Infinite Possibilities Page 8

  I lift my leg, pressing my foot into his lower back, arching into him. “Liam,” I whisper, desperate to have him inside me.

  His hand slips under my backside, cradling my body. “I’m the one who’s scared,” he whispers, stroking my cheek, dragging his fingers down my neck again, caressing my shoulder, and then cradling my breast in his palm.“I can’t lose you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I almost did.”

  “But I’m here now.”

  “And you have no idea how much I want to lock you away and throw away the key until I destroy every asshole who ever hurt you.” He presses inside me, and for a fleeting moment I think about the condom we don’t have, the pills I haven’t taken for fear I’m pregnant. But I don’t resist. I don’t fear. I’m pregnant. I know it. I feel it and I saw it in his eyes on the plane. He knows, too, or maybe he just thinks I’m still taking the pill. I lose the thought when Liam drives deep inside me, buries himself until he can go no further. We stay there as if we are savoring the moment, anticipating the next. The sound of our breathing fills the air, melding together. Seconds pass and I hear the clock ticking, building tension.

  Taking me with him, Liam rolls to his back, pulling me over his hips, his hand in my hair. “The many flavors of control,” he whispers. “Now you’re on top. You decide how fast or slow we go.” His voice roughens.“How deep I get.”

  The words radiate through me, evocative, erotic, and so much more than sex. One of us shifts on the mattress. Him, I think. Maybe me. The dagger has somehow ended up pressed to the side of my hand, its very presence driving home his message. He’s telling me that no matter how dominant he might come off, he’s willing to share control.

  Emotion wells in my chest and I shove it away, pressing my palm to his face. “I’m glad you found me.” I lean in and this time, I kiss him, silently telling him what I still don’t feel ready to say out loud. I am his. I have been from the moment I first met him. His hand goes to the back of my head, holding me to him, but he doesn’t move and I know he’s waiting on me. He’s giving me that control he’s promised. Part of me wants to roll back over and tell him to take it and me. That part of me that feels she’s been alone forever and just wants someone to take care of her. But the other part of me is ready to own my life in a way that makes that decision no longer an option. The fact that Liam understands that I have to embrace who I am and where I’m going matters to me more than I think he can imagine.

  I lick into his mouth, a soft caress of my tongue against his and the moan that rumbles low in his chest is so sexy, so utterly arousing, that I squeeze my thighs together and begin to move. Our lips part and for a few moments I stay there, my breath lingering with his, the dark springy hair of his chest teasing my nipples, but it’s not enough. I lean back, my hands settling on his shoulders, holding me up, the angle shifting his cock deeper inside me.

  His gaze lowers, strokes my breasts and his hands follow, thumbs teasing my nipples. I arch into the touch and he sits up, driving himself deeper inside me, one arm wrapping around my waist, one hand cupping my breast. Our foreheads come together, our breaths mingling again, and I like the way it makes me feel connected to him. This is a perfect moment, me on top, but sheltered in the cocoon of his strong arms. Safe to let go, to experience what it is I am with this man.

  He kisses me, his mouth brushing over mine, a seductive featherlight touch with a tiny hint of tongue, before he drags his lips over my jaw, down my neck, to find my nipple, licking, then suckling deeply. My sex clenches around the thick pulse of his cock and I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him, tangling my fingers in his hair. The air around us shifts, and we are no longer soft and gentle. We are kissing feverishly, moving together, a wild, frenzied rush of rocking until he falls back onto the mattress, or maybe I push him. My hands are back on his shoulders and I am driving against him, unable to get enough, unable to ever get enough. He’s watching me, his blue eyes riveted on my every move, his scorching gaze burning me alive, devouring my breasts, watching every expression on my face.

  Trying to take him deeper, I arch my back, move my hands from his shoulders to his waist, my long hair draping my face, and my gaze lands on the ‘pi’ tattoo with the inverted triangle. I swallow hard and go still, my fingers splaying over artwork so like the one on my handler’s wrist and yet so unlike it, and for a moment, I feel what I have yet to feel. Fear. I feel fear and I do not know why. Everything around me seems to go black and I can hear my own breathing. I can hear the clock.

