Hush Hush #1

by Anneliese Vandell

  “Now pull it down,” Liam instructs.

  It’s more difficult than I expected. All of the muscles in my arm tense up as I pull down the knob, and somewhere above our heads, a throaty whistle blasts through the air.

  I can feel my lips turn upward. Okay, I admit to myself for the second time tonight, this is actually pretty awesome.

  “So right now,” says the captain, “we are headed south down the Mississippi River, toward the ocean. We’re about to pass under a bridge, and then there’s a tight turn right after that, so keep your eyes open. The trick to steering is to give yourself plenty of time and space. Once you see the river starting to bend up ahead, prepare to start turning.”

  I nod, hanging onto every word that the captain says. I was only joking about the crash-into-the-river comment, but there’s a small part of me that’s terrified that I’ll actually end up doing that.

  At least it’ll give me a good story—remember that time my date took me for a boat ride and I crashed it onto the banks of the Mississippi?

  Liam lifts the flutes of champagne from the silver tray. He offers one to me, and I take it.

  “To new adventures,” he says meaningfully, raising his glass in a toast. His piercing eyes lock with mine.

  Something tells me that he’s not just talking about the boat ride. I feel something stir in the depths of my lower belly.

  Our glasses make a clink as we tap them together. The champagne is delicious—the perfect balance between sweet and dry, with thousands of tiny bubbles that fizz on my tongue. This must be what good champagne tastes like.

  Next, Liam plucks one of the crackers from the tray and brings it to my lips. I pull my head away and narrow my eyes at the gray mush on the cracker.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “Truffled pâté. Just a taste, to complement the champagne.”

  I shake my head. It smells like earth and spices—not something I’m familiar with, or want to be.

  “No thanks,” I try to say politely. “I’ll pass.”

  His mouth forms a flat line. “Try it,” he says, his voice hardening. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

  He’s so bossy! I think to myself. Relenting, I open my mouth and let him slip the cracker between my lips.

  I’m treated to an exotic combination of flavors: buttery, salty, savory. The creaminess of the pâté complements the crunchy cracker. With each bite, I can taste a new flavor. A garlicky and earthy note emerges above the rest. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever tried.

  As if reading the confusion on my face, Liam says, “You must be tasting the white truffle. Have you ever had truffle before?”

  I shake my head. It must be another rich person’s indulgence, like champagne and caviar.

  “They’re a kind of rare mushroom. There are black truffles and white ones, and I’m particularly fond of the latter. It adds an incredible flavor to pretty much anything. A little like shallots, a little musky. What do you think?”

  I swallow the rest of the pâté and the cracker.

  “I’m not crazy about it,” I admit.

  He grins knowingly. “It’s an acquired taste for some. Don’t worry, as you have more, you’ll come to like it.”

  Once again, it seems like he’s talking about something else entirely. I’m starting to think that his man only speaks in code.

  His hand slides up my back, trailing along my skin. I take another sip of champagne to numb my jumping nerves.

  “Time to turn. Turn the wheel to the right,” announces the captain, who had temporarily retreated to the back of the room to give us some privacy.

  Liam takes my champagne flute so that my hands are free to grasp the wheel. I take a spoke into each hand and start to turn it to the right, as instructed. The wheel is so huge that I have to put my entire weight into the effort, but eventually it begins to gain momentum, becoming easier to turn. I can feel the boat begin to list to the right.

  “Very good,” says Liam, sounding pleased.

  I grin.

  “Should I sound the whistle again? Do we need to signal to someone?” I ask.

  The captain shakes his head. “Not necessary. But you can ring the bell if you like.” He points to a second hanging knob, right beside the one that I used to trigger the whistle.

  This one is easier to pull down. Immediately, a bell begins to clang cheerily.

  “Look, you’re a natural,” says Liam, laughing. He drains the rest of his champagne, and I do the same.

  “Don’t give me too much credit. This has been a good lesson,” I say modestly.

