Chapter 12
Liam
Thornfield Manor rises from the landscape like something out of a Gothic Revival fairy tale.
I’ve been here before—years ago, when Conor O’Connell first bought the place and needed help dealing with some unsavory characters trying to muscle in on his investment. But seeing it now, through Lexie, it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time again.
The manor itself is massive: stone turrets and arched windows, ivy crawling along the walls. It’s beautiful in a dark but elegant way. The kind of place that makes you think of secrets and shadows and things that go bump in the night.
Perfect for a masked ball.
“Oh my God,” Lexie gushes from the seat beside me, her face pressed to the window. “Liam, look at it. It’s like something out of a movie.”
I glance at her, and her wonder does something to my chest. It tightens, like my heart has grown too big for it. Something no woman has ever done.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“Aye,” I say, but I’m not looking at the manor. I’m looking at her, the light etched all over her features.
In the front passenger seat, River twists around, gesturing proudly. “Told you it would be worth it, babes.”
The car pulls up to the front entrance, where valets in period costumes wait to open the doors. I step out first, then offer my hand to Lexie. She takes it, her fingers small and warm in mine when she emerges from the car.
Her dress catches the light from the manor’s windows, sparkling like pink diamonds. I must resist running my hands over every inch of her open back. An elaborate side braid holds her copper-gold curls, compliments of River. A few loose tendrils touch her cheeks.
And the mask.
It’s delicate: red fabric with white floral embroidery, simple but elegant. It covers the upper half of her face, leaving her lips bare. Those soft, pink lips I’ve been dying to taste.
“You’re staring,” she says, practically glowing.
“Aye.” I don’t bother denying it. Not with the heat rushing to my groin. “Can’t help meself.”
River emerges from the car, and she’s a vision. Jewels encrust her ornate mask, and her dress shimmers like the dawn. She looks like a queen.
But Lexie…Lexie looks like mine.
I adjust my own mask, black, covering most of my face but not my mouth. Phantom-mask worthy with a hint of skeletal bone. No one from the Family will recognize me here.
Lexie gasps again when we step inside the foyer.
Chandeliers drip crystal from the vaulted ceilings, marble floors polished to a shine, and tapestries hang on the walls. Candles flicker in sconces, casting dancing shadows, and the air smells of roses and something darker. Incense, maybe.
“This is incredible,” Lexie sighs.
Christ, she sets me aflame. Before her, my life was hollow automation—nothing but shades of gray until this witty wallflower swept in and saved the sorry bastard who threatened her with a gun.
And still, she brought me home and treated me.
No police. No threats. From the moment she called me “Sir”, I knew I’d never let her go.
With my hand on the small of her back, I guide her through the masked crowd. Everyone is dressed to the nines with gowns, suits, and elaborate masks. Energy charges the air from the anonymity. No one knows who anyone else is. It’s freeing.
And dangerous.
I lower my voice to tell Lexie, “I need to speak with the host. Will you be alright with River for a bit?”
She nods, her posture dripping with self-assurance. “Of course. I like to dance,” she says sweetly.
River loops her arm through Lexie’s. “Come on, babes. Let’s get on the floor and scope out the competition.”
I watch them disappear into the crowd, then make my way toward the back of the manor. Conor’s office is tucked away in a quiet corner, away from the chaos. He’s always in his office during his galas.
I knock once, then push the door open, removing my mask.
He sits behind a massive oak desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’s a big man: broad-shouldered, with silver hair and sharp eyes which have seen their share of trouble.
“Liam Donovan.” He grins, standing and extending his hand. “This is a surprise.”
I shake his hand, then close the door behind me. “Conor. Good to see you, old friend.”
“Likewise.” He gestures to the chair across from him. “Came for the party?”
“In a way.”
“Sit. Drink?” he offers.
“Aye.”
I lower myself into the chair as he pours me a glass of expensive whiskey and slides it across the desk. I take a sip, savoring the sting, then set it down.
“So,” Conor leans back in his chair, “What brings the head of the Irish Family to my humble party?”
I smirk. “Humble. Right.”
He chuckles. “Fair point. But seriously, Liam. You’re not here for the ambiance.”
“I need a favor. And discretion.” I cut to the chase. “There’s a situation. A traitor in my organization. I’m lying low for a bit, and I need a place where no one will ask questions.”
