Wicked Heat. Kelli Ireland
wild. He paused to trace a finger along a single rose petal before calling out, “I’m all ears.”
“Just forget it.” Her voice was muffled, as if she were in the bathroom.
“Can’t. Sorry. Nature of the beast.”
“Look, bottom line is that I’ve come to believe there’s not a time when being lied to doesn’t matter. If it’s important enough to lie about, it’s important.” She leaned around the corner, inhaling as if to say something else, but her eyes widened and she gasped. “This is the honeymoon suite?” She walked through the room and headed straight out the second set of French doors that led to the expansive deck and the view of the crystalline waters and colorful reefs teeming with sea life. “This is incredible!”
“Almost makes it worth being married.”
She shot him a sharp look. “Consider our marriage annulled.”
“Such short wedded bliss,” he said on a sigh. “I didn’t even get to kiss the bride.”
She laughed, the sound soft but reserved. “You wish.”
“I do.”
This time, she truly laughed. Liam found himself caught between wanting to watch versus taking her mouth with his and swallowing the sexy, sultry sound. He hadn’t realized he’d been waiting to hear her laughter, but he had. She had the kind of laugh that would turn men’s heads, would compel them to seek out the siren responsible. And though he wasn’t one to wager, Liam was absolutely willing to bet Ella was a fun lover, one who laughed when she loved—right up to the point that teasing and laughter were consumed by passion that would be as avaricious as it was unreserved.
Her laughter trailed off, but Liam continued to stare. He couldn’t look away. Never had a woman enchanted him like this, and she’d done it unintentionally and without an ounce of pretension. And suddenly, he had to know—had to fill in a blank his imagination had created.
“What would our kiss have been like?”
Her gaze darted to his, her lips parted and the tip of her tongue swept out and touched the edge of her cupid’s bow. Different emotions ranging from surprise to curiosity flashed across her face, but Liam was most interested in the emotional revelation that struck.
Desire.
He stepped closer and paused, giving her every chance to tell him to bugger off. Instead, she shifted so their hips lined up, her body acknowledging what she verbally denied. “There wouldn’t have been a kiss.”
“You won’t kiss your groom? Rather odd, don’t you think?”
“You’re not my groom.” Her voice was raspy, husky and told him everything he needed to know.
“And you’re not my bride, yet I still can’t stop myself from wondering.”
“Stop putting ideas in my head.”
“Where would you rather I put them?” he teased.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, moving fractionally toward him. “You’re temptation incarnate.”
He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the railing on either side of her. “And what’s your position on temptation?”
“Never turn it down.”
“Why?”
She moved into him, closing that final distance so their bodies touched. One slender hand rested on his chest; the other wound through his hair, gripping just tight enough to exert control. Eyes locked with his, she pulled him toward her at the same time she rose on her toes. “You never know when it might come around again.”
Liam groaned as their mouths came together in a rush of heat and hurry and hunger. There was nothing tentative about the kiss. It would burn hot and then hotter until it became a supernova that consumed them both.
Her body was pliant, yielding to his, pushing back against him in every critical place. Liam wondered that their clothes didn’t turn to ash at every point of contact.
And he wanted more of her, then and there, than he’d ever wanted of another woman.
He hesitated a split second, but it was enough.
Ella broke the kiss, slipped under his arm and took several long strides toward the bedroom. Pausing, she reached down and slipped her heels off. Liam watched as she curled her bare feet into the fluffy rug and then uncurled them.
He couldn’t believe that this woman, this siren, would have toenails painted the faintest seashell pink. It seemed like a secret that he alone knew, and he had the strangest urge to keep anyone else from knowing this tiny private thing about her.
This had to stop.
He hadn’t come here to engage in a tryst. The only reason compelling enough to take him away from the office mid–corporate takeover was his little sister’s well-being. When she’d told him she needed help planning the perfect wedding, he’d met her and her fiancé in London for dinner. The man, semiprofessional baseball player Mike Feigenbaum, had been attentive at first. That had quickly devolved following a phone call the man had taken midmeal—answering without apology and leaving the table without excusing himself. He’d missed most of the main course and had snapped at Jenna when she went to check on him. She’d been upset, and her proposed groom had done nothing to console her. Instead, he’d shown signs of a temper Liam wouldn’t allow Jenna to become tied to.
So he’d flown halfway round the world to stop his sister from marrying a domineering asshole following a whirlwind romance that had been documented by all the gossip rags.
Rolling up his sleeves and strolling with feigned casualness to the hammock, Liam lay down and locked his hands behind his head. He watched Ella from under half-lowered eyelids. She was temptation incarnate. Her body was in lush profile to him, her unapologetic stare locked on his.
“So that’s what our kiss would have been like?” He rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Sufficient.”
She chuffed out a sound of indignation laced with disbelief. “If that driving wood behind your zipper is any indication, that kiss was far more than sufficient.” Bending, she scooped up her shoes. “And seeing as I’ve been more than clear on my lack of appreciation for liars, I’d suggest you cut the crap.”
“Testy.” Liam gently set the hammock to rocking and continued to watch Ella. “Tell me, have you always had this aversion to fibbers, or is this something new?”
“I’ve never been a fan of lying. What’s the point?”
“To get what one wants, I assume.”
Her face closed up, any and all emotion under lock and key. “No matter whom you hurt?”
“Who hurt you?” The question wasn’t meant to be as weighty as it sounded, but Liam found himself desperately wanting to resolve the problem for this fiery woman. It would cost him little and potentially relieve her of some personal baggage.
She looked at him askance, worrying her bottom lip.
“Tell me.”
“Ask nicely,” she retorted.
He waited.
So did she.
Liam rolled his eyes. “Please.”
“You’ve heard of Two Turtle Doves?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a prime-time TV show. I was supposed to be half of it. My business partner sold me out, took our idea to the network and they bought it...without me as a cohost.”
Liam set his foot on the deck and stopped the hammock’s rocking. “Threw you under the bus, did she?”
“He, and yes. Clients followed the fame, and that left me coordinating children’s birthday parties