He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

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He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Page 13

by Iris Morland


  I didn’t get the chance to see my sister or Mari again until that evening. I’d had to photograph a couple down at Gas Works Park, which was great in the summer but froze your balls off in the winter. The woman had complained the entire time about being cold, while her fiancé had told her she shouldn’t have worn a strapless dress and heels in January.

  By the end of the shoot, I’d seriously contemplated pushing them both into Lake Union. If that was what marriage meant, I didn’t want anything to do with it.

  Yet when I walked into my flat and saw Mari putting makeup on my little sister, the two of them laughing like actual sisters, I wondered how the hell I’d be able to let Mari go in less than six months.

  Niamh went rigid when I came inside, but Mari tilted Niamh’s chin up and effectively distracted her. “Keep your head there.”

  “It’s giving me a crick in my neck,” whined Niamh.

  “Having a line of foundation on your jaw would be worse. Don’t move.”

  I watched Mari work in fascination. I’d seen her do her own makeup a few times, but the way she managed to transform my sister was nothing short of astonishing. Mari’s skill was enough that Niamh didn’t look ridiculous despite the dark lipstick and fake eyelashes.

  Niamh held up the mirror, her eyes widening. “Oh, I love it! What did you do to make my nose skinnier?”

  “Nothing a little contouring can’t fix,” said Mari.

  Niamh kept looking at all angles of her face, getting so close to the mirror that she left a smudge on the glass. “I look pretty,” she marveled.

  “You are pretty,” I rumbled. “Even without makeup.”

  Niamh blushed and turned toward me. “Are you going to be nice to me now?”

  “Only if you’re nice to me.”

  Mari shot me a look. “Niamh, how about you clean up here while I talk to your brother?”

  I found myself hustled into my bedroom. “Don’t provoke her again,” said Mari in exasperation.

  “Provoke her? She’s the one who threw a fit.”

  “Because she’s seventeen.”

  “Old enough to know better.”

  “Yes, but knowing isn’t as simple as doing. You can’t tell me you weren’t an idiot at that age, either.”

  When Mari crossed her arms under her breasts, giving her some nice cleavage, I didn’t feel particularly inclined to discuss my sister anymore. With Niamh here, it was like we had to act like actual nuns, despite the fact that we were supposed to be dating in Niamh’s mind. How was that for fucking complicated?

  I thought of old man Gallagher’s phone call earlier, and it shot my lust down like a bullet. If he found out that Niamh was running away from home along with this whole fake marriage with Mari… My gut tightened.

  “I need to tell you something,” I said quietly.

  In low tones, worried that Niamh would listen at the door like the brat she was, I told Mari about old man Gallagher calling and his veiled threat. Mari turned pale, not asking any questions until I’d finished.

  I sat down on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry to rope you into all of this,” I said heavily. “You didn’t sign up for my fucking insane family.”

  Mari sat down next to me, and to my surprise, took my hand.

  “No, but my family is just as crazy in its own way.” She hesitated a breath before adding, “I’d like you to meet them some time. They’re basically chomping at the bit to know who you are.”

  Her fingers were warm and slight, curled against mine. I hadn’t yet got her a ring—too busy with everything going on.

  Brushing my thumb across her ring finger, I said, “What kind of ring do you want?”

  “I thought we weren’t doing that. There’s no reason to spend the money.”

  “What kind?” I pressed.

  I smiled when it took all of one second for her to blurt, “Morganite with a rose gold band.”

  “I’m thinking that’s not the ring your ex got you.”

  Her lips twitched. “He bought me a very nice diamond.”

  “Boring, colorless.” I touched her jaw before stroking a length of her bright hair. “You’re neither of those things.”

  “Oh, I’m as boring as they come.”

  Her skin was fine as silk. When I discovered a tiny mole behind her left ear, I wanted to kiss it. “You’re the least boring woman I’ve ever met.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Believe what you want, wife. No boring woman would’ve married me in Las Vegas on a whim.”

