Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
LIAM
F itting that she would bring me to a bar named after a siren since that’s clearly what she is. There’s no other explanation for how Lark managed to convince me to get on that godforsaken twirly ride. I’ve always had issues with motion sickness but that ? That damn ride is my very own 7th circle of Hell.
And yet, even though I’m currently fighting for my life in a dingy, run down bar, the unfettered joy on her face is so worth every moment of nausea. I genuinely think this is the happiest she’s been since she came home, and my chest swells with the slightest bit of pride knowing I did that.
Waving a hand in the air, I try to focus on steadying my breaths in an effort to stop the spinning. It’s slowed some since we left that fun house of horrors, but not enough that I feel like I’m out of the woods yet. “Red, it’s wonderful that you’ve found yet another person who’s happy to see you back, but please tell me how you thought coming here would help before I lose my dinner and what’s left of my dignity.”
She has the decency to look chagrined and hands me a highball glass filled with a light-colored carbonated liquid, something green, and lots of ice. “Don’t ask questions, just drink. Slowly . Little sips.”
Nothing like a pretty girl talking to you like a child to bruise your ego, but I’m so nauseous I can’t bring myself to actually feel affronted. Doing as she asks, I splutter at the first sip when it burns like hellfire going down. Once the burn passes, though, the sweet taste of ginger, lime and mint hits my palate, soothing the heat still scorching my throat.
Lark’s ocean eyes track my facial expressions, seemingly waiting for something. After I manage to down about half the glass my eyes widen. I don’t know what the hell is in this, but I’m starting to feel really good. The room has stopped spinning, the flashing lights of the siren sign behind the bar are more fun than bothersome, and the pretty red streaks in Lark’s hair dance like flames under her chin.
“Red!” I smile at her in surprise. “What is this magic? My insides don’t feel like they’re going to become outsides anymore!”
Her mouth drops open slightly and she turns to look at the man behind the bar. I hate that he’s getting her attention instead of me, so I reach out and turn her face back towards mine. Wide, startled blue eyes clash with mine, making me smile. “I don’t like it when you pay attention to other guys. I want all your attention.”
“Uncle Jacks,” she chokes, laughter clear in her voice. “How much tequila did you put in his drink, exactly?”
The response is muffled, but it’s okay because I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from my pretty fake girlfriend long enough to figure out what he said, anyway. I did catch the word tequila though, which doesn’t make much sense because I hate alcohol. It all tastes gross and I always react terribly, so I don’t really drink it .
Small hands cup my face, bringing my attention back to my favorite little red moon cactus. I must have spaced out. “Plant boy,” she whispers close to my face. “Are you okay?”
My smile feels wobbly, but the good kind of wobbly. Like when your face goes numb because you’re smiling too hard. Inching forward on my stool, I lean even further into Lark’s space. My movement brings us nose to nose, close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath.
I wonder if she feels this electricity between us, too. I swear sometimes I reach out to touch her and worry we’ll start a fire with the sparks that dance between us whenever she’s near. But I don’t know if that’s us, or if it’s just her. Lark Monroe on her own is a living, breathing spitfire that I would happily let burn me if only she’d let me close enough to feel the heat.
A sudden desperate need to know if her lips would feel like fireworks on mine has me leaning even further into her space, so close our noses brush. The roar of the music and crowd around us lessens to a dull buzz as I lose myself in her endless pale blue eyes.
“Red,” I whisper huskily, cupping her face in my hands. The contrast of my colorful tattoos against her pale, freckled skin only serves as a reminder that this perfect woman now has my art on her body, and it’s that thought that has me closing the remaining millimeters of distance between us.
She inhales shakily and lets her hands drop from my face to wrap around my wrists; not pushing me away, but not pulling me closer, either. A tiny voice in the depths of my consciousness screams that this is wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this, but Lark’s perfume combined with the cinnamon and sugar I can still smell on her breath creates an intoxicating allure I can’t bring myself to resist.
Dropping my eyes to her mouth, I brush my lips against hers. Just once. Just a caress of skin against sweet skin. But it’s enough that my entire body lights up with pleasure and a feeling of rightness.
A commotion behind us startles Lark enough that she backs away a few inches, but that distance is enough to break the tension, and I watch as a wall slams down over her expression, cutting me off from her emotions. That change in her demeanor crashes over me like a bucket of ice water, effectively dousing some of the buzz I have going on.
A glance at the bartender shows him watching us with a wary sort of curiosity that I don’t understand. “Can I get a water, please?” My voice comes out gruff and I worry he’ll think I’m being rude, when really I just need something to distract me from the desire coursing through my veins.