Conor’s expression sobers. “You’ve got it. You know I owe you a life debt, Liam. Your ruthless business practices for the procurement of my manor cannot compare to what you did for me back in Ireland…” He shakes his head. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”
“You’d have done the same.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He sips his whiskey and drums his fingers on the table. “Either way, you’ve got full access to the manor. Anything you need—rooms, food, drink—it’s yours. No questions asked.”
“Appreciated.”
“One other matter, old friend,” I add.
Conor raises a brow with a cheeky grin. “Racking up the favors, are you, Donovan?”
I lean in, matching his grin. “What is the going rate for saving your ass?”
“Unlimited until I repay the favor,” he says, tone light. “What else do you need, my lad?”
I just smile. “I need a plus one while laying low.”
His fingers stop drumming, surprise lifting his brows. “Color me intrigued. Extended relative from the Emerald Isle? Call girl on retainer?”
I fold my hands on the table. “You’ll never guess, O’Connell.”
He laughs. “Alright, alright. Keep your secrets. Just don’t burn down my manor.”
“Oh, I’ll be lightin’ a few fires. But not like that.” I wink.
“More intrigued,” he says.
“Soon.”
I’ll introduce him to Lexie after the ball. By then, I’ll have informed her of my little surprise. Consider this…a holiday stay.
I finish my drink, then stand. “Thanks, Conor.”
“Anytime, Liam. Now go. Enjoy the party.”
The ballroom is a sight to behold.
Frescoes of angels and demons locked in eternal battle paint the ceiling.
Massive chandeliers drip with crystal, which refracts the candlelight into a thousand tiny rainbows.
Mirrors line the walls, making the room feel even larger, and the polished marble floor reflects the dancers like a still lake.
Conor hired a DJ, a professional, and the music is dark and electronic, a techno of sonic brutality and mystique. Instant recognition. Gesaffelstein.
In the center of it all, I find Lexie and River, dancing together and laughing.
I move through the crowd to the DJ, prepared to submit a fitting request for the night. Offer a slower song.
I watch her the whole time. Oblivious to anything but the pleasure of the dance, Lexie moves with a surprising grace. River spins her. Lexie laughs, the sound cutting through the music and straight into my chest.
Finished with the DJ, I stand against one of the pillars, content to watch.
She’s beautiful. Radiant. And for a moment, I let myself…
enjoy it. Enjoy her. How she’s here, safe, happy.
My heart stirs in my chest. I’ve danced with many a woman.
But I’ve never cared to watch one…until Elexia Carter.
Never cared to search for a girl like her.
A woman with such inner grace and passion.
I didn’t think a man like me was allowed a soul. She’s my inconceivable gravity. I never saw her coming, but now I’m caught in her orbit with no way out.
The current song begins to slow to its end. I push off the pillar and make my way through the crowd.
River sees me first and nods, stepping back. “She’s all yours, Donovan.”
I slide an arm around Lexie’s waist, pulling her close. Her body collides with mine, and she whimpers, parting her lips.
“Liam—”
“Dance with me, Darlin’,” I murmur.
She nods, breathless, and I lead her into the dance.
It isn’t a waltz. No, Sleep Token’s “Provider” is something darker, a heavy, atmospheric pulse, vibrating through the marble floor. Possessive and rhythmic, the song haunts with themes of protection and the lengths a man will go to for what’s his.
I may have snooped through her Spotify for her top music selections.
She stumbles at first, her brow furrowing in concentration as she tries to match the heavy, syncopated beat, but I slow my pace, giving her time to find her footing.
“Relax.” I pull her closer. “Just follow my lead.”
She nods, and gradually, she moves with me. Her body fits perfectly against mine, like she was always meant to be here, wrapped in my shadow. Her heat rushes a fever through my blood, a delicate warmth I want to garner and protect like the rarest treasure.
The music swells, the bass dropping into something visceral and deep. I spin her, her skirt flaring out like a silk-wrapped dream, and for a second, I’m afraid she might float away. She laughs, mirth dancing all over her face, and I pull her back in, catching her firmly against my chest.
I ensnare her.
The music slows until we just sway together. Her breath is warm against my neck, her heart fluttering against my chest.
Our lips brush, barely touching, the masks in the way, but it’s enough to level my insides. Her scent is wrapped in perfume, but a little sweetness and coffee, hinting at how she likely tried the tiramisu.
