The Player and the Pixie(28)

“Good.” Oddly, her words didn’t make me feel good.

She gulped half of her third glass, then added with a tad of belligerence, “What do you mean, good? Don’t you want me to like you?”

“Not particularly.”

She stared at me, her eyes the color of the morning sky, and her pretty mouth curved into a sharp frown. “Well, why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t be good for you.”

“How so?” She looked and sounded offended. Her words slurred just a smidge. I glanced between her and the half-empty glass.

Lucy Fitzpatrick was a lightweight. It made sense, though at five foot seven or thereabouts, she wasn’t particularly short, but she was still very slight. Well, aside from her gloriously well-endowed bottom.

Without forethought to my desire for vengeance against her undeserving yet exalted brother, I responded honestly. “Because I’m not good for you.”

“Because you want to have sex with me?” Lucy jutted out her pointed chin with champagne-fueled bravery, her words and the darkening of her eyes catching me off guard.

Lucy Fitzpatrick was full of surprises.

“That’s it, right? You think I’ll grow attached and moon over you like you’re God’s gift?”

I blinked at her, unsure how to respond to this onslaught of brutal honesty. Usually, women weren’t honest with me until the morning after I disappointed them. Sometimes they weren’t honest even then.

Turns out I didn’t need to say anything because Lucy cut me off with a loud, derisive snort.

“As if.” She tossed her hand not holding the champagne into the air as though throwing away the idea of her ever growing attached to me. “I’ve got some news for you, Sean Cassidy. I know I’d be just one of the notches in your bedpost. I have no delusions about meaning something to you. You may be a hot piece of arse, but you’re not the kind women want for anything long-term, not if they’re smart.”

I slid my teeth to the side, was forced to narrow my eyes so I didn’t betray the effect of her words. Lucy’s sloppily tossed gauntlet hit a target she doubtless didn’t realize existed, sending a jarring shock of swelling unpleasantness to the back of my throat, jaw, and the tips of my fingers.

I was a hot piece of arse. This was true. That’s all I was.

Smart women didn’t want anything long-term, not with me. This was also true.

“How observant you are,” I said mechanically, swallowing the rising bitterness. “How very clever.”

Lucy’s frown intensified until I thought she appeared regretful for what she’d said, guilty even. Perhaps alcohol made her mean, or perhaps it simply made her speak the truth.

“Sean,” she began, reaching out to touch my arm, as though to apologize, but I quickly cut her off.

“You’re right, of course.” I gave her a smile I was sure didn’t reach my eyes. “About everything.”

Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths and she stared at me for a long moment before asking, “Why are you this way?”

“You may as well ask, why does a bird fly? It’s in my nature, of course.” I studied the writing on the outside of the champagne bottle, similar sentiments from my childhood playing on repeat between my ears.

You were born this way, Sean.

It’s your parents.

Look at you. You can’t help your nature.

You’ll never be better than the people you came from.

Lucy shook her head slowly as she studied me and parted her lips to speak. But I’d had enough of her mouth for the day, no matter how alluring it was.

“The forecast said there would be rain. We should head back.” I stood, piling the picnic items back into the bag, mentally calculating how quickly I could get back to the beautiful, rich, indolent people I’d abandoned in Spain.

That’s where I belonged.

I did not belong on a sunny hillside in New Hampshire. I did not belong with a tart, odd-haired, magnificently arsed pixie who wore her heart on her sleeve.

My distain for Ronan Fitzpatrick hadn’t waned, but my interest in using or abusing his sister to exact my revenge had entirely fled. And I was abruptly tired.

Tired and cold.

While I packed up, Lucy had stood from the blanket and was hovering at its perimeter, watching me. I bent to retrieve it. She bent in unison, tugging it toward her.

“Let me help,” she said.

“No need.” Distractedly, I surveyed the ground, ensuring I would leave nothing behind.

She tugged harder. “I can fold it.”

“I’ve got it.” I noted the ground was free of debris.

“Let go of the blanket, Sean.”

With what can only be described as an angry yank, Lucy wrenched the blanket from my grip and began to fold it with brutal violence.