Chapter 53 #2
“I’ll tell you, Maeve. I think you’re afraid to take a leap of … faith, in yourself. To see how you could fashion a new life for yourself, with new rules.”
“You’re wrong,” she protested.
He stood and held his hand out to her. “Come on then. I’ll fetch your suitcase from your car. If this is your last night in Tarrymore, let’s get you a bath, and a bed. Lucy and I will take the sofa.”
She took her whiskey into the bathroom and set it on the sink, stripped, and left her clothes in a pile on the floor.
It took her a good five minutes to figure out the intricacies of Liam’s old-fashioned bath faucets, but once she had, she took her time, standing under the hot water, contemplating what had just happened, and lathering herself with Liam’s magical scented goat’s milk soap.
Maeve had always done her best thinking in the shower. Now, she found herself replaying Liam’s remarks about her aversion to change. He was way off base about that. He was wrong about her, and maybe, since this would be her last night in Ireland, she should prove just how wrong he was.
When she was out of the shower and toweled off, she finished her drink and found herself feeling very nearly human again. She pulled her damp hair into a ponytail and brushed her teeth, and after some hesitation, exited the bathroom, dressed only in her pajama top.
True to his word, Liam was stretched out on the living room sofa, reading, with a blanket pulled up to his chest and Lucy slumbering beside him on the floor.
Maeve held out her hand to him. He looked up, surprised. “What’s this?”
“This is Maeve Dunagin, out to prove a point. Care to join me?”
He scrambled off the sofa so fast he dropped the book on Lucy’s paw and she yelped a protest.
Liam’s bedroom was as tidy as the rest of the cottage, the bed neatly made up with a tufted comforter and fluffy pillows.
The walls were painted a deep forest green and dotted with handsomely framed landscape paintings, and the heavy draperies were a tartan wool. The pine floors gleamed with polish.
Maeve stretched out on the left side of the bed, hoping she looked seductive.
She crooked her finger at him. “You know this is a scene out of every ’50s and ’60s rom-com movie ever made,” she said.
“Virginal Doris Day is forced to spend the night with Rock Hudson. She wears his pajama top, he wears…”
“Nothing at all,” Liam said, dropping his pajama pants onto the floor and climbing onto the bed beside her.
She cast an appreciative eye on his splendid nudity. “Actually, in the movies…”
“You forget I grew up in a family of male chimps,” Liam said. “Raised on a steady diet of John Wayne cowboy movies and Grand Theft Auto video games.”
He reached for her and began to slowly unbutton her pajama top.
She shivered with pleasure as his hands found her breasts. “I don’t believe Rock Hudson ever actually managed to properly seduce Doris Day. Not until after the wedding, anyway.”
“Ahh,” he said. “Those were some dark times.”
Something solid and warm had settled across her feet. She raised her head to see that Lucy was splayed belly-up across the bottom of the bed, snoring softly.
Liam had pulled the bedroom curtains closed the night before, but now a narrow shaft of sunlight shone directly in her eyes.
She leaned over to reach across Liam to retrieve her phone, which rested atop his nightstand.
When she saw the time she bolted upright.
“Nine fifteen? Oh my God.”
“Hmm?” Liam was a side sleeper, it seemed. Now he rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow to face her.
Maeve tugged at the hem of the sheet to cover her breasts, still stupidly self-conscious.
“I have actually seen your bosoms before, you know,” he said, chuckling. “Just hours ago, if I recall.” He winked and traced his fingertip from her earlobe to her neck, to her chest, stopping at her right nipple.
Maeve closed her eyes and sighed as he wriggled closer and kissed the trail his finger had just traced. But then she remembered the time.
She eased out of bed to retrieve the clothes she’d stepped out of the night before, and Lucy took the opportunity to claim the spot she’d just vacated.
Liam sat up and stretched and yawned, and she allowed herself a moment to appreciate the sight of him, bare-chested, hair tousled, eyelids still heavy with sleep.
Enough of the ogling, she told herself, retreating to the bathroom. She turned on the hot water tap and got into the shower.
There was a tube of shampoo on a shelf. More scented goat’s milk heaven.
She was lathering her hair when a thought occurred to her.
Her passport. The only place she hadn’t checked was at the gardener’s cottage.
Could the passport somehow have fallen out of her purse on Wednesday morning while she and Therese were making their command appearance there?
Only one way to find out.
