Chapter 15
Sophie was loose-limbed, completely at ease, and so blissfully sated she just might float right out Liam’s kitchen window, across the lawn to the outstretched sea.
It had been a long, long time since she’d woken up feeling this way—flushed with warmth, her body humming with the delicious ache of a night well spent. A night spent wrapped around Liam, tangled in sheets, drowning in pleasure until neither of them had strength left to do more than breathe.
A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips as she reached for another strawberry and sliced it neatly in half adding it to the plate beside the jam and honey. That was something they had done as children, dipped their fruit in jam and honey.
Liam was still in bed, no doubt wrecked from her enthusiasm. The thought made her grin. He deserved a little spoiling after the way he had thoroughly, exquisitely, ruined her in return.
Barefoot, dressed in nothing but his shirt from the night before, she balanced the tray carefully and padded back toward the bedroom.
She nudged the door open with her hip and found him sprawled on his stomach with half the sheets kicked off, his skin glowing in the soft morning light.
She set the tray on the bedside table. “Good morning, my love,” she murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to the nape of his neck.
He made a low, pleased sound, shifting slightly but did not open his eyes. “If you’re waking me up, it better be for something good.”
She laughed softly. “Breakfast. Well, the beginning of breakfast. I thought I would make you a full Irish but that will take a while so you can start with this.”
One eye cracked open. He took in the lovingly made tray beside him, then her, the stretch of bare legs, his shirt hanging loose off her shoulder.
His gaze darkened. “I was talking about you.”
Heat curled low in her belly, but she clucked her tongue at him. “Eat first. I drained you dry last night.”
He groaned and rolled onto his back. “A hell of a way to go, love.”
She laughed, settling on the edge of the bed, picking up a strawberry and holding it to his lips.
“Is that honey and jam? You remember.”
“Of course, I remember. I still eat my fruit this way.”
“So do I.” His fingers curled around her wrist, bringing her hand and the berry closer. But instead of taking a bite, he nipped at her fingertips, his grin slow and wicked.
“After,” he murmured, pulling her down into the sheets.
And just like that, breakfast could wait.
* * *
Standing at the stove, Sophie cracked three eggs into a skillet beside the sizzling sausages and tomatoes.
“Need any help?” Liam asked.
“Sure, what would you like to do?”
“Watch.”
“In that case, you’re doing a great job. Keep up the good work.” Seeing as she would be at the stove for a while yet she asked him a question that had been on her mind. “So, tell me, how can an artist afford a place like this?” Liam, who was sitting behind the counter finishing the last strawberry, feigned offense. “Like what? It’s not Ashford Castle.”
“No, but it’s nice, not just the house, but the entire property. I mean, you’re talented, but not this talented.”
“Cheers for that,” he said dryly.
They shared a laugh before he added, “Actually, I really owe my initial success to one person.”
“Aw, you’re too kind but I really had nothing to do with it.”
“Good to know you think so highly of yourself,” Liam laughed and took a sip of coffee. “No, his name is Cian McKenna.”
Sophie was about to lift the skillet to transfer its contents to a plate when she froze. She didn’t want to sound the alarm before hearing the rest of his story.
“Cian came to a small show I had in Galway a few years back, bought two paintings he did, then he must have told his friends about me or something because it was right after that the show sold out—every piece. I’ve hardly had trouble selling anything since.”
Liam took a sip of coffee before continuing. Sophie, who gained her composure before burning their breakfast, remained quiet listening as she laid the plate in front of Liam.
“This looks great.” He picked up his knife and fork and dug in. “Mmm, this is delicious. When did you learn to cook?”
“Never mind about my cooking. I’ll tell you all about that later. You were saying, about Cian?”
Liam didn’t understand her interest in the story, but if this was what she wanted to talk about, so be it. “He collects art of all sorts, lives not far from here.” He was enjoying his breakfast so much that it took a minute for him to notice her shocked expression. “Is something wrong, love?”
“You did say Cian, Cian McKenna?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, my God.” Sophie placed her elbows on the counter and covered her face with her hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“I,” Sophie blew out a breath. How exactly was she to say that Cian McKenna, Liam’s beloved benefactor, is Darcie’s murderous, thieving, and recently deceased father? “How much do you know about him?”
