by Andrea Joan
I set my suitcase down and wait as he excitedly pulls a cell phone from his pocket.
“What the fuck is going on over here?” A deep baritone voice rumbles so close behind me I can feel the vibrations through my chest.
I turn around but not before I take a deep breath, because I know the minute I see him the possibility of going all spastic Skylar is strong. Keeping my shit together around Liam for some reason is proving to be difficult.
“Morning, Liam. So happy you came,” I say, sounding a little too excited. So happy you came? Jesus, Skylar, just drop your panties now, why don’t you?
“Sky.” He lifts his chin slightly, his eyes trained on mine. “Let’s go,” he orders, grabbing my suitcase then threading the fingers of his free hand into mine causing a slight shiver to dance across my skin. No one has ever held my hand before, not even Cass when we would hang out. Liam has done it twice already, and both times my stomach has done a little flip.
“Oh…uh…sure.”
“Hey, what about the picture before you leave, Ms. Barrett?”
Oh yeah. The cab driver. How did I forget he’s still standing there? This is clearly the Liam effect.
“Right, sorry. Hold on, Liam, I promised this gentleman a picture for his little girl.” I try to pull away from Liam’s hold but his hand only grabs tighter onto mine.
“Little girl? Really, Larry? Last I checked, your little girl was well over the age of eighteen, and trust me, I checked very fucking thoroughly.”
Okay, so clearly Liam knows the cab driver, and the cab driver’s daughter. Really well. And now I’m trying hard not to picture Liam with some woman. A woman I try to convince myself is probably hideous looking. She probably looks exactly like her father, I’m sure. Short, stocky, and half-balding. Like the love child of Joe Pesci and Danny DeVito.
Stop, Skylar. Jealousy is not a good color on you.
“Larry, how could you lie to me like that? I thought we were friends,” I say with a slight smile, trying to defuse the situation because Liam’s tense body and Larry’s death stare brought on by the realization of his daughter’s sexual activities has me on edge.
Larry looks at the ground briefly, at least having the decency to appear slightly ashamed at being caught in his minor fib. “I’m sorry, Ms. Barrett. Just wanted an autograph is all.”
“It’s fine, Larry. I’m sure you wouldn’t be the first to fib to me.”
“Let’s go, Skylar.” Liam pulls me away from Larry and the cab. Tripping over my feet as he all but drags me, I look back and offer a small apologetic wave to Larry. He may have lied but I’m sure the lie was an innocent one.
“You could have been a little nicer to cab driver Larry, Liam. All he wanted was an autograph. That happens sometimes, you know. You can’t just snap at people like that, especially my fans.”
Liam continues to walk us to the Gulfstream G150 plane that will take us to Los Angeles without saying a word, and I know I was speaking loud and clear, so it seems he’s ignoring me on purpose. I refuse to be ignored. I get enough of that from dear old Dad.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” I plant my feet so he can’t move us any further. He stops, drops my suitcase, and turns to me with a look that should scare me but quite frankly turns me on. Who knows why, maybe it’s because I’m not right in the head or maybe it’s because he’s just so damn close at the moment that I can feel the heat and pheromones and anger pouring off of him. Liam wants me to cower. I refuse.
“Sky, what’d you hire me for? Is this all a fucking joke to you? Are you just some spoiled, bored Hollywood rich bitch looking for a guy to fucking follow you around like a lost puppy, worshipping the ground you walk on? Is this some elaborate way to get me to fuck you?” he asks, releasing my hand as he pulls my body into his and lowers his lips to my ear. “Because, honey, all you had to do was ask.”
I’m not sure what the hell is happening here but I am so not comfortable with his accusation.
Part of what drew me to Liam initially was my attraction to him. He’s all maleness and sex, and it causes a sensory overload in my brain, overwhelming me like an undercurrent, trying to pull me under and drown me in all that is Liam O’Connor. I’m also aware I can be impulsive and reckless and make decisions that are not well thought out, especially lately. But this is one choice I made on my own, one that makes sense, and the fact that he seems to think so little of me when I think so highly of him, well it hurts more than I care to admit.
