before stumbling toward the bed. “Timber!” he warned moments before faceplanting into the mattress with me still on his back. “Feely better not have fucked her in my bed.”

“He still had his jocks on,” I offered, flopping onto my back beside him. “But the blond he was dry-humping didn’t have a stitch on her.”

“See, that’s some horseshit right there,” my boyfriend slurred, dragging a pillow under his head. “He knows you’re the only blond allowed to get naked in my bed.”

“Yeah right,” I snorted, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “If I were naked in your bed, you’d throw holy water on me and cart me off to confession.”

“Not tonight, I wouldn’t.”

Snickering, I turned to look at his face and grinned. “Are you saying you want me naked in your bed?”

“I never not want you naked in my bed.” Lying on his stomach, with his arms wrapped around the pillow and his head angled toward me, Hugh whispered, “Thanks for coming home, baby.”

“Home?” My heart skipped four solid beats, and a violent shiver racked through me. “How am I home, Hugh?”

With a heated expression, he pulled up on one elbow and reached for me with his free hand. “Because you belong in this house.” Cupping the back of my head, he drew me closer. “You belong in this bed.” Fisting my hair, Hugh angled my chin up to his and traced his tongue over my bottom lip before pulling back to look in my eyes. “You belong with me.”

And then he crushed his lips to mine.

The moment his tongue entered my mouth, I knew I was a goner. The familiar feeling of filth and unease was replaced with a desperate yearning. His hands were on my body, pulling me closer, and the feel of him, so strong and warm and real, breathed life into my fractured soul. I was broken inside, truly rotten to the core, but I felt my redemption in his kiss.

Desperate to taste him back, my lips opened of their own accord, accepting his offering like my body had been programmed to receive this boy. His tongue coaxed mine almost lovingly, with soft, drugging swipes that caused my nipples to harden painfully in their bid to snatch his attention.

Overcome by the sensations thrashing through my body, I tugged on his shoulders until he rolled on top of me. Welcoming his weight, I let my thighs fall open to bring him closer, shivering in delight when his metal buckle rubbed against me. “Mm.”

Layers of horrible clothes separated our flesh, and it made me so fucking mad. Beyond agitated, I dug my fingers into his back, shivering in pleasure when he strained against me. I wanted him so much, I wanted to cry.

“Are you okay?” he asked, lips moving to my neck as he pushed me deeper into the mattress, hips rocking in perfect synchrony with mine. “Is this okay?”

“You know it is,” I breathed, fisting his hair while I rubbed myself against him. “Start touching me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”