A Long Winter’s Night: A Four Seasons Novella

by Lee, Geneva

  Originally published as Unwrapping Liam

  © 2013 by Geneva Lee

  © 2020, new edition

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 1

  The house loomed up the driveway with its columns and tiled roof and neatly trimmed hedges. One single strand of glowing Christmas lights and a wreath on the door betrayed the season. It hadn’t snowed yet in Olympic Falls when we left, but at least Washington had the decency to turn cold and gray in winter. The sky here was clear and cheerfully bright. If a gaggle of bikini-clad blondes had skipped up the sidewalk with giant beach balls, it couldn’t have been more obvious that we were in Southern California. But the only thing that was warm here was the weather.

  “Is this it?” Liam asked. I’d asked him to drive the last leg to ensure we actually made it to my parents’ house.

  “Keep going,” I instructed him.

  Liam peered down the road, slowing the car to stare at me. “I’ll drive off that bluff if I keep going.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Chicken.” The car came to a complete stop and he reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. It was amazing how his touch still sent tiny shivers running down my back. Liam had spent the last few months making my toes curl from pleasure every opportunity he got, so it made sense that even the slight touch of his hand would get me excited. “We’ve been driving for fifteen hours, I’d love to lie down in a warm bed, preferably with you.”

  “Fat chance that will happen with Tara around.” I tugged my hand free and crossed my arms.

  “Leave your mum to me.”

  “That sounds promising,” I said. “Poison? Cut her brake lines?”

  Liam shook his head. “Worse. I’m going to win her over with my irresistible charm.”

  I couldn’t quite swallow back a snort at this. “You are, huh?”

  “It worked on you.”

  “I have a heart and warm blood pumping through my veins” I reminded him. “How is your charm on reptiles and other cold-blooded animals?”

  “I feel like my plan will work better if you try a little harder yourself,” Liam said in a soft voice.

  “Don’t use I-statements on me, Mr. McAvoy.”

  “A little interpersonal communication might be exactly what you and your mum need,” he said with a shrug.

  “I could have dragged Professor Markson to be our personal relationship coach and gotten nowhere with Tara. Some things are a lost cause.”

  Liam laughed at this.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded, punching him lightly on the arm.

  “You sounded like a girl I used to know. She liked to tell me she was a lost cause, too.” Liam leaned over the center console until his lips were temptingly close. “Good thing I didn’t listen to her.”

  “Maybe she was right,” I said quietly. Now that we were here, on the verge of spending a whole week with my parents in separate bedrooms, my recently discovered faith in myself—and us—was failing me.

  “Stop,” Liam ordered, taking hold of my chin so that I was forced to meet his blue eyes. “Nobody talks about my girlfriend that way.”

  “I’ve known her longer than you,” I reminded him, trying to sound cool as I fought the tears rising in my throat.

  “Well, I know things about her that you couldn’t possibly know.”

  “So that makes you the Jillian Nichols expert?” I said. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

  “I know that there’s a freckle on the crease of your inner right thigh that makes you moan when I kiss it.”

  Liam kissing me anywhere down there had that effect on me, but he was right. I didn’t know that he had a particularly mark he concentrated on.

  “I know that your cheeks get rosy when you sleep.”

  I had to admit that I had never seen myself sleep.

  “And I know that you are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful woman in at least two continents,” he said.

  “Only two?”

  “The ones I’ve been on,” he said with a wink. “Although I’m willing to bet that I could travel the entire world and never find anyone as amazing as you.”

  “Is this the charm you plan to use on Tara?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It might work,” I admitted.

  Liam grinned as he drew my mouth to his, kissing me softly on the lips before he turned his attention back to the steering wheel.

  “Maybe you should kiss me one more time,” I said as he started to put the car in drive. "For courage.”

  And also because I wasn’t likely to get him alone for more than five seconds this week. Tara would be on constant patrol. After the bathroom break Liam and I had taken during parents’ weekend, she’d already made it clear that she saw the two of us a ticking sex bomb. What she didn’t realize was that the longer she came between us, the apter that description was likely to prove.

  Liam obliged my request, but this time his kiss wasn’t soft. It was urgent as if he suspected it might be our last for a while. I deepened it, inviting his tongue to explore my mouth. Within seconds I was squirming in my seat, trying to wiggle free of my seatbelt to get closer to him.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” Liam whispered against my lips.

  “It’s a good way to go.”

  I leaned in to kiss him again when I was jolted back against my seat. Liam’s hand slammed into my stomach as though he could push me farther back, but the danger was past. The car, however, was in a ditch.

  “My foot slipped off the brake,” he murmured, turning his blue eyes to me. They were wide with embarrassment.

  “I was the one who told you to drive off the cliff,” I reminded him.

  “I guess we know who wears the pants in this relationship,” he said as he unbuckled and reached over to rub my neck.