“No, this isn’t a joke to me,” I say, pulling harshly out of his grasp and blinking back the tears that are starting to form. I will not cry in front of him. I will not let him make me weak. I square my shoulders and look him directly in the eye, like you should do when training a dog. Show no fear. Direct eye contact. Do not be the first to break. Not that I think Liam is a dog, but on occasion the guy seems to show similar characteristics to that of a wild animal. Like now with his pupils dilated, nostrils flaring, and chest heaving, so I’m working with what limited knowledge I have.
“I meant what I said at the bar when I offered you the job, Liam.” I shove my palm into his chest—his really well-defined chest—in order to create some safe distance between us. “I need a new bodyguard. Someone I can trust to be in my life, someone I can trust with my life. If that isn’t you, if you think this is some kind of joke, that I’m just some spoiled bitch hard up for a lay, then you can screw off. I can find someone else and you can go back to making vodka crans and pouring beers for the twenty-one and over crowd of Orcas Island.”
Grabbing my suitcase, I head toward the plane. He can choose to follow or stay behind, I don’t really care. Okay, I do care, but hell if I let him know that. Liam reaches out, grabbing my upper arm, and pulls me to his chest, my back to his front, and suddenly I’m soaking in each singular, erratic breath he releases.
“I’m sorry, Sky,” he whispers into my ear, his hand on my arm moving downward to rest on my stomach. I tense slightly at this unexpected touch. “I just saw Larry grab you and fucking lost it for a minute. I know you think what happened with him was innocent, and maybe it was, but I won’t take that chance. If you want me to do this job for you I fully fucking intend to take it seriously. One second of me underestimating someone’s intentions could make a world of fucking difference. Trust me. Can you forgive me?”
The desperation in his voice saddens me, and I give in, relaxing into him instinctively and embracing his warmth and scent and safety as if it’s second nature. When I was a child and my mother would get that look in her eyes, the one that told me she was lost to her sickness, I would run and hide in the closet of her bedroom under a pile of her clothes in the back corner. Ironically the scent of her surrounding me relaxed me even if the sight of her frightened me, and I would fall asleep as easily as if I was being held in her arms, a synthetic hug that lured me to a peaceful place. That is what it feels like to be held by Liam. Like he is my new safe place.
“Yes, I forgive you.”
I start to walk toward the plane again when he pulls me back into him. “Do you trust me, Sky?” My breath hitches and my skin trembles when the touch of warm air escaping his mouth caresses my ear. I don’t even need to think about my answer.
“Yes. I trust you.”
“You don’t. But you will. We’ll get there. I fucking promise.”
I suppress my initial reaction, which is to argue with him. Why did he even ask me the question if he wasn’t going to believe the answer? But then I realize he needs me to allow him to work for my trust. So I say the next best thing I can think of.
“So, you and cab driver Larry’s daughter, huh?” Okay, maybe not the next best thing but it’s the first thing anyway. “Tell me, how does one thoroughly check the age of a female? I’m assuming you weren’t referring to scoping out her driver’s license.”
“Very cute, Sky.” Liam nudges me forward, suppressing a smile as he pulls the suitcase from my grasp and once again grabs my hand. “One suitcase is pretty impress
ive by the way, especially for such a long stay on the island.”
“Well, hold your applause. I sent the rest of my twenty or so bags home with Noah yesterday.”
“I see. I got here a little early so my bags are already on the plane,” he explains as he walks us up the stairs and into the small plane.
When we reach the middle of the plane I sink into the plush cream colored seat and start picking at a frayed string from my shorts in an effort to not stare at the skin peeking through between Liam’s jeans and shirt as he lifts my suitcase into the overhead compartment. I hear the slamming of the compartment above my head and I continue to stare intently at the rogue string as I sense him crouch down in front me. I try and control my breathing so that I’m not panting like I just ran a marathon. I can do this. I can be stealth. He will not be able to tell how much he affects me. I am an actress after all.