  Her breathing increased as I stroked her throat. I liked to watch her pulse beat faster.

  “I was drunk,” she said breathily.

  “I would’ve done it even if I hadn’t been rat-arsed.”

  Her eyes widened to saucers. I wished instantly I hadn’t admitted that. You bloody idiot. What the fuck is she gonna think now?

  A knock on the door jolted us both out of our thoughts.

  “Are you guys still having sex? Because I’m starving and there’s nothing to eat here,” whined Niamh.

  Mari laughed as I stalked to the door, opening it to show that we were both clothed. “We’re just talking, you little brat.”

  “Or you just finished super early.” Niamh’s smile was evil. “Only ten minutes, Liam? For shame.”

  “Go to your room. Now,” I said darkly.

  “Don’t get mad. There are ways to fix that problem, you know.”

  Why had I given a fuck about my sister? She was a menace to society. She needed to be locked up for my own sanity.

  “Go to your room before I strangle you,” I rumbled.

  Niamh shrugged. “Before you kill me, can you order some food first? I’m starving.”

  It had taken another day, but I’d finally got Niamh to agree to speak with Aunt Siobhan about their fight. But not before we’d had our own heart-to-heart.

  Look, I wasn’t into touchy-feely conversations where you cut out your heart and cry. Why talk about a thing when you could do something about it?

  “You can’t solve this for her,” Mari had said the night prior to my conversation with my sister. “She has to come to the decision herself.”

  I’d punched my pillow. “She’s not good at making her own decisions.”

  “She’ll only rebel if you try to control her.”

  Mari had rolled over, her back to me, and my cock had stirred. Why were we not having sex? She was in my bed, wearing her pajamas. It would take all of five seconds to strip off her trousers and have my hands down her panties.

  Because she said she doesn’t want to sleep with you. Remember?

  Yeah, I was definitely going to change that. Besides, I’d already eaten her pussy, tasted her orgasm on my tongue. She could act like it hadn’t happened as long as she wanted, but I caught her looking at me from the corner of her eye when she thought I wouldn’t notice.

  I saw the way her pupils dilated when I came close to her. The flush that climbed her cheeks. Her nipples were little beads every time I so much as breathed.

  Mari, Mari, quite contrary. Your lips say one thing, but your body says another.

  But seduction could wait until I got my sister back home. So I’d told my cock to cool it, had turned away from my overly fastidious wife, and had tried to sleep.

  “Niamh, we need to talk,” I said in the morning.

  Niamh scowled. “No, thanks.”

  “It wasn’t a question.”

  She continued eating her bowl of cereal like she hadn’t heard me.

  Then: “Why should we talk when I know exactly what you’re going to say? ‘Niamh, you can’t date. Niamh, you need to go home. Niamh, you’re too young to know what you want.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

  She was so accurate that it irritated me further.

  “You can’t stay here,” I said lamely.

  I had her there; she couldn’t exactly graduate if she didn’t attend school. But she just shrugged one shoulder in pure adolescent apathy.

  “L
et’s go for a walk,” I said. “And that’s not a request. Get your coat.”

  Niamh sighed, but she did as I asked. Although it was mid-January now, the sun peeked out from the clouds. I could smell the salt from Elliott Bay, and occasionally a brisk wind would blow straight through my coat.

  Seattle reminded me of Ireland sometimes—the green, the gloom. The mists that would settle over the city like a gentle blanket. Sometimes I could almost imagine I was back in Dublin, until I heard the sounds of flat, American accents. Americans loved to say that everything was awesome. It was their favorite word, besides freedom and super-sized.

  “You can’t stay here,” I said as Niamh and I walked to nowhere in particular.

  She sighed, her breath huffing like smoke. “I know.”

  “You need to work this out with Aunt Siobhan. She keeps calling me, asking how you’re doing. She’s worried sick.”

