Page 18 of The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
Liam flipped open a box of ornaments. The sales clerk had thoughtfully provided hooks for the balls. He slipped one on and presented the sphere to Frankie. “You should hang the first and the last.”
She looked at the piles of boxes and at the expanse of unadorned green tree. “I vote we go through two boxes and leave the rest to one of my more artistic staff members. Otherwise we’ll be here for hours.”
Liam put his hands on his hips, drawing her eye to the worn denim pulled taut over his thighs, and surveyed the tree as well. “I’ll be casting my vote with yours. That’s a hell of a lot of branches.”
They started singing along with the carols and then dancing to a few and arguing about why they had chosen that particular ornament. So they’d hung four boxes’ worth by the time Frankie threw herself down on the couch, laughing at Liam’s hip-swiveling rendition ofAll I Want for Christmas is You.“I’m adding to your nickname. You are now Prince Elvis.”
“But I have no intention of leaving the building,” he said. “Although I think we should adjourn to the terrace to enjoy the last of the afternoon sunlight.”
Frankie inhaled, drawing in the woodsy scent of warmed evergreen. “But it smells so good in here.”
“I promise you that it will smell even better as the tree dries out, until you’ll feel like you’re living in the middle of a pine forest.”
“How do you know so much about—” But Liam had disappeared down the hall that led to her bedroom. “Where are you going?”
“To get a blanket.” His voice echoed back from the hallway.
When he returned, his arms were filled with the taupe velvet quilt from her bed and a couple of spares that were stored in her linen closet.
“Are you planning to camp out on my terrace?”
“Stow it and follow me.”
“Stow it?” She should rip into him for such disrespect, but he grinned at her with his eyebrows raised as though daring her to complain. “Ye right bogtrotting maggot of a jackeen.”
“That’s the Frankie I know and love.” He shouldered open the French door and strode to one of the double-wide lounges that stood in the slanting rays of the pale winter sun. Dropping his pile of quilts onto a table, he picked up the top one and draped it over the lounge, then folded the other two at the foot. Sweeping his arm over the well-blanketed chaise, he said, “Join me. Our combined body heat will keep us warm.”
There was a hot gleam in his eye that made her pause. She should haul one of the quilts to the lounge next to his. But she wasn’t going to. Not after feeling that beautifully muscled body against hers.
She was human, after all.
“Well, if we’re just being practical,” she said, stretching out on the lounge chair.
Liam came down beside her and pulled the quilts over both of them. The frigid wind still cut through the layers, making Frankie curl into Liam’s warmth. “It’s perishing out here.”
“My nefarious plan worked,” he said, slipping his arm under her shoulders and bringing her even closer against him.
As his body heat radiated through her, she let her head rest against his shoulder. The sun struggled to add to the warmth, painting patches of light on the quilt and her cheek. She swiveled her head to see that Liam’s hair glowed nearly red while his eyes took on the colors of a still mountain lake. Then his eyelids drifted downward, and he let out a huff of pure contentment. His body seemed to sink deeper into the cushions of the chaise.
“I’m adding a terrace to the list of requirements for an apartment here,” he said. His eyes snapped open. “You know what you need? A fire pit.”
She couldn’t picture herself sitting by a fire pit alone. It was the kind of thing couples did. “Something to ask Santa for.”
“You’re giving up on world peace?” His eyes were closed again.
Peace was here, sheltered within the strength of Liam’s arm, warmed by his big body, lulled by the familiar Irish in his voice. Right now, the rest of the world could go up in flames and she wouldn’t care. She wasn’t sleepy but she closed her eyes as he did, heightening her other senses. She could hear the occasional snort of a bus or blare of a taxi’s horn, but the sounds were muffled here on the back of her expensively private sanctuary. The sharp, chilled air was almost scentless, until she turned her head to inhale Liam, a mixture now of wool, evergreen, and himself, the essence of man and friend and something more that sent an ache of yearning through her.
A helicopter roared overhead, reminding her that the world was still there, would intrude, as he went to work tomorrow, molding his new team into the contenders that would fill all the seats of Yankee Stadium. She would do what she had done twenty-three years ago: send him away for his own good. Back then, it had been to soccer. Now, it would be to find a woman who could give him the family he deserved.
But she wanted a memory to keep with her. Something to fill in the empty spot of the tree when it was taken down after the holidays.
She shifted onto her side and lifted her hand to graze the reddish blond glitter of stubble on his chin, feeling the rasp of it on her fingertips. Although he didn’t appear to move, his body somehow pulled tight.
She drew a line along the diagonal of his jaw to the shadow of a cleft in his chin, tracing that shadow up to his bottom lip. When she dragged her finger over the smooth curve of it, she felt his chest rise on a sharp intake of breath.
The strong arcs of his eyebrows gleamed slightly darker than his hair, so she tested the texture of them, softer than she’d expected. His hair tempted her, the thick waving auburn showing a few threads of silver at the temples. Combing her fingers through it so that it fell onto his forehead, she arranged it into a curl before she stroked it back into place again.
“There’s more to me than a pretty face,” he said, his voice taking on the peaty rasp of a strong whiskey.