She was out of clean clothes, so she turned her panties inside out and stepped into them and pulled on her jeans.
She looked around the bathroom. Where the hell was her bra?
She pulled on the cream-colored fisherman’s knit sweater that she’d splurged on in one of the village shops.
When she walked back to the bedroom, Liam reached out and attempted to pull her back onto the bed. “It’s still early yet,” he protested.
“It’s after nine. What time do you ordinarily go to work?”
“On Fridays, not ’til noon. Come on, come back to bed awhile, we’ll work up an appetite, then I’ll fix you a proper Irish breakfast.”
“Blood sausage and baked beans?” She shuddered. “No thanks.”
“I’ve bacon from the home farm and I’ll do you a nice fry-up. And there are even scones. My sister-in-law Siobhan is a brilliant baker. And I’ve some lovely raspberry jam.”
She’d already decided not to tell him of her plan to stop by Esme’s on her way out of town. “Can’t. I’ve got to get to the American embassy in Dublin to apply for a replacement passport.”
He ran his hands through his hair, making even more of a mess of it, and she was sorely tempted to change her mind and do as he’d asked.
Instead, she stood up and glanced around the room. There was an overstuffed armchair covered in the same plaid fabric as the draperies, and Liam had neatly folded his clothes and placed them there the night before.
“My shoes,” she muttered. “I can’t find my shoes.”
He got out of bed, still naked, and surveyed the room while Maeve tried unsuccessfully not to gawk at the sight of his well-muscled butt as he knelt on the floor and looked around.
“Here’s one,” he said, holding up her black ballet flat. “I can see the other one under your side of the bed. Have a look.”
Her side of the bed? It had such a cozy ring to it. She looked down and sure enough she saw the heel of her missing shoe poking out from beneath the bed frame. She retrieved it and put it on. “Liam, I really need to head out.”
“Right, but it can wait until after I’ve showered, can’t it? Do you think you could make us a pot of coffee? I really need some caffeine—don’t you? There are pods in a bowl beside the coffee maker. Cream’s in the icebox, sugar in the yellow bowl on the counter.”
He turned at the bathroom door. “Unless you’d care to join me in the shower? I’m practically an expert on scrubbing backs…”
“Some other time,” Maeve said.
While he was in the shower, she took another look around the cottage—not snooping, she told herself, just curious about how an unmarried man could be so neat. She’d noticed Liam’s bed was made—before they toppled into it—and that the sheets seemed freshly laundered. The kitchen was spotless.
Maeve popped a pod into the coffee maker and found a small ironstone pitcher of cream in the fridge. There was a white paper sack on the counter and when she peeked inside, she spotted three scones.
She realized she was starved. She found a knife in a drawer, split the scone in half, and added a spoonful of jam from a jar that sat near the toaster.
After fixing herself a mug of coffee she leaned over the sink to eat the scone, which left crumbs scattered all down the front of her sweater.
Looking up, she saw she was being watched.
Liam leaned against the doorjamb. He was dressed in an olive-green T-shirt and jeans. His hair was still damp from the shower.
“I believe this is yours?” He held up her bra, and she took it from him, mortified.
The bra was damp, and the lace in both of the cups was in shreds.
“I noticed Lucy chewing on something. Sorry about that. I think she’s jealous.
“I’d offer to buy you another, but I don’t know a lot about shopping for women’s lingerie.”
“You never bought a bra for Bonnie?” She grinned as she stuffed the bra in her pocket and returned to her half-eaten scone.
He rolled his eyes. “I did not. Thankfully, Bonnie found me lacking in many ways and departed for greener pastures.
“I love a girl who isn’t embarrassed about having an appetite,” he said, crossing over to where she stood. He kissed her lightly.
“Mmm. Raspberry jam,” he said, helping himself to the other half of the scone.
“It’s heavenly,” Maeve said, handing him a mug of coffee. “Where’s it from? Maybe I could have some shipped home to my aunts.”
“Actually, it’s from the home farm at Tarrymore. One of the volunteers makes it from the raspberry patch there. You can buy jars of it in the gift shop.”
He finished his scone and drank the rest of the coffee. He took his mug and placed it in the sink and Maeve followed suit.
“Well, I’m off,” she said, trying to sound breezy. “Wish me luck at the embassy.”
“I suppose.”
She brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“I’ll walk you out to the car.”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Liam. For everything.”