  “Because you wear the kilts,” I said. “Or, at least, you keep telling me that you do.”

  “Getting Jess’s Camry out of the ditch with a kilt on would be interesting, but I have to admit I’m glad I’m wearing jeans.”

  “I can’t say that I am. A kilt might calm me down. My heart is still racing.” I fanned myself dramatically.

  “I promise that seeing me in a kilt would do nothing to calm you down.” He winked at me as he got out of the car to inspect the situation.

  I instantly wrote a mental Christmas letter.

  Dear Santa,

  All I want for Christmas is one sexy Scot under my Christmas tree.

  In a kilt.

  Still a fan, Jillian

  Before I could even open my door, he was there to make sure I got out safely. I knew absolutely nothing about cars, but I could tell that it was wedged somehow in a sandy, gravel-like substance. I wasn't going to be little use in getting it out. Fortunately—or rather unfortunately—both my parents were already running up the drive.

  “What on earth happened?” Tara shouted.

  “Good to see you, too,” I said under my breath, bracing myself for an awkward hug from my mother.

&nb
sp; My Dad began inspecting the situation without question. Within seconds he and Liam were wrapped up in plots to get it out of the ditch, which left me to contend with Tara, who had bypassed the awkward hug altogether and gone straight to making judgmental commentary on the sidelines.

  “Merry Christmas, Mom.” I managed to make the greeting sound nearly sincere, but she cocked her eyebrow anyway.

  “Don’t take that tone with me.”

  “What tone?” I asked, planting my hands on my hips. “The jovial-spirit-of-the-holidays tone?”

  “It’s the same every year,” Tara said with a sigh. “I don’t know why I asked you to come back at all. It’s obvious you don’t want to be here.”

  “Careful or you're going to get visited by the ghosts of Christmas past.”

  “Perhaps, he’ll come for both of us,” she said.

  I bit back the numerous responses crowding my mouth. I wasn’t going to win this one with Tara, and the longer that things stayed civil, the better. Four adults under one roof, two of which were going to be suffering from involuntary celibacy, was bound to cause some stress.

  “I think we just need to get the wheels turned the right direction and you can back up,” Dad told me, attempting a half hug that I accepted gratefully.

  “I still want to know how you wound up in that ditch,” Tara said. “Were you two fooling around?”

  This time I couldn’t hold back. “I’m not sure. I had my head in his lap.”

  “Jillian!”

  “It was a joke, Mrs. Nichols,” Liam assured her, casting a warning glare in my direction. “I missed your house and I thought I could turn around.”

  “Maybe they don’t have ditches in Scotland,” Tara huffed. I noted with pride that her cheeks were a bit pink as she said it.

  “Why don’t you girls head inside?” Dad suggested. “Liam and I can take care of this.”

  “But my bags are in there,” I said, holding on to the hope that my fragile excuse might prevent an excruciating half an hour alone with Tara.

  “We can handle that. Go inside and get warm.”

  It was a balmy sixty-some-odd degrees outside and after a month of grey skies and cold wind on the Puget Sound, being outdoors in California was like heaven. But I knew better than to press my luck further, so I followed Tara inside.

  My house—or rather my parents’ house—looked primed for a magazine shoot with the ten-foot tall, straight of Pottery Barn, Christmas tree in the living room. Tara changed it each year, buying all new ornaments and lighting. I suspected that the second she waltzed into whatever high-end home decor store she frequented on November 30th, sales associates high-fived each other. No expense was spared to create the ideal holiday setting for the Nichols house, but it was only an illusion—just like the rest of the house. Each room was finished by professional decorators to look polished and welcoming, but I’d never felt at home here. From a young age, I’d been taught not to touch the beautiful crystal vase on the table in the foyer. Tara had made it clear that grubby, little fingers weren’t welcome on her oak dining table. If we’d had a maid, I would probably have been sent to the kitchen to eat with her. Even now my mother made it a point to remind me of proper table etiquette whenever she could.

  The house was Tara’s domain. It was one of the few places Dad allowed her to use her money as she saw fit. Possibly because she would have lost her shit a long time ago if he hadn’t given her an inch on something. Dad’s salary didn’t match up with her inheritance, so he’d forced her to tone down her lifestyle when they got married. The house being his one real concession. Right now in the three car garage sat two ten year-old semi-luxury cars. They’d joined a country club, but he wouldn’t buy a boat. I think it was his way of attempting to ground her in the reality that ninety-nine percent of us lived in. Looking around the house, I couldn’t say that it had worked.

  “I have the second guest room ready for Liam.” Tara led the way through the front rooms and into the kitchen.

  “I don’t see why we have to sleep in separate rooms,” I grumbled as I dropped into a chair in the breakfast nook.

  “Because you aren’t married.”

  “I thought you were against me marrying him.” I was treading dangerous ground, but I couldn’t help being annoyed at how hypocritical she could be.