  “Amy?” Liam whispers, and my gaze jerks to his, and the concern, the deep affection in his stare, tears through me. “What--” he starts, but I don’t want him to speak.

  I lean in and press my mouth to his, telling myself that two completely different triangles do not equal the same symbol. His strong arm wraps around my waist again, and I am where I belong. The tattoo means nothing. He means everything. Tangling my fingers into his hair, I slant my mouth over his and I kiss him like I have never kissed him before. I ride him like I have never ridden him. I take him. I make him mine like I have never dared with another man, like I could with no other man. And I drive us to the point that we are shaking, orgasming together, my sex clenching his shaft until we melt together in utter, complete satisfaction. Boneless, I come back to the world draped over the top of him. I don’t want to move. I don’t want this to end, and I think he doesn’t either.

  It is Liam who finally shifts us, settling me on the mattress beside him, caressing my cheek. “I’ll be right back.” He moves away and I fight the ridiculous urge to reach for him and pull him back, like once he is gone, he’s gone forever.

  Resting my weight on my elbows, I watch him walk in all his masculine glory toward a doorway to my left that I think is a bathroom, and as he disappears into the other room, my gaze shifts to the twinkling city lights of the night sky beyond the window. I have this odd sense of dreaming, and I don’t want to wake up. It hardly feels real that in only a few short hours I’ve gone from a roadside dump to this amazing place with Liam.

  The stickiness between my legs invades my peaceful moment with worry. We didn’t use a condom and I inhale at the thought, flattening my hand on my belly, and admitting I haven’t repeated the test for a reason. I don’t need it. I know I’m pregnant and I simply wasn’t ready to deal with what that means. I’m having a baby. Liam’s baby. And now it’s not just vengeance and my life I’m fighting for anymore. I cannot fail at finding answers and solutions. That is no longer an option. I won’t lose someone else I love.

  The mattress shifts and I am shocked to find Liam has crossed the room and I didn’t even know he’d returned. He gently nestles the towel between my legs, and heat floods my cheeks as he actually cleans me up before he tosses it at what looks like a hamper by a closet to my right.

  Embarrassed, I let my head rest on the mattress, staring at the ceiling rather than Liam, and again I think I am naked beyond the absence of clothes with this man in so many ways. He lays down on his side, propped on one elbow, and now he flattens his hand on my belly. I turn instantly, and face him, holding his hand in mine, resting my head on my arm that I’ve curled under me.

  “You weren’t afraid,” he comments.

  “No. I wasn’t afraid.”

  “Because your instincts told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  I nod. “Because my instincts told me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  His hand goes to my hip and he pulls me closer. “And I won’t. Ever. You were right. Human nature is to survive, Amy, and that’s what our instincts are for. When our adrenaline is pumping and we have to make a choice, we know what is right. We act. We can’t look back. We can’t regret.” He pauses and my stomach knots in anticipation of what I think he might say. And he does. He says it. His next words are, “You had to jump.”

  Emotions jackknife through me and I try to escape, jerking backwards. Liam’s leg wraps around mine, holding me to him. I shove on his chest.“Let go.”
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  “Never again and I’ll repeat that until you remember it. You couldn’t have saved them any more than I could save my mother or Alex.”

  “You don’t know. You weren’t there.”

  “No. I wasn’t. But I know there are things out of our control and if we let them eat us alive, they destroy us. I know, baby. I’ve lived it. In your case, you need answers, and you need to place blame, but not on yourself.” He lowers his forehead to mine. “Not on you. We will find out who did this to you and your family, and we’ll make them pay. You have my word. But it’s time for you to start healing.”

  “I need answers.”

  “We’ll get them.” He scoops me up and moves us higher on the bed, pulling down the blankets. I let him settle us beneath the silky sheet, the soft mattress sweet bliss to my exhausted body. “Let’s sleep. Tomorrow we’ll come up with a plan.” He caresses my cheek. “Together.” He reaches above us and hits a button on the headboard and the lights dim, then he turns me and curls me against him, wrapping his body around mine.

