Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(62)

“I know, right. It’s so weird, how people see something like that—like royalty, or like a TV show—and want it to be totally real. As if it really is just some fairy tale. It’s a fantasy. We had our moments with the show—I think my family still does, for sure—but it’s got to be worse when you’re an honest-to-God royal.” She paddles on her back, and I stretch out and kick, so I can stay beside her. “How did your family come to power anyway? Anointed by the faeries?”

I can’t help smiling. “What do you think?”

She reaches out and thumps my bicep. “Tell me. I don’t know, you goose.”

“A war,” I tell her, smiling at the audacity of being called ‘goose’. “In 1494, the island was sparsely populated. A few dozen what you might call Irish lived here, descendants of those who came in the twelfth century. There were also several Scottish clans—war-like groups of people who had been here when the Irish arrived, run out of Scotland, most of them. But the Irish and the Scottish Gaels had made their peace, and even intermarried some. And then, in late 1494, the English came, under Henry VII. My family’s clan, the Gaels, was a mixture of wild Scots and the immigrating Irish, who’d intermarried. They were settled near Clary.

“The legend goes, my many-times-great grandfather, the leader of the clan, rode across a bridge on horseback, leading an army, and defeated the small group of English. Mind you, they weren’t necessarily here to fight.” I arch my brows, and Lucy shakes her head, smiling just a little like she finds all this amusing.

“There’s a volcano on the mountain range, don’t know if you noticed, but no one knew at the time it was inactive. My grandfather and his crew wailed on the English, then retreated—screaming about the volcano erupting. So the legend goes, it was a dark day, with very dark clouds. The English bought it, and they made a hasty exit. From that point forward, the other clans revered him. And so he became the King of Gael. His son perpetuated the myth by sucking up to the regional religious powers, which by the time of the fifteenth century did include some Catholics.”

“So that’s all you are then,” she says, smiling a little. “You’re the descendant of a clever warrior.”

“You’re telling me you’re not impressed?” I tease.

“Oh, I’m impressed. But not with your family tree.” She treads closer, swimming right in front of me. Her pink mouth is so close, it looks so soft. Her eyes are fixed on mine, unwavering and…interested. As if she finds everything about me worthy of her contemplation. As if she wants me to kiss her.

I can’t help leaning in and closing the distance between us.

My mouth on hers is soft at first, until I feel her hand glide up my shoulder. Then I can’t hold back. She feels so good. She tastes so good.

We kiss until we’re almost drowning, until our legs are tangled. Until I’m hard as fuck and want to bury myself in her. Christ, I need her.

But it’s me who pulls away. I’m aching, my cock pushed against the prison of my boxer-briefs. I can barely keep myself afloat.

Lucy’s cheeks are flushed, her dark hair tangled all around her face. She’s breathing hard. That’s all I hear as we float two feet apart, just the gentle lapping of the water at our shoulders and our heavy breaths.

I push a lock of my own hair out of my face and shake my head, trying to think of something that will get my dick deflated. A bead of water rolls down Lucy’s throat, and my cock twitches. “Fucking aye.”

She reaches for me, her hands closing on my biceps. “You floated away.” She laughs.

I laugh along with her, even though it’s strained.

She runs her hand down my chest and looks into my eyes. “I shouldn’t be this way with you. I said I wouldn’t be,” she tells me in a husky voice. “So why am I?”

I bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss her fingers. “I don’t know, Lucy. Why are you?”

“I like you…I think.” She looks thoughtful. So thoughtful and cautious, her face makes me want to make her smile. I reach out, thumping her little nose. “You only think?”

Her cheeks redden, and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I stroke her cheek. “Then let me see if I can make you know.”

I take her mouth again, wrapping my arms around her back while I kick, propelling us both toward the dock.





TWENTY-THREE Lucy





This is not good.

So not good.

Not good at all.

That’s all I can think as Liam and I walk hand in hand back toward the tree-houses. His bicep brushes my shoulder as we move.

I’m wearing his shirt, and Liam is wearing his pants. My clothes are slung over his right shoulder, dripping down his chest and back. I had my underwear on, but they were wet and cold, and Liam convinced me to shed them. His shirt is so long, it covers everything, and anyway, he promises there’s no one on this island right now but the two of us.

When we first set off from the dock, he noticed me acting shy—I guess that’s how I was acting—and instead of teasing me about my modesty, he looked into my eyes and kissed me lightly on the lips, and since then, I swear he’s been a little softer: the way his big hand curves around my own, the way his gaze searches my face every so often, checking on me—or so it feels.