All of my acting skills go out the window the second I feel the graze of his hand on my stomach as he reaches for my seatbelt.
“I never really understood the need for seatbelts on planes,” I say as he looks up at me silently, clicking the belt into place. I hate nervous silences because I always feel an obligation to fill them. “I mean, if this plane takes a nosedive, I’m sure this strap of nylon will do little to save me from a fiery and no doubt messy death. Have you seen the aftermath of some of those plane crashes? A seatbelt saved no one. It’s like kaboom! Then just bloody body parts scattered everywhere.”
He chuckles, sliding his hands from the belt, looking up at me with those devious gunmetal eyes. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t want to take any chances with your safety, now would I? You’re paying me to look after you, so that’s what I intend to do.”
Before I have a chance to respond, the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom, “Welcome aboard, Ms. Barrett. We will be taking off in five minutes. If you and your guest could please buckle up. Mr. Naheer has made sure the refreshments are fully stocked if you or your guest wish for a drink or snack once we even out. We should be landing at LAX around nine a.m. Enjoy your flight.”
“Who is Mr. Naheer?” He asks, sinking down into the seat across from mine.
“A friend. He loans me his plane from time to time when I’m in a pinch.”
“He loans you his plane?” he asks slowly. “That’s a pretty generous friend,” he scoffs, narrowing his eyes at me disbelievingly.
Seriously?
I swear, if Liam keeps this accusatory attitude up, I will throat punch him right out of this plane the second we hit cruising altitude.
“Paul is a pretty generous friend, well, more like a surly great uncle than a friend. Same with his wife of thirty years who I happen to be very close to. Seeing as I missed my flight yesterday due to acquiring an extremely arrogant and seemingly judgmental ass of a bodyguard, Paul was nice enough to make his plane available to me,” I snap.
I don’t know what type of reaction I expected from him after what I said, but it definitely isn’t the cocky grin he is currently sporting. His eyes aren’t even on my face anymore. They’ve dropped to my chest where I’ve unintentionally put my breasts on display by crossing my arms underneath them. I drop my arms quickly and start rubbing my hands to my thighs which only causes his gaze to lower to my legs. When his tongue slowly swipes across his lower lip my hands quickly find their way back to the safe and completely unsexual armrests.
“So, three hours until we land in L.A., huh,” he says, moving his eyes back to mine and placing his hands behind his head. I know he knows he unnerves me. He has to, and that just pisses me off. “That gives us plenty of time, then, doesn’t it, Sky?” He knocks his foot playfully against mine.
“Time for what?” I ask.
“I know your mind is probably imagining all the dirty things you want me to do to you on this plane, sweetheart, but I meant time to get to know each other.” I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but the smirk that followed that comment annoys me. So does the fact that I’m now actually imagining all the dirty things I want him to do to me on this plane. “Look,” he sits up straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You told me yesterday it was important for you to trust the person who was looking after you, and I want you to trust me. What better way to build trust than getting to know one another? Three hours stuck in the sky seems like an opportune time to do it.”
First he jokes about having sex with me on the plane and now he wants to get to know me? Give me a break. I know this act. I’ve seen it before. Liam is about to milk me for my stories and my secrets. He’s about to use me. How could I have been this stupid? I was clearly blinded by my attraction to him, by the kindred hurt I thought I saw in his eyes, and now I’m about to pay. The unease at his request coupled with the roar of the plane engine firing up and sending a vibration under me has my hands gripping the arm rests tightly. Liam is the picture of relaxation as he sits back, staring me down, waiting for my response which pisses me off. Every part of me is set to defensive mode, and the only way I can shut him down is by punishing him verbally.
“Courtesy of the tabloids, my life is an open book as I’m sure you know. So why don’t you just go with what you’ve read or heard about me? Or better yet, Google me for the most up-to-date information. That is, if you haven’t already,” I accuse, rolling my eyes. I should have known better. Carl always beat it into me that the only people you can trust are blood.
