Page 46 of House of Royals

Sometimes the past repeats itself.

“She left Mississippi at the end of the summer and headed to Colorado for school,” I continue the story, trying to push away the complicated feelings I have when it comes to my father. “She wanted to be a vet and they have this amazing school. It was nearly half way through the first semester before she’d admit that she was pregnant. She quit going to school after only one semester there so she could support me.”

“She sounds like a good woman,” Ian says quietly.

“She was.” I pour the wet and the dry together and mix in the coconut and the chocolate chunks.

“You’re lucky.” That tone in his voice carries a lot of weight.

“I’m sorry your parents fought so much,” I say. “I can only imagine.”

“It was ugly,” he says. He hoists himself up onto the counter and crosses his ankles. “I think Mom had all these big dreams of what she’d do with her life. She wanted to be somebody. But then she met my dad, fell enough in love with him, married him, and got pregnant right away with me. She knew she had to take care of me and Dad, and I think she kind of resented that.”

“That’s awful,” I say as I roll the dough into little balls. “Couldn’t she do both? Follow her dreams and have a family?”

“I guess she didn’t feel that way,” Ian says with a shrug. “I don’t think they planned on having more kids, but then Elle came along.”

“I guess we’re both a little broken, huh?” I say as I slide the baking sheet into the oven.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” he says with a sad smile.

“You’re a strong person, Ian,” I tell him quietly and seriously.

“So are you, Liv.” I look up into his eyes and there’s depth and sincerity there. There’s also a tiredness that’s come from always being what I just told him he was.

He slips off the counter, his thigh sliding down mine in the movement, catching my towel and dropping it to the floor. But Ian’s eyes don’t dip, don’t search my body. They stay locked on my eyes.

Slowly, his hands rise to softly rest on my cheeks. He brushes his left thumb over my cheek. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.

“It’s all very tragic, you and I,” he breathes quietly. His gaze is intense and deep. “I’m the enemy of a House you won’t be able to run from. I stand for what I stand for, and we can’t deny what you will become one day.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but suddenly there’s a sharp pain in my chest. “It’d be easier to walk away now, wouldn’t it? Before this goes any further. Just call it done.”

“There’d be nothing easy about it,” Ian counters, shaking his head. I realize he’s taken a step forward, pushing me back toward the bar. “It’d be extremely painful. But it’s what should happen.”

“But…” I whisper. My eyes are locked on his lips. My nerve endings are sizzling to life. There’s an electric storm in my lower belly.

“But I just can’t.”

I don’t know if it is him or me that closes the distance between our lips, but instantly it’s gone. They’re fierce, and demanding, and frantic. There’s no distance between our bodies and my back is being pressed against the bar. Ian’s center is pressed against mine and I’m sure I’m going to loose my ever-loving mind into blissful obliteration.

Skin to skin. It’s a maddening, beautiful thing.

Ian’s hands clamp around my hips and he hoists me up onto the counter, wedging himself between my knees.

There’s no walking away from this.

Ian’s lips trail from my mouth down to my neck. My head falls back with a sigh as I expose more territory for him to claim.

“We should stay away from each other,” Ian growls into my skin, even as his right hand trails from my neck, down my arm, over my thigh. He wraps his fingers around my ankle.

“We’re going to be enemies someday,” I manage through my quickened breathing.

Ian kisses his way across my throat and then back up to my lips. “But damn, there’s no time like the present.”

A smile crosses my lips as they are consumed again. Ian slides me back on the counter. My butt catches something and the mixing bowl with the rest of the cookie dough goes flying to the ground. Ian places a knee on the counter, hoisting himself up, pressing my body back onto the countertop. I hit something else, and the open container of sugar crashes to the floor.

Ian places a hand next to my head to support himself and smashes an egg. But neither of us cares too much, apparently, because our lips never part. My hand is exploring the wonderland of Ian’s torso, and his other hand is snaking its way around my bare back.

---