  “One doesn’t get married so she can shack up at her parent’s house.” She nodded at me as though this was a profound statement certain to change my perception forever.

  “Oh, I know. I’ve thought a lot about it.” I let this declaration hang out there, knowing it would drive her crazy.

  Tara offered me a glass of wine which I took gratefully. She stared at me for a long moment before clearing her throat. “How is he handling your condition?”

  “You mean how is he handling my Parkinson’s? About the same as I am. It’s a pain in the ass some of the time, but most of the time, I don’t really think about it.” It was all lies, and if Tara knew me at all she would know that, but she didn’t. Ever since Liam had found out about my Parkinson’s, he’d treated me like glass. I’d had to resort to demands and near violence a few times, but he’d lightened up a little. I understood that he just was protective, but it was frustrating, too.

  Tara took a labored sip from her wine glass before she answered. “I’m glad.”

  She wasn’t, but I appreciated the effort.

  “So about the separate bedroom thing.” I figured I might as well try again.

  “When there’s a ring on your finger.” There was a finality in her tone that felt almost funereal. Of course, the thought of me getting married was worse than death to her.

  Which is why I couldn’t resist one last parting shot as I jumped up from my chair to go check on the boys. “Maybe next year.”

  Chapter 2

  Two days later no one was dead. This was an accomplishment given that Tara’s helpful advice had turned into a constant running commentary on my life. She suggested I change my hair, exercise more, stress out less, eat more protein, and then there were the comments about Liam. At some point, she had decided he was Irish, which did nothing to ingratiate her to him. But still Liam managed to stay as polite and thoughtful as he always was. I, on the other hand, was on the verge of freaking out and no amount of interpersonal communications expertise was helping. Tara took I statements as an invitation to comment on my beliefs and opinions.

  And worst of all, she’d held good on her celibacy demand. Liam and I had barely had a chance to kiss since we got here, and I’d gotten desperate enough that I woke up early, hoping to catch him in the shower.

  My dad and Liam’s rapport had only grown after the car incident. The two had taken to waking up early and walking down to the beach. It killed me that my dad was having romantic alone time with my boyfriend while I got stuck with my mom.

  I knocked as lightly on the door as possible to avoid anyone else in the house overhearing, although I was fairly certain that Tara had installed security cameras while I was away at Olympic State. It was simply impossible that she could always know exactly where I was.

  The door cracked open and Liam peeked through.

  “Tell me you’re naked,” I whispered, shoving the door open further so I could slip in.

  “Unfortunately…” His eyebrow shot up when he saw me in my boy shorts and tank top.

  He was thankfully close to naked, clad only in boxer briefs that hugged him in all the right places. I couldn’t help but admire his muscular thighs or how the waistband dipped low enough for me to spy the chiseled v that I’d been fantasizing about for days.

  “I’m going crazy,” I said, running a finger down his chest and tracing the ridges of his beautiful six-pack.

  “Your mother has been trying.”

  “You’re driving me crazy,” I corrected him.

  “I’m sorry.” Confusion was written all over his face. Of course, it would be. He’d been nothing but a perfect gentleman since we arrived, which was exactly the problem.<
br />
  I didn’t want the polite Liam. I wanted—no, I needed the Liam I knew in the bedroom. The primal, hungry, downright insatiable man that could spend all night doing things to me that were probably illegal in some countries. I needed his hands on my body. I needed them grabbing my hair. I needed them holding my hips to slow me down when I thought I was about to lose my mind. And I was going to have him right now, even if meant throwing him down on the tile floor. I didn’t even care if we had a towel.

  “What is driving you crazy?” he asked, drawing me away from my thoughts.

  “Well, to start with,” I said, licking my suddenly dry lips, “your boxers.”

  “That’s an easy fix.”

  How he managed to drop trow so elegantly and quickly, I’ll never know, but there he was.

  He looped an arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. “You can leave that on, but not these.”

  His fingers hooked in the waistband of my boy shorts and he nudged them down until they fell to my ankles.

  “Free at last,” I murmured. Pressing against him, I let my fingers wander along his body, marveling at every inch of him.

  “Not so fast.” He gently pushed me toward the counter. “You aren’t the only one who’s been going crazy.”

  Liam caught my hips and lifted me up onto the bathroom counter. I couldn’t stand it any longer and before he could stop me my arms were around his neck, pulling his lips to mine. The kiss was slow and hungry, building toward a frenzy that when coupled with the strong, warm hands sliding up my thighs was bound to drive me over the edge. I wiggled down the counter, attempting to wrap my legs around his waist, but he held me back.

  “Not so fast. I’ve got you behind locked doors. There’s no need to race.”

  Except there was. If we got interrupted now, there was a good chance I would suffer a psychotic episode. I didn’t relish the idea of explaining to the police that my homicidal rage was all due to getting cock-blocked by my mom.