I was standing in the most amazing bathroom I’d ever been in, holding hands with a man I despised, trying to persuade Ms Egalldottir that we were engaged so thathewould be able to buy the place for whatever nefarious plans he had. Because, let’s face it, there was no way I could outbid him. But I could outmanoeuvre him.
“How lovely. How long have you been together?” Ms Egalldottir beamed at us. “I adored planning my wedding. It was such a lovely thing to do.”
“Six months.” May as well as stick to something factual. “Liam had an event at my friend’s restaurant and it all started from there.” I pulled my nails from his skin. Slightly.
Liam looked at me, a big, beautiful smile on his face, but I could see the hatred in his eyes.
I smiled back as adoringly as I could muster.
“Pretty much love at first sight.” His words were covered in sugar. The fake kind.
“Where are you getting married?”
Interesting. Where would I like to get married? I definitely wasn’t planning another wedding, although none of the three I’d had were big events.
“We’re looking at here, in Iceland,” I hoped Liam was listening. “Part of the reason we’re out here is to find a venue.”
“You could get married here! My! My husband would’ve adored that! He was such a romantic. How was your proposal?” She rubbed her hands together and I felt bad that we were deceiving a lady who appeared to be actually quite lovely, if a little mad.
I looked up at Liam, who was playing the part rather well. “You tell her, honey.”
He let go of my hand, prising his fingers from mine, and wrapped his arm around my waist, putting his hand in my jeans’ pocket and slightly squeezing my ass. Clearly two could play at this game.
“I had the ring for a while. Even though we hadn’t known each other that long, I knew she was the one, but I hadn’t found the right time or what I thought was the right time.”
He paused and I wondered exactly where this story was going to go. I’d expected him to fumble over the words and come out with some brief outline of a proposal he’d seen in a movie, but it sounded like we were in for a new fairy tale.
“We had gone for a walk one evening – September seventeenth it was – just along the Thames. It was a really clear night, even with all the city lights you could see the stars. We sat down on a bench just past the Millennium Bridge on the South Bank and Sophie was laughing at something someone had said that she was telling me about. I just knew that it was the right place and the right time, so I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. Thankfully she said yes.”
He gave me a look that most women would dream of and squeezed my ass again.
For a second, I felt myself melt. He’d just described the sort of proposal I would’ve dreamed of, had I wanted a proposal. Which I didn’t, so I didn’t melt. I wrapped myself into his chest, pushing my tits against him and sliding my hands up his rather well muscled chest. I’d seen him in the pools, so I knew what was under there. I pushed a little closer with my groin, just to make things more awkward for him, and felt something I wasn’t expecting.
He was hard.
This was going to be gold.
“I can see this would be the perfect home for you. I dreamed that it would be sold to a young couple who were as in love as me and my husband were. Let’s carry on looking round and then you can get back to doing more important things to each other.” She giggled.
This little old lady with the blue rinse actually giggled at her own inappropriate joke and then wandered out of the room into the hallway and towards the other side of the house which was almost a separate building in its own right, designed to host other people and give the people using the master suite privacy. It would also make an amazing set of treatment rooms.
“You’re playing with very hot fire.” Liam breathed into my ear and then nipped my earlobe.
It was my turn to giggle. A reflex. My ears were one of those places I didn’t like to be touched, unless someone was going to touch somewhere else shortly after.
“You have no idea how much I burn.” I pushed a hand under his T-shirt and started to use my fingers to count exactly how many abs he’d acquired with all the free time being a rock star gave him.
Eight.
There were exactly eight defined areas. I resisted the temptation to say each one in the style of The Count from Sesame Street.
“I’m guessing you burn enough for your nipples to be on the hard side right now.” There was a touch of a London accent in his voice that I hadn’t picked up on before.
“You’re a mighty fine piece, Liam Rosehill.” I moved my hand away, slowly, making sure to linger just above the top of his jeans. “But you’re a piece I wouldn’t tap.”
His hands were on my hips, stopping me from moving back. “Noted, Sophie Slater. And trust me, the invitation to tap this won’t be extended to you.”
I felt the air of his words against my scalp, the whisper of them doing something it shouldn’t do between my legs.
