The Irishman's Christmas Gamble: A Wager of Hearts Novella

by Nancy Herkness

  He couldn’t believe it. Running his hands down from her shoulders to her hands to hold them out from her sides, he let his eyes skim over the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her belly, and lower. The reaction of his cock was unmistakable. “Frankie, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She shook her head. “You’re blind, but I’ll walk to the bed for you because you blarneyed me into it.”

  Frustration wedged in his chest. “It’s not blarney, ye gobdaw. And I’ll prove it to you.”

  He turned her and gave her a nudge toward the big bed with its snow-white sheets exposed by the lack of the quilt he’d stolen from it. Being Frankie, she strode toward it with her head up and her shoulders back. Then she pulled the sheet back and climbed under it.

  “No, a stór, no covering that gorgeous body. I want to worship it.” He tugged the sheet down to her feet and began there, massaging her high, strong arches, kissing the bone on the inside of her ankle, inhaling the scent of woman and evergreen and a whiff of arousal. But something was missing. He looked up to find her watching him through half-closed eyes.

  “You don’t smell of chocolate anymore,” he said.

  “Do you miss it?”

  “It was part of you.”

  “I’ll rub some candy bars on my skin next time.”

  “No, I will. Melted candy bars. Then I’ll lick the chocolate off you.” He heard the hiss of her breath being sucked in.

  Then he told her, in detail, where he would rub the candy bars as he kissed each place. And he told her, in detail, how lovely all those places were. The curve of her calves. The back of her knees. The soft skin inside her thighs. The convexity of her belly. The swell of her hips. Oh, dear God, everything about her breasts. The line of her clavicle. The vulnerable hollow at the base of her throat. The sensitive spot just behind her ears.

  She was moaning and twisting and clutching at the sheets and at him before he skimmed his lips down the center of her torso, dipped his tongue into her navel, and then moved lower. He found the exquisite wet pinkness between her legs and licked, adding his moans to hers as he tasted the salt and musk of her. Her fingers combed through his hair and then held there. She opened her legs and let him suck and plunge and revel in the liquid heat of her response. When he slid two fingers inside her, she arched up and shouted his name as her inner muscles slammed closed and open, so that he could feel the pressure and the moisture of her release. He used his tongue and his hand to keep her orgasm going until she begged him to stop. “It’s too much,” she gasped. “I can’t….”

  As he slipped his fingers out, her muscles clenched again. “You did,” he said.

  He lifted his fingers to inhale the aroma of her, rubbed them against his tongue to savor the taste of her. Kneeling between her sprawled legs, he let his gaze roam over the delicious curves he was beginning to know intimately, the sexual flush on her creamy skin, the spread of her silver hair over the sheets. Her soft lips were parted and her chest heaved as she drew in deep breaths while she came down from her climax. He brought his fingers to his nostrils again, pulling her scent in so that it seemed to ripple down to wrap around his erect cock.

  She opened her eyes. “That was worth waiting twenty-three years for.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, letting a tension he’d been carrying for a long time spill out of his mouth. He knew he was a deft lover. Enough women had told him so. But this was Frankie, and he’d wanted it to be perfect for her.

  “And I see that you’re still waiting,” she said, her gaze dropping to the erection rising from between his thighs.

  “I can wait a wee bit longer,” he said, circling his fingers around one of her ankles to bend her leg so he could roll her and stretch out beside her, his cock snugged between the cheeks of her bottom. He could easily come just by rubbing himself against the ripe roundness there.

  As though reading his mind, she shifted backwards to nestle him closer in.

  “You’re killing me, Frankie.”

  “Just keeping your interest up until I can return the favor.”

  He slipped a hand around to cup the velvety weight of her breast. “This will help.”

  “Ah, but whose interest are you keeping up now?” she asked, pushing her tight nipple into his palm.

  The hard press of her on his skin nearly undid him, but he held onto his control. He could feel tiny shudders still running through her body, and smiled with satisfaction. Then a fist of emotions, so many he couldn’t name them all, lodged in his throat as he enfolded her small, strong body in his arms. The touch of her skin against his thighs, his belly, his chest. Her heat radiating through him. The sound of her breathing, the thud of her pulse, the silky brush of her hair. His dreams had not prepared him for the sweetness of the reality and it nearly overwhelmed him. He swallowed, his eyelids squeezed closed against a burn of tears.

  She was right. It was too much.

  “Liam, could you ease up a bit so my ribs stay intact?”

  He loosened the grip he’d unconsciously tightened. “Just making sure you don’t slip away from me again.”