  My lashes lower. Together. I could get used to that word, I think, and I relax into him, truly relax for the first time in months.

  ***

  I wake to the ticking of a clock and blink into sunlight, my eyes fixing on the massive round clock with a heavy etched black wood frame and contrasting delicate silver arms occupying most of the wall in front of me. The same clock I assume that taunted me the night before and now tells me I’ve slept until nearly noon. I inhale the wonderful masculine scent of Liam that surrounds me everywhere, though I sense that he isn’t in the bed any longer. Trust my instincts had been Liam’s message to me last night. About him and everything. They seem to be all I have when I’d rather have facts and answers.

  Rolling to my back, I sit up and marvel at the breathtaking view of the Hudson River. Liam was right. It’s as if we are on the water. My gaze shifts and I take in the spectacular room I couldn’t appreciate last night for the overwhelming presence that is Liam. It’s a simple but elegant space decorated with an expensive black wood bedroom set and several paintings of high-rise buildings that I date to the sixties. I wonder if Liam’s mentor, Alex, designed them.

  A pajama top is laying on the bottom of the bed, and I smile and reach for it, hoping Liam is wearing the other half of this set. It’s an intimate, wonderful thought to share one set of pajamas that reaches beyond sexy. It’s about sharing and caring, two things I’ve had to eliminate from life in every form, even simple friendships.

  Shoving aside the soft black comforter, I slip into the oversized shirt, disappointed that it smells fresh and clean, not spicy and male like Liam, but I can fix that, I decide. I make a quick dash to the room I think is the bathroom to find a sparkling black and white tiled spa-worthy room with a claw tub and separate shower. I dig for a brush and try to tame my mass of tangled blonde hair, scrub my face, and finger brush my teeth with toothpaste I find in a drawer.

  When Liam has still not appeared, I’m not quite ready to give up my solitary thoughts, and I find myself walking toward the view and the two cozy looking overstuffed black leather chairs.

  Shivering against a chill radiating from being this close to the glass, I grab the black throw on one of the chairs and wrap it around me. I’m about to settle into a chair when my gaze latches on to the dagger that sits on the small table between the chairs.

  I stare down at it, struck first by the jewels and markings on the sheath and handle that I’d missed the night before, like I had overlooked the huge clock on the wall. The dagger is Egyptian, and I am certain this is from his time spent at the pyramids. This is a part of my past as well and finally I can talk to Liam about it.

  Frowning, I stare down at the dagger, and the oddity of it being here on the table by the window, when I know it was in the bed with us, hits me. I turn and face the bed and it hits me that I’ve barely slept in months and yet Liam stood here, holding a dagger in his hand, and I snoozed right through it. I’m reminded of how I’d slept so well that first night he’d stayed with me in Denver and I can come to only one conclusion. My subconscious mind trusts him completely. When I’m asleep. In the heat of the moment, when he’s holding a dagger to my skin and I’m tied up. Why then do I still think about his money, his mentor’s money, and pyramids? And why, why, why, did I feel that instant of fear while staring at his tattoo?

  Chapter Eight

  I reach for the dagger, gauging the weight in my hand.

  “Replica.”

  My gaze lifts at the deep baritone of Liam’s voice speaking the very word I was thinking. I find him leaning on the doorjamb wearing nothing but the pajama bottoms to match my top and my reaction is pure instinct, that of a primal kind. He is beautiful, this man, power and sex radiating off of him.

  “Yes,” I agree and my voice is hoarse. “I thought so.”

  He pushes off the doorjamb, his dark hair a finger-rumpled mess that is sexier because it was my fingers that made it that way, and he starts walking toward me. Try as I might to keep my eyes level, they seek out and find his “pi” tattoo, tracing the inverted triangle beneath the 3.14 that is filled with numbers and still, there is not even a sliver of fear. All I feel is my desire to shove him down on the bed, crawl on top of him and lick the darn thing again.

  “How old?” he asks, stopping in front of me, his hand closing over the dagger in my hand.