  “And you’re a good student,” he returns smoothly. “Care to go for a stroll?”

  There’s something about the look in his eyes that makes my heart pound. I nod.

  We give our “thank-yous” to the captain, then head back downstairs to the vast, private walkways of the boat. It really is a surreal experience to walk through the large rooms and not see a single soul.

  Liam leads me outside. We lean against the railing and watch the lights of the city retreat behind us.

  Out here, there’s nothing to compete with the sparkling stars in the night sky. Looking up, I can see hundreds of them, if not more—thousands? Millions? It would take several lifetimes just to count them all.

  “Thanks for the lesson,” I say to Liam. “That was fun.”

  The corners of his lips turn upwards. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  I bend further over the railing and watch the dark water tumbling beneath us. The sound is soothing, almost hypnotic. Liam brushes my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck and shoulders to the cool night air.

  As he leans in close to me, I can smell the scent of his cologne, so heady and alluring. His hand finds my waist and travels up my belly, edging closer and closer toward my breasts—

  “So I know you like steamboats and truffles…and, uh, blindfolds…” I start to stammer, somehow managing to speak even though the breath is caught in my throat. “But I hardly know anything else about you.”

  He asks, “What do you want to know?”

  “Uh, I guess—what do you do? For work?”

  It’s an incredibly lame question, I know, but it’s the first thing that pops to mind—and that in and of itself seems like a feat, since my brain seems to be short-circuiting upon Liam’s touch.

  “I manage a venture fund at my parents’ company,” he says. His hand drops.

  “What does that mean?” I say, with a forced giggle that I hope makes me sound playful instead of skittish, “I’m not really a business person, so I don’t know the lingo.”

  “Basically it means that I manage a large pool of money, and I have to decide what companies to invest in so that we get our money back, and then some.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Sure,” he says, even though his voice is flat. “Growing up, I always knew that I’d go into the family business. So I took finance classes in high school, and majored in finance in college. It was pretty much my whole world. After all that training, it was more or less a guarantee that I’d be good at it.”

  “Where’d you go to college?” I ask.

  “Stamford.”

  “Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed. “That’s a great school.”

  “Where’d you go to school?” Liam asks, turning the tables.

  “Northeastern University. I majored in psychology.” A lie.

  “Boston, huh?” says Liam. “I’ve never been, actually. What’s it like up there?”

  “Cold.”

  This gets a chuckle from Liam.

  “So,” I say, feeling a little bolder now, “what do you like to do for fun?”

  “Besides steamboats and blindfolds?” Liam says playfully, and I can feel my cheeks start to burn. “I’m something of a jazz enthusiast, although I suppose that comes with the territory when you grow up in a town like this. I love to run—I try to get out for at least forty minutes every day. I read sometimes, too. Mostly nonfiction.”

&
nbsp; “Oh! That reminds me—“ I say, straightening up.

  I reach into my purse and extract the book of E.E. Cummings poetry. I hand it over to him.

  His eyebrows lift as he turns over the book in his hands. “What’s this?”

  “I know it’s probably not your usual reading material,” I begin, “but I thought you’d enjoy it. Like you said—if we’re going to have an old-fashioned date, we may as well go all out, right?” I hesitate and then add, “And after all, they say that poetry is the language of love.”

  “I told you—I don’t fall in love” he says, a low growl in his voice.

  His eyes swing up and down, taking in the curves of my body. My heart skips a beat.

  “That’s impossible,” I breathe out, hyperaware of the way this man is looking hungrily at my body. “Everybody falls in love. You can’t just decide not to. It’s not as easy as that.”

  “Maybe for most people, but I’ve never been much of a romantic,” he insists, stepping forward.

  As his muscular body presses against mine, I wonder if he can feel how the prickling of my skin; every one of my nerves is skipping and jolting.

  He lowers his head and finds my lips. His kiss is soft and chaste, but only for a moment. He parts my lips with his and slips his tongue against mine. My legs sway dangerously beneath me.

