The Player and the Pixie(26)

I wanted to bite her smooth skin. My teeth ached to sink into her flesh. Lick it. Grab it. However, experience told me women of her kind didn’t like large men biting, licking, or grabbing them. They liked soft, coaxing caresses, gentle words, and a soothing hand. They liked dark rooms where they could pretend I wasn’t quite the frightening giant I was in reality with all the lights on.

“We’re close to the summit.” Lucy shaded her eyes and looked at me, her chest rising and falling with gasping breaths. “How can you not be tired? This hill goes straight up.”

I shrugged. “I work out sometimes.”

She threw her head back and laughed, her open palm falling to her thigh with a smack.

I liked the sound. Without thinking too much about it, I tried to get her to do it again. “Not very often. Just once or twice a day.”

“Is that so?” Her lips curved, her smile glorious. “What kind of work outs do you do? Hill climbing?”

“Yes, mostly. I have a hill all my own in Ireland.”

“I bet you run to the top of it and yell, ‘I’m the king of the world!’”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It would frighten the sheep.” And enrage the ape.

“Oh, you have sheep on your hill?”

Now we were walking side by side. I reached out to help her over a steep spot.

“Yes. The hill is full of sheep, but they’re not my sheep.”

“You don’t like sheep?”

“I prefer dogs.”

Lucy stumbled. I caught her before she slipped, bringing her against my side. “Careful, the rocks are loose here.”

“Got it.” She nodded and set me gently away, reaching for a tree branch to steady her. “So you like dogs?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” I figured there was no harm in discussing my domestic animal preferences. Many people liked dogs. “What’s the name of the charity you work with?”

Her eyes darted to mine, then away. “It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t know why Rick even brought it up.”

“What kind of work do they do?”

“It’s the Animal Haven Shelter, a no-kill shelter for abandoned animals in New York City. Annie lets me highlight it on the blog and we do a fundraiser. I volunteer sometimes. Like I said, no big deal. So . . .” I heard her sigh, the sound telling me this topic made her uncomfortable. “Look. We’re here.”

Lucy jogged a few paces ahead and away from me, slowing her steps as she crested the hill. I caught up quickly, but my steps faltered when I reached the top, the full view finally coming into focus.

Silence fell between us. Separately, yet together, we absorbed the splendor of the valley. Broderick had been right, but he’d also been wrong. The view was a lot more than merely awesome. It was extraordinarily magnificent.

The lakes glittered beneath us, dotted with pinpricks of light from the mid-afternoon sun, sapphire blue, serene, and calm. Lush, green trees lined the bank, intensifying the colors of the cloudless sky and tranquil water. The beauty was both at hand and at a distance, and it was breathtaking.

I became aware that Lucy’s fingers were threaded with mine when she squeezed and pulled me some steps closer to the edge of the bluff. I had no idea who had reached for the other, only that we were now touching and her hand was cool and soft.

“See?” I whispered. “I told you it was nice.”

Lucy turned a disbelieving face toward me. Though she smiled, the way her nose wrinkled told me she thought I was mad. “Nice? This isn’t nice. This is fucking gorgeous.”

I chuckled at the dichotomy of her exuberance. “You’re right, Lucy. Please forgive me. It’s fucking gorgeous. Well said.”

She nodded, her smile wide and impish. “I never get tired of hearing those words.”

“It’s fucking gorgeous?”

“No. You’re right, Lucy.”

Now I did laugh. She joined me as she released my hand, making a grab for the basket. “I’m starving. What’s in here? Steak? Beef jerky? Veal?”

“No. No meat.” I shook my head, watching her as she pulled out the blanket, let it fall to the ground, and rummaged through the basket. The truth was, I couldn’t find any meat at the retreat, so I had to settle for strawberries, kale salad, and feta bites . . . whatever the hell those were.

Lucy extracted the champagne and examined the label, then gave a low whistle. “Cripes, Sean. This is no way to detox.”

“If detoxing doesn’t include a steady diet of alcohol and steak, then I guess I’ll always be somewhat toxic.”

“Hmm,” she replied noncommittally, not looking up from the bottle. Placing the basket on the ground next to the blanket, she peeled the foil away from the cork. “So why do you like dogs?”