The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
Page 19

“And his mother? I won’t ask you if you’re married to her because you wouldn’t be here if you were.”
He sighed. “Ten years ago I had a weekend fling with a friend of a friend that had unexpected consequences. We were both careful but…things happen.” He shook his head. “Neither of us wanted an abortion, but we also didn’t want a wedding. So I provided the money, and she made a good home for Owen.”
She heard the satisfaction in Liam’s voice that he’d been able to give his son the things he’d longed for as a child. “Is that why you took the job here?” she asked.
“Two reasons. Owen and you.”
The strength of her desire to see Liam’s son shocked her, but she didn’t want to mislead Liam into believing that would change anything between them. “Do you have a picture of him?”
“On my phone, which is somewhere in the heap of clothes in your living room.” His grip on her gentled and she felt his lips against her hair. “A stór, you and Owen are kindred spirits.”
“I can’t imagine a ten-year-old boy being a coldhearted cynic.”
She felt him tense. “That’s just the facade. I know the generous, caring woman behind it.”
“Dear God, don’t spew that mush to anyone else. It will ruin my reputation.” But his words spread warmth in her chest.
“Tough as nails Frankie.” His tone was so tender and understanding that she wanted to curl into him. “But that’s not what you and Owen have in common. It’s that he likes to blow things up.”
“I don’t recall ever joining the IRA.” She made her tone dry.
“He’s a chemist. He stirs things together to see what happens. Like you and your chocolate.” He picked up her hand and kissed one of the burn scars made by a spill of melted chocolate. “You have more of these than when I knew you.”
“You can’t avoid them when you’re cooking.”
He kissed another one on her wrist and sighed, his breath feathering over her skin deliciously. “I imagine Owen will collect similar marks. His mother says he’s obsessed.”
“More important, how’s his corner kick?”
Liam’s muscles tensed under her again. “He has no interest in sports.”
She saw the bafflement in his face. “Did his mother steer him away from them?”
“No, Carolyn plays tennis and rides horses.” He shrugged. “Owen will have a kickabout with me but he’s just being polite to his da.”
“And you don’t know what to do with him.” Her heart squeezed with sadness for Liam. How could he have a son who didn’t want to play ball with him?
His face was bleak as he said, “Soccer’s been my whole life.”
“So go to a science museum with him, and let Owen expand your horizons. That will be exciting for him.” Now she understood why Liam had been thinking about studying the sciences.
“For someone who says she doesn’t like kids, you have some smart ideas about them.”
“I figure kids are just people on a smaller scale. People love to share their expertise. It’s showing off, but in a constructive way.” For all her siblings, she knew almost nothing about relating to a child on any but the most basic level of caretaking.
“So you’ll meet him and let him show you how to blow things up?” He stroked her shoulder.
“You keep trapping me with my own words.”
“There’s no other way to do it.”
 
 
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.