“Liam,” she whispers.
“Aye, Luv?”
“I need a drink.”
I chuckle, low and rough. “Aye. Let’s get you one.”
I lead her off the dance floor, my hand never leaving the small of her back. A swarm of men surrounds River, all vying for her attention, and Lexie shakes her head with an airy laugh.
“No surprise there,” she says.
We approach the bar, and I order a rare Irish whiskey—Redbreast 21, if they’ve got it. The bartender nods and pours me a glass.
“And for the lady?” he asks.
“Vodka on the rocks,” she says.
I raise a brow, but she just shrugs.
The bartender hands her the glass, and she downs it in one gulp.
I blink. “Impressive.”
“Out of my shell. Living in the moment. Brett never let me drink,” she mutters, her lips tugging into a glower. “Didn’t stop him.”
“Did he—”
“Not all abusers use their fists,” she interrupts, her lips pressing tight. She nods for another. “The best ones make you feel like the villain. Or oversensitive drama queen, in my case.”
She downs the next one, but when the bartender offers her another, she says no. Good girl.
Trailing my knuckles along her bare arm, I lower my head to kiss her cheek, my lips near her ear.
“I know villains, Darlin’. I break bread with ‘em, and I bury ‘em. You’re the furthest thing. You’re the absolution I don’t deserve.
And he could never know how to handle a girl who has more heart than he has soul.
So let me be the villain who will love your light and burn the world to keep you safe. ”
She blinks, stares at me, then blinks again. The perceptiveness in her features, the adoration, she accepts me, surrenders to me. When she licks her lips, I’ve never been jealous of a tongue until now.
Finally, she leans in, a little dazed. “Could you pinch me again?”
I take her hand. “No, but let us test how much I may help with your endeavor to live in the moment…out of your shell.”
A spark of mischief flashes there.
I lead her through the manor, past the ballroom, down a quiet corridor lit only by candlelight.
At the end of the hall, I push open a set of French doors, revealing a beautiful stone balcony.
It’s rotund, curved like a half-moon, with ornate railings and stone pillars.
Below, the gardens stretch out in the moonlight, hedges trimmed into intricate patterns, fountains frozen mid-spray, and pathways winding through the shadows.
The February air is cold, and Lexie shivers beside me.
Without a word, I shrug out of my suit jacket and drape it over her shoulders.
She stares at me, her expression softening behind the mask.. “Thank you.”
I pull her close, hands settling on her waist, and she comes willingly. Christ, she’s tantalization and torture. My cock rages, and I damn well know she can feel it.
“I know of another way I can warm ye up, Darlin’,” I murmur, low and rough.
Her lower lip trembles, but she doesn’t pull away. No hesitation. Her breath bursts in little wisps to ghost in the air.
It’s time.
I sweep in
At first, I kiss her soft, tentative, exploratory. Her lips are warm and sweet, and she tastes like vodka and something uniquely her. I cup her face with one hand, thumb brushing her cheek, and I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers.
I swallow her little moan while her hands fist my shirt, but I want more.
I want to be the villain she reads about—the one who doesn’t just beg for her heart, but claims it with every fiber of his being.
I back her up until she hits one of the stone pillars, the cold marble a sharp contrast to the fire between us.
I catch her wrists, pinning her hands high above her head against the stone.
The kiss turns fierce, demanding, and desperate. Her chest heaves, her body shaking with desire. Right here in the moonlight, I bring the dark, inked pages of her books to life. I’m not giving her a story, a fantasy. I’m giving her something real.
The world falls away. The cold. The party. Everything.
It’s just her. Just us.
When I finally pull back, we’re both panting, and her eyes are glassy, her lips swollen.
“How was that for your first kiss, Elexia Carter?” I lower her trembling arms.
She holds my gaze, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, it technically wasn’t my fi—”
I touch my fingers to her lips, cutting her off. “Have you ever been kissed like that?”
Her lashes flutter. She purses her lips, then shakes her head.
“Then,” I say firmly, “it was your first.”
Desire colors her features. Slowly, she nods, licks her lips, then lowers her eyes. To my pants. Christ, this girl.
But then she shivers again, and I frown. “You’re freezing, Luv. Let’s get you back inside.”
I keep her close as we head back into the manor.