  The kiss deepens. His hands are urgent and wandering, trailing from my neck to my shoulders, and then down to my chest. He scoops a hand beneath my breast and squeezes it gently, making me sigh through the kiss. His fingers move back and forth, brushing against my nipple. It hardens beneath my bra.

  His other hand begins to trail between my breasts and down my heaving ribcage, journeying farther and farther south. I am the river and he is the wandering boat, making the ocean of my body tremble with the merest touch. His fingers trail down my stomach, ever so slowly, teasing me.

  I know what’s coming.

  He’s going to touch me—down there, where no one has ever touched before. The realization sends simultaneous bursts of fear and excitement through my chest, like fireworks.

  His hand slips between my legs, raking across the thin fabric of my panties. He slides a finger between my lips. It moves back and forth, feather-light. It sends a surge of warmth through me. My hips grind down on his touch, now moving out of pure carnal instinct, wanting more.

  “So eager,” croons Liam for the second time tonight. He smirks.

  He gently flicks my clit with his finger, and my entire body shudders with pleasure.

  I’ve never experienced anything like this. Even in college, at home by myself beneath the sheets, I was never able to set my own nerves on fire like this. And yet with the simplest touch, Liam has turned my limbs into jelly.

  His fingers continue to move in tight, rubbing motions against my clit. I can feel my panties start to turn wet.

  What is happening? I begin to think wildly, but then a soft moan escapes my lips. Pleasure radiates from my lower belly.

  Suddenly I can’t think anymore.

  He leans his face against mine and purrs into my ear. “I’ve never liked these, you know.”

  “What’s that?” I breathe out.

  “Panties,” he says, and he snaps the elastic suddenly. It hits my skin with a sharp sting. “I’ll let this slide just this once, because this is our first evening together…but I’m going to be very unhappy if you wear these again the next time we go out. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” I say, gasping as another wave of ecstasy rolls through me. Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you want.

  I’m putty in his hands. If he asked me in this moment to moonwalk around the perimeter of the deck for the rest of the night, I would do it.

  But then, suddenly, the sensations stop.

  Liam takes a step back and straightens the collar of his shirt. He smirks at my aghast expression.

  “We’re being old-fashioned, remember?” he says, his lips twitching. “I wouldn’t want to let things get out of hand. I promised that I’d be a gentleman, after all.”

  My mouth parts open in protest, but he raises a finger to hush me.

  “Don’t argue,” he instructs. “Now, let’s have a nice evening enjoying the view. I’ve got the rest of the champagne in a cooler downstairs. Come on, let’s go.”

  His voice is light and playful. He’s enjoying this, I realize, revving me up in his hands and then hanging me out to dry.

  I am so going to make you pay for this, I angrily think to myself as I follow him downstairs. You and your parents are all going to pay.

  In an attempt to come to my senses, I mentally rehearse the plan that Miranda and I devised. Liam is your ticket in, I remind myself. Make him happy and he’ll be yours to manipulate however you please.

  It’s all about patience, earning his trust, and letting him think that he’s in control.

  But still, I can’t ignore the way my skin is prickling. My body is running hot, desperate for more.

  5

  I’m lingering on the sidewalk outside Broussard’s when my phone rings. I pull it out of my purse and look at the flashing screen. It’s Miranda. I ignore it.

  Waking up this morning alone in my hotel room, I was surprised to discover that I was still excited and restless from last night’s date. So, not quite knowing what else to do but eager to do something, I took my car over to the Hawthornes’ estate for a stakeout. And waiting here on the sidewalk outside New Orleans’ ritziest Creole restaurant, watching the Hawthornes through the window as the server sets down their plates of crawfish étouffée or jambalaya or whatever, I’m not sure what I’ll find.

  But at least it feels good to be doing something other than hanging around all day and waiting for Liam to call me.

  The phone rings again. I roll my eyes and pick it up.

  “Yes, Miranda?” I say.

  “April!” Miranda explodes over the phone. “I’ve been glued to my phone all night. I’m driving myself nuts over here. How did your date go? What happened?”

