Summer Cursed

“Another gift? Why is this one separate?”

He shifted closer to me. “It’s special. I didn’t want to share it with the others,” he said, his voice low.

“Thank you.”

“You haven’t even opened it yet.”

I tore off the paper and squealed with delight at the copy of Jane Eyre I’d been reading the first time I’d come to see him.

“Oh, Liam! How did you know?” I asked, flinging my arms around him. A little embarrassed by my reaction, I unwrapped my arms from his neck and studied the cover.

He kept his arm around my back. I was far too aware of his touch, his warmth. What is it about you, Liam Fraser? I thought as I glanced at his face.

“You were reading it when I walked in that day. And then you were so enamored by the original in my collection I thought you’d like it.”

“That’s why it wasn’t there the next time.”

“Right.”

“Thank you. Really.” I leaned over to kiss him. I meant for it to be light and quick but the instant my lips touched his, I lost myself.

When the kiss ended, he kissed the tip of my nose before settling back into his seat.

“Where did you get this copy? I’ve never seen it before. And I’ve been hunting down as many copies as I can for years.”

He smiled. “I’ve had a lot of friends in my lifetime. Some of them made beautiful things for me.”

“Uh-huh… Is that your way of saying you knew Charlotte Brontë?”

He grinned. “It’s my way of saying: Happy birthday, Red. I hope you like your present.”

“Mm-hmm,” I grunted, picking up the cake. A moan escaped me when the sweet frosting and fluffy cake hit my tongue.

“This has to be the best cake I’ve ever had. Where’d you get it?” When Liam didn’t answer I gave a little laugh. “You have a baker on staff, don’t you?”

“I do,” he said with a shy smile. It was the most vulnerable I’d ever seen him.

“You think I judge you because of your wealth.”

“Don’t you?” He leaned forward, stopping only when his face was a breath away from mine. I stayed perfectly still, waiting for his next move. When his tongue slipped out to lick icing from the corner of my mouth, my eyelids fluttered for a second.

“No, I don’t,” I said breathlessly. “Your money was never part of why I hated you. I don’t care about money.”

He looked at me as if I were under a microscope. “You really don’t.”

“No.”

“Okay. Good to know. So, what would you like to know about me? That’s the real purpose behind you wanting to talk, isn’t it?”

He had an uncanny way of reading me. It should have made me uneasy, but I found it comforting. We fell into an easy conversation. We answered each other’s questions—though he kept his answers vague. We laughed at each other’s stories and shared a few poignant moments from our lives. Before I knew it, it was two in the morning.

I was exhausted, but I didn’t want the night to end. I gladly snuggled into him as he wrapped his arm around me. When I shivered, he pulled me in closer. His scent overwhelmed my senses, but I was too tired to do anything about it except close my eyes and breathe him in.