“So, you want to have a picnic? Up there on the rock, or in the trees?” He points.
“Sure.”
We walk up the hill together, and I can’t help noticing Liam’s mood. He seems reserved. Even his shoulders are held stiffly. When he looks at me, his eyes don’t linger.
Down by the water, when he grabbed my hand, I felt like he was going to kiss it. Now he seems so far away.
We sit on the rock again, the same place I played with his hair, and have a lunch of smoked sausage, cheese, and rosemary bread. Liam looks out at the water as much as he looks at my face as he drinks his wine and listens to me talk about my job in Estes.
“I’m probably boring the hell out of you.”
“No,” he says quickly, finishing his wine. He pours himself some more, and once again, he offers me some.
“That’s okay. I’m really not much of a drinker.”
Especially pregnant.
Adrenaline shoots through me, but I tell myself I’ve already decided I won’t tell him today or tonight. I turn the conversation to the island, and Liam tells me it’s his family’s private property, a getaway with tree-houses, hot springs, a giant fishing lodge, and zip-lines.
“There’s a staff here when someone from the family has a big retreat. I didn’t call them out, though.”
“Good. I’ll help you if there’s anything we need to do,” I tell him.
He nods, looking distracted. By the time we load up and walk off the rock, Liam’s interest in talking to me seems to have waned.
He leads us to a four-wheeler parked between two trees and loads our bags up. I sit behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. Liam sets off, driving slowly over the rocky, grassy island landscape.
I try to tell myself that nothing’s wrong. I should feel glad I’m here, that he’s been so nice, that I’m getting to know him before I have to tell him that I’m carrying his child.
Who cares if he’s decided not to flirt with me anymore?
We drive maybe five more minutes, heading into the thickness of the forest. I’m watching a bird fly from one tree to another, lost in thought, when Liam stops. I look around, but nothing catches my eye—until I cast another glance up toward the treetops.
“Wow!”
Nestled in thick branches a dozen or two feet above our heads are seven gorgeous, geodesic tree-houses. Their semi-round roofs are slightly pointed at the tip. Their walls and walkways are made of rich, red wood. I notice one is larger than the others, and that several of them seem interconnected with bridges, ropes, and walkways.
Liam gets off the four-wheeler, placing one hand on his hip as he looks up. “This is one place we could spend the night. Other is the fishing lodge.”
“Here! Totally here. If that’s okay with you.”
“Sure. There are rope ladders up, bridges across, and zip-lines down. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah,” I say after thinking for a moment. “I’m not afraid of heights or anything.”
He insists that I wait on the ground while he carries our things up to the largest tree-house, and I watch, feeling sick. By the time he gets back down, I’m leaning against the four-wheeler and feeling awful.
“Fuck, Lucy. What’s wrong?”
I push my hair off my forehead. “I don’t feel great. My stomach kind of hurts.”
As Liam helps me up the sturdiest of the ladders, I curse myself for coming here with him at all. Thinking we could connect before I dropped the bomb: that’s stupid. I get a glance at a large, open-concept living and dining area decorated with burlap curtains, rustic wood pieces, and cozy plaid, as Liam leads me to a bedroom. Its queen bed is topped with a powder blue bedspread, the long, cream curtains decorated with a bird pattern.
“Cute room,” I murmur as he fluffs the pillows and I stretch out on the mattress.
Liam makes one of those noncommittal male noises, then disappears, returning with a cold wash cloth. I feel a little better with it over my face. I guess it distracts me from my nausea.
“You want a bath?” he asks me. “There’s a big tub here.”
I rub my temple. “I don’t know.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Was it the food?”
I shake my head, grateful for the hand towel to cover my red-cheeked liar’s face. “I have stomach issues sometimes. It wasn’t the food.”
Liam strokes my hair, and my mind races as I wonder what will happen when I tell him. I feel guilty for withholding things and suddenly miserable knowing he might hate me when he finds out. Behind the towel, my eyes fill with tears. Then I realize…I should probably eat.
“I have ginger snaps in the bag. Would you mind getting them?” I ask him in a voice I hope sounds steady.
“Yeah, no problem.”
He’s back in a moment with a bowl of ginger snaps and a bottle of water. I sit up when I hear his footsteps, reluctantly pulling the damp towel off my face.
“Thanks.”
He props the pillows up behind me. “Sure.”
Why is he so nice? I thought he was a manwhore. Correction: Maybe he is a manwhore, but he’s a gentleman too. I know it’s probably hormones, but I feel like shit as he sits in a chair beside the bed and looks me over like he really cares how I’m feeling.
“I’ll feel better in a minute,” I say, to fill the silence.
Liam’s hand covers my shin. “You want to go back to the castle? I can row us back, wrap you up and you can sit in the bottom of the boat.”
“It’s okay.” I sink into the pillows, drink some water. “I’m feeling a little better.”
The bottled water is so cold, a shiver ripples across my shoulders. Liam folds the covers over me, then surprises me by climbing up in bed beside me. Without a word, he stretches out and when I lie back more against the pillows, he positions himself closer to me, wraps an arm around my hip, and folds himself behind me.
“Is this okay?” His voice is low and husky.
“Yeah.”
It feels good to have his body pressed against mine. I haven’t felt so safe and cherished in a long time, maybe ever. And it would be him. Wouldn’t you know the dark horse playboy prince who treats me like a princess is the only person on the planet that I can’t really impress, the man from whom I’m keeping a life-changing secret.
Tears are building in my eyes again when I feel his mouth against my hair. A tear falls down my cheek. I turn my face into his chest, my lips pressing a kiss against his strong throat before I get a handle on my runaway emotions.
I feel his body tense. “Lucy…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The words are groaned. Then his hands are in my hair, his fingertips are on my face; he turns my face up, and he meets my lips with his. I’m surprised by the tension in his kisses. I can feel him holding back as his mouth moves on mine deliciously, in thorough, gentle kisses that have me panting as I pull away to get a breath.
I see his eyes on me, then shut my own, moaning softly as he strokes a hand over my spine. I feel him shift his hips and moan again, anticipating his hardness against me.
I want this.
I need this.