Liam shrugged his shoulders after putting another forkful of food into his mouth. Sophie was right. He was starving. “Only that he’s an avid art collector. Oh, and he collects vintage cars too. He had me over to his home once when he commissioned a painting. He had all sorts of art. Mostly paintings, though. I saw a Monet and a Renoir, very impressive. And he’s very generous, but—and I hate to admit it—but there was something about him that made me uneasy.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Sophie stabbed a tomato with a fork and popped it into her mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“Cian McKenna is Darcie’s father.”
That caught his attention. “You’re joking.”
Sophie shook her head and took a bite of sausage and continued talking with her mouth full. “I’ll tell you the story but you have to swear never to repeat it.”
Liam swore to take the story to his grave. Then, once they had finished their breakfast fry-up and refilled their coffee, they settled onto the sofa—him at one end, Sophie at the other, their toes touching. She told him about Darcie and Connor meeting, her adoption, discovering Cian was her biological father, and finally, what happened that fateful day when he stood with the O’Brians to save Darcie’s life.
When she neared the end of her story, Sophie struggled with the words but decided to just spit it out. “Cian died. He was killed.”
Liam blinked twice. This was a lot to take in. Darcie’s story alone was enough to bowl over anyone, then to find out his benefactor was dead.
“If you’re worried that this means I’ve lost my living, don’t. I have customers everywhere and to be honest, I’ve made enough to be comfortable. I don’t need any more. A man can have too much, you know?”
“Too much money or too much of everything?”
Liam considered for a moment. “Too much of anything that has the potential to ruin him.”
“And too much money would ruin you?”
“I think so. I’m not terribly good with money, I’m ashamed to say.”
“You always were a dreamer.”
“And you were always more practical.”
“But you’ve done well for yourself. That can’t be bad.” Sophie said looking around her.
“Do you think you would have ended up here if you hadn’t married?” he asked.
“You know what? I kind of do now. Connor’s always banging on about fate. I always thought he was moron but now I can’t help but admit that, yes, I think I would have ended up right here,” she pointed down at the floor, “no matter what.”
She sank deeper into the sofa cushions, playfully starting a game of footsy with Liam. They laughed and teased each other for a few minutes before their teasing gave way to kisses—somehow, she had ended up on his side of the sofa, on top of him. Then, amidst the blur of the moment, a thought struck her like a lightning bolt.
She pulled away quickly. “We forgot about Cian!”
“Well, what’s the problem? I mean, I can see the coincidence, and the story is horrendous but what has this got to do with us?”
“I overheard Connor and Simon talking with Shamus. They never actually saw Cian’s body.”
“What do you mean? You said they were in a car crash and Nan held him in her arms.”
“Yes, but Aunt Nan swears he was still alive when the ambulance took him. She was in another one with Shamus and that’s the last anyone saw of him.”
“You can’t be serious? You think Cian…. What? Faked his own death?”
Sophie sat up. “Well, it would make sense. Aunt Nan and Shamus had a present waiting for them when they got back from their honeymoon. A painting, and the note was signed from Cian.” Then a thought sprung into her head that was so obvious she smacked her forehead. “Do you know an artist named Rory O’Toole?”
Liam’s lips curled into a smile. “I do as it happens. You’re looking at him.”
“What?”
“I’m Rory O’Toole. Didn’t you notice the name on that print you have?”
Shocked, Sophie shook her head. “No, I never paid any attention. Wait, so you painted the mysterious wedding present?”
“Seems that way. What does it look like?”
“I don’t know. I never actually saw it. When did he commission that painting you mentioned?”
Liam thought about it. “It was a few months back.”
“So, you mean that when you finished it, he would have already been dead?”
“That’s right. Once it was finished, I left him a message saying as much and the next day I received a text message asking that I deliver it to his house and leave it with his secretary.”
“You never saw him or spoke with him again?”
Liam shook his head. “No. I remember thinking it was strange that he didn’t want to look at it with me there.”
This was unbelievable! The others needed to be told.
But they could wait—at least until she and Liam finished what they’d just started on the sofa.