  Niamh hunched into her scarf. “She shouldn’t have been such a jerk,” she mumbled.

  “Maybe, but you didn’t need to lose your temper, either. You can’t run every time things get tough. Because then you’ll be running away your entire life.”

  “And what about you? You’re always leaving.”

  I stopped, a man behind me almost running into my shoulder. He muttered something and stepped around me.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I demanded.

  “You’ve never stayed in one place for more then, what, a year? You don’t want me to live with you, ever. You don’t believe in commitment. You said so yourself.”

  “I’m with Mari now,” I said, hating that I was using her in this argument.

  “Yeah, maybe you are. For now. But then you’ll up and move because you say you’re bored or whatever. You’ve been doing it my entire life.”

  “Niamh, I’ve never abandoned you.”

  “No? You dropped me off on our aunt and uncle’s porch and then I didn’t see you for six months.”

  When I’d been twenty, new to America and trying to make a decent life for myself, I’d taken Niamh to the best place I knew of. She’d been young enough that I’d assumed she would adjust to her new home.

  It had killed me to do it. That day would be imprinted on my mind for the rest of my life. Hugging my sister goodbye, telling her in Gaelic to be good, and then leaving. She hadn’t cried or run after me, because she hadn’t understood I wouldn’t be coming back.

  When I’d finally had the money to see her again six months later, she’d seemed perfectly happy. Well-adjusted. Her Irish accent had already faded significantly. As far as anyone knew, she was just a normal American child attending public school and saying that everything was awesome.

  Niamh’s eyes filled with tears as people maneuvered around us.

  “Why did you leave me?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” I took her hands and then enfolded her inside my coat. “I thought it was the best for us both. I was too young; I didn’t know how to raise a child. I didn’t have the means, either. How could I have dragged you around the country? That would’ve been hell for you.”

  “Not if I’d been with you.”

  Well, if I thought my heart was dead, it wasn’t now. Guilt assailed me.

  “So why did you run away? I don’t understand,” I said.

  “I don’t know.” Niamh sniffled and pulled away. “I’ve always felt like no one wanted me, that’s all. Aunt Siobhan acts like I’m a burden. She always has.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “How would you know? You haven’t been there.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be better. But believe me: you were never unwanted. You’re my sister. I’d do anything for you.”

  Even stay married to a woman who doesn’t want me.

  “Okay,” whispered Niamh. “You’ll call more?”

  “Yes.”

  “And come see me?”

  “If I can.”

  “And let me come to Seattle whenever I want?”

  “If everyone agrees, yes.”

  She hugged me then, right there in the middle of downtown Seattle. But it was brief, the kind of hug you don’t plan to do and feel a bit embarrassed about afterwards.

  We didn’t talk while we walked home. Niamh seemed deep in thought, and I had my own emotions to deal with.

  I’d been so focused on my own life, my career, my financial situation, that I’d told myself I didn’t need to burden Niamh with those things. She was taken care of, I’d told myself. I’d done what Mam had asked me to do.

  But I’d failed somehow. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

  “I’m going to call Aunt Siobhan,” said Niamh after we’d returned to the flat “I’ll go home tomorrow, too.”

  After Niamh went to her room, I sat down next to Mari on the couch.

  “Well, I guess you worked things out,” she ventured.

  She looked so beautiful, sitting there in just sweats and a tank top, her hair in a bun, that it physically hurt to look at her.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said gruffly.

  And because my wife was the most remarkable woman I’d ever met, she only said, “Okay,” took my hand in hers, and sat with me in companionable silence.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mari

  Niamh left the next day, but not before Liam had made her promise to behave herself.

  “You’re giving me gray hairs already,” he’d said when she’d hugged him.

  “You’ll look dashing with a salt and pepper look.” Niamh had turned to me, and to my surprise, had hugged me tightly. She’d whispered in my ear, “Take care of him? He’s stupid but I love him anyway.”