An understanding look passes through his eyes as he hands me an ice-cold bottle of water that I down like I’ve just stepped out of the desert after weeks of thirst. I still feel a little floaty, but the water seems to be helping to flush my system. Signaling the bartender for another one, I stare at the stunning woman in front of me.
I feel a few drops of water escape the side of my mouth and watch as she follows their trajectory with rapt attention. The look on her face lights the desire in my veins once again, and the tightening in my pants alerts me to a major problem. Coughing awkwardly, I turn towards the bar to hopefully disguise the erection that still hasn’t abated.
The move snaps her attention from my throat to my face, and a hot blush covers her cheeks. “Wow, plant boy,” she says with forced laughter. “I didn’t know you were such a lightweight.”
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. Regret instantly follows when the action causes the room to spin again. “Sorry to disappoint, little cactus. I don’t drink, so my liver isn’t exactly accustomed to the extra toxins my new fake girlfriend just fed me.” The word fake is whispered under my breath, because nobody else but us needs to know that little piece of the puzzle.
Her eyes widen and she puts a hand over her mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry, Liam! If I had known there’s no way I would have given you that! I’m a terrible person. I was just trying to make you feel better and here I am?—”
In my semi-buzzed state, what I do next seems completely logical. But when my lips meet hers in an effort to shut her up, my fatal mistake becomes painfully evident in the way my jeans tighten even further and what’s left of my control evaporates into thin air.
If I thought the sparks between me and Lark were intense simply being around each other, they’re pathetic compared to the firework show going off behind my closed eyelids when her lips part on a breathy whimper.
Taking advantage of the movement, I slide my tongue along her plump bottom lip, waiting for a sign that she’s as into this as I am.
That I’m not insane for feeling this attraction with someone so off-limits and out of my league.
Lark sighs, leaning into me further, and the second her tentative tongue touches mine, I snap . Threading my hands through her silky blonde hair, I tighten my fingers in the strands at the base of her skull and guide her head exactly where I want it.
The noise from the busy bar is still muted, but the rest of my senses feel like they’ve been amplified as our mouths move together in a dance that feels as natural as breathing. My tongue strokes over hers, eliciting the sweetest moan from her throat.
Someone bumps into Lark’s back, knocking her into my chest and breaking our kiss. We’re both breathing heavily, the tension crackling in the millimeters that separate her chest from mine.
Clearing her throat, she shakes herself out of the haze and slaps a card down on the bar top, presumably to pay for my waters since she paid for the drinks with cash earlier. “Will you close us out, Uncle Jacks? I think it’s time I got plant boy home for the night.”
My hand shoots out to steal her card off the counter before Jacks runs it, but my coordination is impaired, so the back of my knuckles hit the underside of the bar and land in a questionable substance before I’m able to snag the card and replace it with my own.
Jackson just chuckles and hands me a wet rag.
Luckily, years of tattooing and a hobby in horticulture have desensitized me to strange substances on my hands, so even though my mind wants me to gag at the unknown, my body refuses to let it happen.
Glancing up from my now-wet hand, I see Lark with a blonde brow raised and a look of amusement on her slightly blurry face. “What?” I ask petulantly.
She huffs, shaking her head. “I brought you to the bar, the least I can do is pay for the drinks.”
I shake my head adamantly, but it becomes clear immediately that doing so was a mistake. The room spins and my stomach lurches, sending me stumbling off the barstool and around several occupied tables to the back of the bar where I know I saw a restroom sign earlier.
Bile coats the back of my throat and I barely make it to a stall on time before the contents of my stomach make a reappearance. The door to the men’s restroom creaks open, and I groan, the sound echoing around the small space.
In my race to the toilet, I didn’t have a chance to lock the stall door, so I’m unsurprised and irritated when it opens. At least until small, soft hands lay a cold rag on the back of my neck, providing a much-needed reprieve from the alcohol induced flush that heats my entire body to an uncomfortable degree.
“Go away,” I groan pitifully. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Lark sighs and removes my hat so she can stroke a cold hand through my sweaty hair. “Liam, I’m so sorry. I feel like an idiot for not warning you there was alcohol in the drink I gave you. The least I can do is take care of you until we can get you home and tucked in bed.”
I shake my head. Slowly. So slowly. “I followed you into a bar , Red. I could have told you I don’t drink or suggested we go somewhere else. I’m an adult who is more than capable of speaking up if I don’t like something. But I wanted to be here with you.”
She doesn’t say anything, just continues stroking gentle fingers through my hair. A second cloth appears next to my mouth, and she carefully cleans off my face. Embarrassment rushes through me, but exhaustion has set in, and I can’t even find the energy to blush properly as my fake girlfriend takes care of me.
Her presence disappears for only a moment before she’s back and crouched down next to me. “Come on, plant boy. Let’s get you home.”