Page 26 of The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
Chapter Eight
Frankie pulled on a sweater in a soft rose color and inspected the effect in the mirror. She shook her head and whipped it off, tossing it onto the multi-colored pile on her bed.
Catching sight of her bare torso in the reflection, she ran her hands over the curve of her lace-covered breasts before skimming her palms down over her hips. These were just a few of the places Liam had touched and kissed and murmured passionate compliments about these last two nights. Her body simmered with a contented warmth that flared into blazing desire whenever Liam came near.
But the thought of meeting his son turned desire into nerves.
“He’s a ten-year-old boy. He doesn’t give a damn what I wear,” she growled as she surveyed the jumbled array.
Pulling a white silk blouse and navy blue cashmere sweater out of the mess, she shrugged into them. Paired with gray wool trousers and high-heeled black pumps, this was a casual look she was comfortable in.
“Good enough.”
She checked her watch. Owen had a half day of school before his Christmas vacation began, so she and Liam were picking him up to go out for lunch. Frankie checked the shopping bag that held the gifts she’d bought for Owen: a food chemistry set and a Taste of Ireland chocolate sampler.
She smoothed her hair, grabbed her jacket, and strode to her private elevator. As she reached it, the doors slid open and Liam stepped out. He wore jeans that hugged every muscle in his thighs and a quarter-zip gray pullover in some stretchy athletic material that did the same favor for the swell of his wide shoulders.
“You didn’t have to come up,” Frankie said, lifting her face to meet his kiss.
Their lips touched, touched again, and then his arms were around her, his fingers twined in her hair. After he’d sent waves of heat rippling through her, he pulled away. “You draw me like a magnet, Frankie.”
With a sigh, she brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. She should stop this now, but her usual steely discipline had deserted her. “That’s the attraction of opposites. We’re too alike for that.”
“Male and female. Hard and soft. I find all the differences I need.” His hands drifted down her back to cup the curves of her behind before he gave her a light smack and released her. “We’d better go. Traffic to New Jersey can be a right bastard.”
The playful gesture shocked her before a strange sadness wound through her. No one ever touched her with that kind of casual familiarity.
He took the shopping bag from her. “What’s this?”
“Gifts for Owen.”
“He’s already got piles of presents around the Christmas tree.”
Frankie looked him in the eye. “I know the effectiveness of a well-placed bribe.”
He chuckled and waved her into the elevator.
As the car glided downwards, the air in it vibrated with an odd tension. Frankie slid a sideways glance toward Liam’s profile and saw that his jaw was tight and his lips had lost any curve of a smile.
“What is it, Prince?”
He shook his head, making the lock of hair curve onto his forehead again. Before she could probe further, the elevator door opened, and he swept her out to the limousine waiting in front.
When they were settled in the back, he interlaced his fingers with hers and fixed his gaze straight ahead. “Carolyn’s engaged to be married. She just told me.”
His grip tightened.
She put her hand flat against his cheek and rotated his head toward her so their eyes met. “You will still be his father.”
But she understood that the new stepfather would have the advantage of being with the boy every day, a constant presence in his life. While Liam was just a visitor, no matter how glamorous he was.
He turned to kiss her palm and looked away again. “I’ve met him. He’s, well, he’s the kind of man you’d choose for a boy to have as a father.”
“You wouldn’t want any other kind for Owen.”
“I know.” His voice was like gravel. Her heart wept for him.
“You’re Liam Keller, international soccer superstar, coach of a major New York team, media darling. His friends—and their fathers—will beg to meet you.”