  I’d just nodded. That moment last night, when Liam and I had sat in silence, had changed something between us. It had been a silence loaded with intimacy, with emotions, with things that were dangerous but heady at the same time.

  Returning to his apartment, we lapsed into silence again. We hadn’t been truly alone in three days—not since the night he’d given me the greatest orgasm I’d ever had.

  Sleeping next to him without really sleeping with him? That had been pure torture. His smell, his heat, the way he looked while he slept. His hair tousled in the morning, or how he stretched and showed off every muscle without even realizing it.

  At the moment, Liam wore a blue sweater that looked way too good on him. He hadn’t shaved this morning. He looked like a pirate, like he’d toss you over his shoulder and ravish you while smiling that devilish smile that melted your panties right off.

  “So,” he said.

  I jumped. I was so startled I nearly dropped the cup of coffee I’d just picked up.

  “Careful.” Liam caught me, setting the coffee down. “Let’s not injure ourselves anymore, eh?”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  He hadn’t taken his hand from mine, and the heat of his fingers was searing. And then I stared at his mouth, and memories of the way he’d licked my pussy spread through me like flames. I felt myself growing wet simply from the memory of his touch. How was that for unfair?

  “We’re alone,” he rumbled. “Bloody finally.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sleeping next to you every night has been fucking with my brain. And my cock. Every night, I go to bed hard and every morning I wake up hard.”

  I swallowed, my mouth dry. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

  “No, it’s not fun, wife. Not with your gorgeous arse inches away, tempting me. Or the way you sigh in your sleep, or how your shirt rides up until I can almost see your breasts.”

  “Oh God, seriously?”

  “I wasn’t complaining.”

  Why had I said we shouldn’t have mind-blowing, panty-flaming sex? Clearly I was deranged. Unhinged. My pussy felt sad and neglected. It probably could file a police report with how I’d been treating it lately.

  Mari won’t let a sexy Irishman touch me. She’s so mean.

  “Tell me to leave you alone,” growled Liam as
he backed me against the kitchen counter, “tell me to go, Mari. And I’ll never touch you again.”

  I should say no. I should resist.

  Be strong, Mari. There lies heartbreak.

  But when it came to Liam Gallagher, the husband I’d never thought I’d have, I wasn’t strong. I didn’t want to resist him. Because he’d somehow managed to find a place inside my heart. I knew I could run to the other side of the world, and he’d still be foremost in my head.

  “No, don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone,” I said, looping my arms around his neck. “I need you.”

  He groaned. Picking me up, he kissed me at the same time he walked us to his bedroom. No, our bedroom. Somehow in the space of three days, it had become just as much my space as his.

  “I can’t be gentle,” he said as he sat me down. “I want you too badly.”

  Gentle lovemaking would probably break me in half, anyway.

  “Fuck me, Liam. I need it.”

  His eyes darkened until they looked black. His hands were everywhere: my back, my ass, my breasts. He cupped my pussy and pressed his palm against me, making me squirm.

  “You’re like an inferno. Are you already soaking for me, little wife?”

  I couldn’t speak when he rubbed my clit through the fabric of my jeans and panties. The roughness was enough to make me come, but before my release slammed into me, he moved his hand away. I whimpered.

  “You aren’t coming until you’re on my cock. Your tight pussy clenching around me like a vise.”

  “Oh my God.”

  Liam licked my neck before he stripped me of my shirt. Unsnapping my bra, he feasted on my breasts for a long moment. He pinched my nipples until the pain bloomed into pleasure, until they were red and aching. When he swirled his tongue around one, I could only hang onto him or I would’ve collapsed onto the floor.

  Every time Liam had touched me, I’d realized how little I knew about sex. I might not have been a virgin, but I’d never had sex like this. And we hadn’t gotten to the main event yet. The thought of him plunging inside me made me tremble in anticipation.

  Liam stepped away. My breasts were aching, heavy. I looked down to see beard burn across my fair skin.

 

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