The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
Page 12

“And it’s my Christmas gift to you, to make up for all the Christmases I didn’t give you a present.”
“I didn’t give you presents either.”
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that,” Liam said. “You owe me.”
That was so ridiculous that Frankie coughed out a laugh. But she hauled her wallet out of her pocket and pushed a credit card across the counter. “Put the ornaments on my card, or I won’t take them.”
The sales clerk looked back and forth between them, as he held a credit card in each hand. “Ma’am…sir…I….”
“You’re torturing the poor lad,” Liam said.
“No more than you are. How about we split the bill? I figure you forced me to get a tree so you should be on the hook for some of the expense.”
“You win.” He nodded to the clerk. “Half on each card.”
“I didn’t win, so don’t pretend otherwise.”
“You noticed that, did you? I should know better than to try to out-negotiate the woman who sold her company for a billion dollars.”
The clerk’s eyes went wide and he glanced up at Frankie, who shook her head with a pitying smile at Liam. “You know the Irish. Always making up stories. Next he’ll tell you he’s the superstar soccer player Liam Keller.”
“Um, he is.” The clerk held up Liam’s credit card with his name on it.
“He has the same name and bears a slight resemblance to the man, but that’s as far as it goes. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a soccer ball.”
The young sales clerk looked like a deer in headlights. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am.”
Frankie glanced up at Liam to see his shoulders shaking and the corner of his mouth twitching. She arched an eyebrow at him and signed her credit card slip.
“Um, how do you want me to bag the ornaments?” the young man asked, looking at the pile of their purchases. “There’s an uneven number of boxes.”
“We’ll sort that out ourselves,” Liam said. “Bag them however works best.”
When they were back in the limo, Liam exploded into laughter. “You’re the very devil. ‘Couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a soccer ball.’ I had a coach say that to me once after I missed a penalty kick.”
“You deserved it for being such a pain in the ass about paying for the decorations.”
His laughter stopped as though she’d slammed a door on it. “You know, I could buy you several hundred of those balls without having to live on the street.”
“I know, I know. You were being sweet.” She reached up to touch his cheek, but he jerked his head back.
“I was not…being…sweet. I was attempting to demonstrate that I am a man of the world with excellent taste and significant financial resources.”
Maybe she did still think of him as the kid to whom she sometimes gave chocolates that Balfour’s had rejected as not perfect enough. Yet she knew he made millions from endorsements and contracts. In fact, he’d probably had more money than she did, when she was in the early years of building Taste of Ireland. “I’m used to paying my own way,” she said.
He turned to her with a sharp movement. “That’s my point, Frankie. You don’t have to when you’re with me.”
“Give me time. I have to catch up with this new Liam. I knew the old one so well. This one is strange to me.” And she’d had to work so hard to be the person she was. Her strength and independence had served her well. It wasn’t something she could—or even wanted to—let go of.
“Patience was never one of my virtues.” He lifted his hands to thread them into her hair on either side of her face, tilting and holding her head. He waited a breath and then brought his mouth down on hers, his lips warm and firm and challenging. This was not an old friend’s kiss. It was not a question. It was an assertion that shivered down her spine and back up again to send ripples of sensation cascading down her shoulders and over the swell of her breasts before it crashed and pooled in her belly. He slanted his lips against hers and painted a line along the seam with his tongue, letting her know he wanted more.
Her body seemed to expand and unfurl, like a desert plant in a sudden rainstorm, soaking up the water it had been deprived of for so long. She felt herself softening, melting into him so she could feel more of his heat and power. A strange sound rose up in her throat, a cross between a sigh and a moan, and she opened her lips to touch his tongue with hers.
He made a sound too, but his was a deep, growling rumble that vibrated into her mouth as they tasted each other. And then his hands were gone from her face, and he was dragging her across his thighs, so she felt the steely muscles in them as she sat on his lap. And she was licking the skin behind his ear while inhaling the scent of warm, clean man with a hint of some exotic citrus shampoo wafting from the waves of his hair. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
He tilted his head sideways as she kissed along his jawline, the angle of it both familiar and strange. “Ahh, Frankie, a stór.”
She ran her hands over the patterns and cables of his sweater, hating the bulk of it, wanting to find the contours of his muscles, the satin of his skin. And then his arms went around her and he kissed the same places on her, flicking her neck with his tongue so delight danced through her. She buried her fingers in the thick glory of his hair as he bent to her, the strands stroking her like silk. Every sensation, every touch he gave her or she gave him, slid downward to coil in the hollow at the top of her thighs.
“Oh, dear God,” she breathed as he ran his hands down her back to cup her bottom and pull her in closer. She was going up in flames.
“No, it’s Liam. Remember that.” He skimmed his finger down her cheek, his face so close to hers that she could see a tiny scar crossing one eyebrow. Then he set her on the seat beside him and crossed his arms. “While I’m not a patient man, I have learned self-discipline.”
His sudden withdrawal sent a wave of shock vibrating through her. How could he stop when she wanted to straddle his lap and pull his mouth to hers, to cup his hands over her aching breasts and grind herself against his hard thighs until the tension he’d wound inside her released in a glorious explosion?
“So you were playing with me.” She tried not to imagine how his lips would feel on her tight nipple.