  “It was…good,” I say vaguely. My face turns freshly hot from the memory.

  “You’ve gotta give me the details, woman!” exclaims Miranda. “What did you do? Did you kiss? Is he in love with you yet?”

  “Love is definitely not the first thing on Liam’s mind,” I mumble. “But I think the date went well anyway. He rented out an entire steamboat, just for the two of us.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “That was pretty much my reaction,” I say, smiling. “We had some champagne and Liam had the captain teach me how to steer the boat. I even got to blow the whistle.”

  Miranda giggles. “Is that a euphemism for something, or…?”

  Now my face is definitely red. I’m glad she’s not here in person to see my flushed cheeks. That would only egg her on.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter,” I tell her. “It was an actual whistle. I reached up and yanked this wooden knob…stop it!”

  Miranda has erupted into a fresh burst of giggles.

  “Fine, ruin my fun,” she says thickly through her laughter. She takes a calming breath and says, “So that’s very romantic. He must really like you, huh?”

  “I hope so,” I say, my stomach twisting. “I think we’re going to go out again.”

  Miranda whoops in celebration. “That’s awesome. How do you know? Did he ask you out? What did he say?”

  “Jeez, I didn’t expect that I’d have to play a game of twenty questions here,” I say nervously.

  The thing Liam said was essentially no panties the next time we go out—but how am I supposed to repeat that to Miranda without sinking through the sidewalk with embarrassment?

  “That’s only because you’re more secretive than the CIA,” she shoots back. “If I had known that beforehand, I might’ve had you wear a wire or something.”

  “Yeah, great idea,” I say sarcastically. “That would have been real easy to explain to Liam when he discovered it.”

  “Oh really? He would, no
w? Under your dress?” Miranda says in a suggestive voice, and I realize what I’ve just said.

  I clap a hand to my cheek. Oh, God…

  But Miranda just laughs. “Chill out, April. You’re not the first woman in the world to use sex to get what she needs.”

  “Yeah, but maybe the first virgin,” I hiss into the phone. “I’m not that kind of girl, remember?”

  Miranda’s quiet for a moment, and when she finally speaks her voice is serious.

  “Was it awful? Did you hate it?”

  “Well, no,” I admit, and the heat on my cheeks spreads down to my neck. And I don’t know what’s worse—letting Liam put his hands on me against my will, or letting the son of my enemy touch me and liking it.

  I lift my eyes back to Broussard’s, where I can still see the Hawthornes through the window. The server is filling Mr. Hawthorne’s glass with white wine, and then Barbara’s glass, and then a third.

  Who’s the third glass for? I can’t help but wonder.

  “Good,” Miranda says, sounding relieved. “You’re in control here, April, remember that. And you know—even though you may have ulterior motives about all this, you’re allowed to have fun.”

  Maybe she’s right. Her words are like medicine, instantly relieving me of my guilt. Suddenly my shoulders feel lighter than they’ve been all day. I smile.

  “Speaking from experience, I take it?”

  “Maybe I am,” Miranda says coyly.

  I laugh. I’m about to shoot back a quip when the words stop short in my throat.

  “Wait—“ I say softly.

  “What? What is it?” Miranda asks.

  A man in a loose suit is coming down the sidewalk, heading toward me. There’s a sway in his steps that’s familiar. I narrow my eyes at him.

  It only takes a moment before I recognize the sunken cheeks and wiry gray hair. Judge Connelly. Two times in as many days—apparently this town isn’t nearly as big as it seems.

  I slink back a few paces and turn sideways, hoping that the judge won’t notice me.

  Ignoring Miranda’s babbling questions in my ear about what’s going on and is everything okay, I watch the judge reach into his suit jacket and extract his flask. He takes a fast but deep sip, tilting it nearly upside down as he drinks. He shoves the flask back into his jacket and hastily wipes his mouth, then walks into Broussard’s. He slips through the door and out of sight.