“Wow. I’m super curious now.”
I follow him up some stone steps, built into the sandy, grassy ground. Then we reach a grass plateau. Liam moves a log and reaches into the grass and looks into my eyes and then he’s pulling up the ground. He’s pulling up a door in the ground, revealing stone steps leading downward.
“Oh my Jesus! Liam…”
“I’ll go first. You don’t even have to come down if you’re claustrophobic. Actually…” He shuts the door. His mouth is tucked into a grimace. “I shouldn’t take you down there.” His gaze finds mine, holding. “I meant it when I said it’s horrible.”
“It’s a dungeon.”
He nods.
“The only thing I can think about, about a beach dungeon…” I swallow.
“Yes.” He nods.
“Damn…”
“They used ocean water,” he says, giving voice to my theory.
“The dungeon is clearly underground. Would it flood during high tide?”
“It would. Barbaric,” he adds quietly.
“How long ago was this used?”
“Two hundred years. Mostly for traitors. Those who set to poison the king or in one case, tried to steal one of the baby princes. A cannibal was killed here. Someone who shot my great-great grandfather with an arrow in the shoulder; had been aiming for his throat.”
“So it wasn’t for beggars and whores and stuff like that?”
“Oh, no.”
“They didn’t know when they would die.”
“That’s right,” he says. He shakes his arm around. “No manacles.”
“Not necessary. Geez.”
“I know.” He stands up, reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry that I brought you.” He looks at me, serious, almost curious. “You make me do strange things, Lucille Rhodes.”
I hop up. “I hope one of them is go into the dungeon, because you know we have to now. I can’t resist a build-up like this. As long as you’re positive no one will close the door on us!”
He reaches into his pocket, bringing out a small, brass-looking piece that reminds me of a fat screw-driver.
“State secret.”
“You have a key to this door.”
“Of course.” He smiles smugly. “People still love the idea of locking us inside. I had a friend put me in there when I was little. There’s a key like this in one of the walls. I knew where it was. Out by dinner.” He winks.
“Did the tide start rising?”
“Yes. It was rising a little. As I recall, my shoes were wet. I had to take them off.”
“I’m surprised that you’ll go back inside!”
He shrugs. “Can’t be afraid forever.”
He opens the trap door again and steps inside. “You sure about this?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I follow Liam down some stairs, into a single room about the size of a master bedroom in an American house. Sand is all over the floor, crunching under my shoes. The walls—very tall, maybe more than twenty feet—are made of stone that’s stained by moss and mold. In the top part of the walls are small, round, barred windows, leaking sand into the room.
As I stand staring at one of them, a tiny pile of dark brown sand falls to the floor.
“So weird.”
I look around the room. It’s just sand and stone. No way to tell that anybody died here.
“How many?” I whisper.
He steps closer to me, laying his hand at the base of my back. “I don’t know.”
I look at him over my shoulder.
“That’s not true,” he says.
“You do know?”
“Eighty-something.”
“Wow.”
He nods toward the stairs, and we walk back up and out. He shuts the door hard, and I notice that the grass flap over it is fake.
He folds his arms. “It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah? Where do your views on the death penalty fall?”
“Not in favor.”
“For anybody?”
He shrugs.
“Does it make you uncomfortable? Your family’s past?”
He gives me a miserable-looking smile.
I step over to him on a whim and wrap my arms around his hard waist, squeezing gently. “Poor Liam.” I lean back a little, so I can see his face. He’s giving me a funny, sad smile.
I run a hand over his hair, which at some point, he’s pulled back into a bun. “FYI, I don’t know exactly how conservative your views are on the death penalty, but mine are ‘anti’ too. I say put all those dudes to work. Let them make things. Like a sweat shop.”
Prince Liam laughs. “Like a sweat shop? Better not say that on TV, Lucy.” His hands run up and down my arms as I grin.
“That’s why I’m not on TV. Can’t censor this.” I wag my ass before I think about what I’m doing. Liam throws his head back laughing. Then he smacks my ass.
I snap my fingers in his face. “I know you didn’t.”
He slaps it again, looking smirky and smug.
“Try to catch me!”
I take off running, and Liam is on me in just a few seconds, wrapping his arms around me from behind and holding me still so I can feel him hard against my ass. Then he eases me down to the ground and rolls me over on my back, so I’m facing him. He straddles me.
When I feel a shot of panic, he must sense it, because shifts so he’s beside me…taking my face in his hands and kissing me gently.
“I don’t even…” he breathes… “want a girl. I don’t want anybody. But you, Lucy Rhodes…”
He shakes his head. His eyes on mine are dark and earnest. Then it’s just his warm, soft lips; the scrape of his beard; the scent of his skin; the warmth of him—Prince Liam, hovering over me, the feel of his chest as it rises and falls in time with mine. The two of us, pressed together on the grass. And I can only kiss him back.
The feel of him, the taste of him… It’s everything I want. The way he strokes his fingertips into my hair and wraps a hand behind my head and holds me to him. It’s so gentle. Soon, one of his arms is wrapped around my back, I’m being lifted onto his lap. I’m limp except my hands, which cling onto his shirt as we devour one another.
I start having to break away to get my breath. He won’t even do that. The more we kiss, the faster his chest pumps, the louder his breaths, the more shaky his hands.
Am I really kissing Prince Liam and his hands are shaking?
He shifts, and I feel him through his pants. I feel how hard and thick and long he is. My hand trails down his chest, over his pants waist, until I’m cupping him. I’m pressing against him, curving my thumb and forefinger around his big, plump head. And Liam is kissing my neck—hard. The pressure, and the pleasure, make me cry out, my voice harsh against the waves.
Liam moans. I think he says my name. I don’t know because my breasts are pressed against his chest, his hand is rubbing me, his fingers finding the right spot despite my pants.
And then his magic fingers go away. He’s got his hands around my head, my forehead pressed against his. His eyes are on my eyes. His lids are low, and I can see the yellow flecks inside the sea of hazel.
“Lucy… Christ.”
I feel his fingers clench against my scalp before he lets me go. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide.
Liam leans back on his thick arms, draws his legs up so his knees are almost to his chest. Then he rises. Turns away from me.
Well, shit…
I rub my hands over my eyes and tell myself to calm down.