  I blink up at him and he is just so damn masculine and beautiful that my mouth has gone dry and my brain seems to have stopped functioning. “How old?”

  His lips quirk and I am certain he knows how easily he affects me and I can’t seem to care. “How old is the dagger, Amy?”

  “Oh. The dagger. About a century.”

  Those sensual, punishing, pleasing lips of his, curve. “Right on the mark, but then, you are your father’s daughter.”

  My father’s daughter. It is painful to hear those words but also liberating, powerful. I no longer have to pretend to be what I am not with Liam. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  He pulls me closer, our hands and the dagger between us, our knees touching.“Why were you standing here holding the dagger?”

  “Why’d you bring the dagger over here while I was sleeping?”

  His mood shifts subtly, the lines of his face hardening, his lashes lowering before they lift. “A walk down memory lane,” he confesses. “Alex collected daggers from all over the world. I bought it for him while I was in Egypt and never got a chance to give it to him. I keep it close, like I do his memory.”

  My heart squeezes for him, my hand flattening on his bare chest, the warmth of his body seeping into my palm the way he has seeped into my soul, my heart. “You were living that regret this morning.”

  “I was reminding myself that regret is a disservice to those we loved and who loved us. It leaves no room for celebrating their lives and the memories we have with them.” He leans in, pressing his cheek to mine, his hand tightening over mine and the dagger. “And last night is quite the memory.”

  I lean into him, and now I let my lashes lower, seduced by this growing bond between us that defies the time and space we’ve had between us, and even the reason it had existed. Deep down, I’ve never questioned us. This is real. We are real.

  The doorbell rings and Liam groans, pressing his forehead to mine. “That will be the breakfast I ordered that is very poorly timed.” He brushes hair over my shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen. We’ll eat and then I’ll give you a tour of your new home.”

  He turns and walks away, leaving me staring after him. For several seconds I stand there, processing what he’s said and what it means to me and us. He wants me here. I want to be here but it isn’t that simple for me, no matter how much I wish it was.

  I launch myself into action, rushing down the steps to the foyer and then crossing through the living room with barely a glance at the gorgeous view out of the window. Rushing into the kitchen, past the island, I find Liam setting plates on the table. “This isn’t
my home,” I blurt.

  He stills for a moment, a fork in his hand, before setting it down very precisely on the table and leaning his palms on the wooden surface. “I want it to be. I hope you want it to be.”

  “My family’s dead. Someone killed the PI. Me being with you or anyone else is like painting a bull's-eye on their forehead. I won’t do that to you.”

  He studies me, that penetrating blue gaze of his unnerving me and telling me nothing of his reaction. Finally, he moves, pulling out the chair at the end of the table. “Come sit and let’s eat.”

  “You can’t dismiss my concern. It’s real.”

  “And we’ll deal with it. After you eat.” His tone is that familiar absoluteness I’ve come to know from overbearing, dominant, sexy Liam Stone that tells me I won’t win this battle. I, in fact, probably need my strength to fight it.

  Sighing in resignation, my shoulders slump and I walk to the chair and sit down, finding my plate piled with a stack of pancakes that smell sweet and almost spicy. My stomach rumbles in a strange mix of hunger and queasiness I didn’t know was possible. How can anyone be famished and sick at the same time?

  “I hope you like gingerbread,” Liam comments, all of that intensity of moments before sliding away. “Evans’ Cafe next door does breakfast all day and since they only do these in November and December, I admit to overindulging.”

  “They smell wonderful but I find it hard to believe you overindulge in anything.”

  That sensual mouth of his curves ever so slightly. “I have a few weaknesses. Gingerbread Pancakes. Architecture.” His voice deepens. “And you, Amy.”

  Me. I am his weakness. I don’t let myself think of how true that might be, how dangerous I could be to him, and quickly indulge in a real treat for me. The truth. “Mine would be macaroni and cheese, ancient history, and you, Liam.”

  His eyes blaze blue-green with a hint of amber lifted from the sunlight and water behind him. He is magnificently male in that moment, absolutely, devastatingly, a work of art. He motions to the pancakes. “Try the gingerbread. I want to see what you think.”