  Her body jerked a little and she sighed. “You knew I wasn’t going to stay in Finglas.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” He released her breast to smooth his hand over her hair. “I’ve imagined this for so long that I can’t believe it’s real and not a leprechaun’s trick.”

  She wriggled against his erection. “Feels solid as a rock to me.”

  He moaned at the blast of sensation. Frankie levered herself up to kneel beside him. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she pushed him onto his back. “I could just look at you forever,” she said, her gaze traveling down and up again, making his cock twitch as though she’d touched it. “I lied,” she said, resting her hands on his chest. “I need to touch you.”

  She leaned over, her hair brushing his skin, and kissed first one of his flat nipples and then the other. Her touch ricocheted down to his groin, drawing it tighter. His bollocks were aching. “Frankie, do you mean to drive me out of my bloody mind?”

  She laughed against his skin, making his hips flex without his willing them to. Then she trailed her lips down the center of his body, the silkiness of her hair dragging over his skin, slowing as she got closer to the place he wanted her mouth. She traced her tongue along the defined line that ran from his hip to his groin. He held his breath and watched as she braced one hand on the bed beside him and raised the other to feather it across the head of his cock. And then he was lost, swamped by the feel of her fingers, her mouth, her tongue on his straining, yearning skin.

  He came with a blast of pleasure, wringing out every muscle and every nerve, emptying him of all thought except Frankie.

  When he could open his eyes again, she was sitting back on her heels, a smug smile curling her lips. “You’re a loud one, Keller.”

  “Did I say something? My mind was obliterated by a nuclear explosion.”

  She laughed once. “A man’s mind is an easy thing to turn blank with sex.”

  It hurt him that she thought of it as nothing more than sex, but he wasn’t going to call her out on it yet. She could get mulish when pushed.

  She crawled up the bed and fitted herself against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her fingers drifted over his chest and ribs and then down to his hip, tracing the shamrock inked there. “Tell me what the ‘O’ and the ‘F’ stand for.”

  He felt as though she’d slammed her fist into his gut. Dragging in a breath, he forced his voice to sound relaxed. “Can’t you guess about the ‘F’?”

  “Not without sounding conceited beyond belief.”

  He tried to laugh, but his throat wouldn’t release enough. “Of course it’s for you, ye eejit. I wouldn’t defile my body for anyone else.”

  “But you did. The ‘O’.” She said it softly.

  He brought his hand over to cover hers, flattening it over the tattoo. “The only other person in the world I love as much as
I do you.” He drew in another breath. “Owen. My son.”

  Joy roared through Frankie, squeezing tears from her eyes. She’d always hoped that he would be a father. The kids in Finglas had followed him around as though he were the Pied Piper. Unlike most of the older boys, he wasn’t too proud to play soccer with the younger ones, giving them tips on their game. There was so little kindness in their world that it tugged at her heart to watch him on the soccer pitch with the wee ones swarming around him.

  “Why are you crying, Frankie?” His voice was tight with some strain she couldn’t interpret and his hand nearly crushed hers against the point of his hip.

  She lifted her head to let him see her happiness and found him scowling. “Because you were meant to be a father. He’s a lucky boy, your Owen.”

  His face relaxed as Liam closed his eyes and then opened them again. “You scared the shite out of me. I thought you…. But you’re crying.”

  “Because I’m happy for you.” She’d cried more in the last two days than in the last five years. “But there hasn’t been a breath of it in the press. How did you keep it a secret?”

  Liam wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hitched them both up to sit against the headboard. “There are always ways to avoid the press. And deals to be made with them when you can’t.” His voice went hard on the last. “He lives in New Jersey, so I didn’t get to visit him often.”

  “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.

  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 l
imousine 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.”

  “I don’t want to be some sort of status symbol. I want to be his da.”

  “So you buy a house nearby. You negotiate a schedule with Carolyn. You take him to school some days. You pick him up from school some days. You get some holidays with him. And Owen will be a lucky boy to have two men in his life who are great role models and who love him. It’s a hell of a lot more than you and I ever had.”

  Liam nodded and she saw some of the tension leave his face. “You always knew how to kick me in the arse when I was acting the maggot.”

  “You aren’t acting the maggot. You’re being a father.” And she wanted to take the hurt away from him. “Does Owen know about the engagement?”

  Liam shook his head. “He knows Don and his mom spend a lot of time together.”

  “I’m sure he hopes you and Carolyn will get together. That’s what children do.” She hesitated a moment before asking, “Did you and Carolyn consider marrying?”

  “We did, but we barely knew each other.” He blew out a long breath. “As we spent time together, she felt she deserved better.”