He sits up, resting his arms on his legs, and scowls. The sudden change in his demeanor has me shrinking a fraction of an inch back into my chair. “Despite what you may think, Skylar Barrett, not everyone gives a shit what happens in the lives of celebrities. Some of us have our own fucking lives to be concerned with. You think I sit at home on my computer reading gossip sites or spend my hard-earned money on fucking magazines that spew a bunch of speculative vapid bullshit gossip?”
Well, when you put it that way…
“Shit. I’m sorry, Liam. I can’t believe I went off like that. And after I made such a production of you calling me a spoiled Hollywood bitch. I guess I am kind of a bitch. It’s just that with what I do—”
“Stop, Sky.” He reaches over and places a hand on my leg. “Don’t call yourself a bitch. I should never have fucking said that to you, and I don’t want you saying it about yourself. I know I can be an asshole sometimes, say shit I don’t mean, and I’ll work on that. Look, I get it. You have issues with trust and I understand why. Being in the public eye has you thinking everyone is out to exploit you, and it’s probably good for you to be wary. But I would never fucking do that. I could never be that cold or callous. You said outside that you trusted me. Why?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“You didn’t even have to think about the answer, did you?”
“No.”
“What was your first thought when I asked you?” he asks, his thumb cautiously moving back and forth across my knee with a tenderness that seems almost as new for him to give as it is for me to receive. “What did you feel when I was holding you to me, Sky? Don’t think. Just give me the first word that pops into that pretty little head of yours.”
“Safe.” Undamaged, untainted, protected, adored, beautifully cherished. But he said the first word, so the rest will remain my own little secret.
He sits back in his chair and clears his throat, appearing uncomfortable with my choice of word. “Good. I need you trust me with every part of you. Your stories, your secrets. Your life. If you want me with you, I need this from you. You got me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry for snapping like that.” Now I’m the one that’s a little uncomfortable. His intensity is definitely something I need to get used to. “Well, at least we already know one thing about each other.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re both pretty awesome when it comes to apologizing.”
Liam laughs and relaxes back into his chair, his eyes never leaving mine.
“So, slugger, what do you want to know about me?” I ask.
“Go
od girl,” he praises. “How about you tell me how you got into this business. What made you choose acting?”
A softball question first. I can get behind that. “I didn’t really decide it. My father and I moved to L.A. from Portland, Oregon when I was ten. He worked at this computer company and they transferred him to their L.A. office. One day when we were grocery shopping a woman walked up and told my father how beautiful I was and that she was an agent that represented child actors and she thought I would be great for this shampoo commercial. She gave him some line about my sparkling eyes and big smile. Anyway, my father took the bait and I landed the job, along with a hefty paycheck. The potential of the money I could make was incentive enough for my father to keep bringing me to auditions. Eventually he took over as my manager, figured it would be easier, I guess, or he just knew he could make an extra fifteen percent off me. I had a lot of steady work after that and then got cast as Mandy Mayhem when I turned twelve. Once I turned fifteen the movie offers started coming, and then never really stopped.”
“Your dad is your manager?”
“Yes. You really don’t know anything about me, do you? Do me a favor, never Google me.”
Liam lets out that sexy laugh. I really need to brush up on some knock-knock jokes or something so I can hear that laugh daily.
“Why is that?”
“Because I like that you don’t know anything about me. You have no judgments or pre-conceived ideas, or reservations. I’m still a mystery to you. I don’t get to feel that way very often. If you Google me you may learn some things that will make you think differently about me. I’d like to pretend that a lot of what you would read is a lie, and some of it is, but unfortunately a lot of it’s true.” I start playing with that pesky string on my shorts again, embarrassed by my admission.
“I promise,” he says with a single nod.
“How about you? How did you find your way into boxing?”
“Boxing found its way to me.”
Silence.
He provides no further explanation, and I’m beginning to realize that Liam O’ Connor is a man of few words. I feel like if I asked a Magic Eight Ball about Liam’s life I would learn more than actually asking the man himself. Screw that. If he wants me to let him in, he needs to do the same.