Pregnant!. Charlotte Hughes
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way could she stop her own tongue from following, into the hot, wet cave beyond his lips. His teeth closed, lightly, and her tongue was captive. And then there was his tongue again, slipping beneath hers in a liquid, oh-so-lovely caress.
Oh, how did he do it? When Finn Danelaw kissed her, she went spinning, deliciously, out of control. His hands moved, pressing, rubbing, down over the curve of her bottom, and back up, insinuating themselves under the hem of her gauzy blouse, so he could rub and stroke her up and down her spine. Her skin burned and tingled everywhere that he touched. His mouth held hers captive as his tongue worked its hot magic. One hand curved possessively at her waist while the other was slipping around to the front of her, then moving, oh-so-slowly down….
And down…
And if they kept on like this, they’d end up stretched out naked on her mother’s driveway.
Uh-uh.
From some source of good sense she’d almost forgotten she possessed, she slid her palms down to his chest and exerted a light but definite pressure.
After a moment, with obvious reluctance, he lifted his head. She saw the white flash of his teeth in the darkness. ‘‘Change your mind?’’
What mind? ‘‘About?’’
‘‘Allowing me to come home with you.’’
She sucked in a calming breath, let it out very carefully and shook her head.
He looked at her for a long moment. Finally he asked with rueful good humor, ‘‘That wasn’t a no, was it?’’
‘‘It was.’’
‘‘How discouraging.’’
‘‘But tomorrow night—’’
His teeth flashed again. ‘‘At last.’’
‘‘You didn’t let me finish.’’ Her lips felt swollen, tender. Hot. She had to resist the urge to raise a hand and touch them. ‘‘I was going to say we’d go to dinner, if you’d like.’’
‘‘Dinner.’’ It clearly was not what he’d had in mind.
‘‘Yes, dinner. We’ll talk. We’ll…enjoy each other’s company.’’
‘‘I’m all for enjoyment, in any form.’’
‘‘It’s a date, then—say seven-thirty, my house?’’
‘‘I’ll be there.’’
She felt his heart beating under her hand. And it was crazy, but she could have stood there forever, with Finn, in her mother’s driveway, surrounded by warm summer darkness, beneath the old oak tree. ‘‘I…well, I guess there are things to be said for relentless pursuit.’’
He caught one of her hands and kissed the tops of her knuckles, causing them to tingle in a heady, lovely way. ‘‘I assure you, my darling, I have only begun to assail the walls around your stubborn heart.’’
Chapter Eight
Liv’s cell phone rang as she was pulling in beneath the carport at the back of her borrowed house on T Street. She dug the thing out of her purse and flipped it open.
The number in the display was to Simon’s cell.
For a moment of which she was not the least bit proud, she considered not answering. Then, thoroughly disgusted with herself, she pushed the talk button and put the phone to her ear.
‘‘Liv?’’
‘‘Hi.’’
‘‘At last, I caught you.’’ He sounded…she couldn’t tell. Worried? Suspicious? Maybe he had read about her and Finn in the tabloids.
‘‘Liv? Are you there?’’
‘‘Right here. And it’s been pretty crazy, since I got back. I should have called you, I know, but I…’’ She what? There was no excuse for not having called him. She finished lamely, ‘‘Well, it’s been such a zoo….’’
‘‘Where are you now?’’
‘‘I just got home—to the T Street house?’’ She pressed her fingers to her lips. It seemed as if she could still feel the hot pressure of Finn’s mouth there. Fifteen minutes ago, in her mother’s driveway, with Finn’s arms around her, she’d felt pretty good about everything. She was finally taking charge, dealing with the mess she’d made in a way that everyone involved—meaning herself and her family and Finn and the baby that might or might not be coming—could accept.
Simon hadn’t figured in the equation. She hadn’t so much as considered him. Which made her feel like something very low—a snail, a slug—something that crawls along the ground and leaves a slime trail.
‘‘Liv, are you all right?’’
‘‘Fine. Really. And where has the future senator dragged you off to this week?’’
‘‘Right here,’’ he said, and again named the hotel he’d mentioned in his phone message yesterday. ‘‘Remember, the rally today?’’
‘‘Oh. Yes. The rally. Of course.’’ The one she’d promised to attend. ‘‘I’m sorry, Simon. As I said, it’s just been—’’
‘‘Never mind,’’ he said glumly. ‘‘It’s okay.’’
They both knew it wasn’t. She asked, too brightly, ‘‘How did it go?’’
‘‘Great.’’
‘‘Well. Hey. Okay.’’
‘‘We’re leaving for Salinas tomorrow. He’s got a speech Wednesday, the UFW branch there. I was hoping, maybe, I could see you tonight.’’
‘‘Ah,’’ she said, as if that were an answer.
He asked nervously, ‘‘Where have you been, anyway?’’
‘‘Dinner. At Mom’s.’’ It was the truth, just not all of it. Oh, she despised herself more by the minute.
‘‘Well,’’ he said, all glumness again. ‘‘It is late. I’m sure you’re tired.’’
No more excuses, she lectured herself. She had to stop putting this off. ‘‘Why don’t you come over.’’
‘‘Right now?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Good,’’ he said, suddenly firm. ‘‘I think I should. I think we need to talk.’’
Simon appeared at the door ten minutes later. Liv saw the paper rolled in his fist and knew he’d been reading about her supposed engagement to Finn.
‘‘The World Tattler,’’ he said, and tried to smile. ‘‘Hot off the presses.’’
The World Tattler was jam-packed with photos of her and Finn at the airport yesterday. The story included the obligatory rehash of the old, sad tale of how her mother, an American heiress of Gullandrian descent, had traveled to the land of her forefathers and met Osrik Thorson, the soon-to-be king. After a whirlwind fairy-tale courtship, they’d wed; she’d borne him five children—two sons and triplet daughters—and then left him, taking the three tiny princesses to raise as Americans. The deaths of Liv’s brothers received mention under the heading, Tragedy Upon Tragedy. And then there was the bit about Elli and Hauk: The Princess And Her Warrior Groom.
And last but not least, the intrepid Tattler staff had managed to dig up a few pictures of Finn escorting past girlfriends. The caption read, Former Flames Of The Playboy Prince. Liv couldn’t help noting that the women were all gorgeous, much better looking than she. One was a fairly well known Danish actress with absolutely spectacular breasts. All the women seemed to glow from within, as