Blink. Liberty squinted through sleepy eyes, near blinded by the sunshine washing her bedroom with its glorious light. Mmm … what a wonderful dream, she thought with a lazy stretch in her bed, eyelids sinking closed as memories of Finn’s kisses heated her body more than the shaft of daylight warming her skin.
It was official—Finn wanted to court her, and although it would be her father’s worst nightmare—which he’d surely fight till the end—for Liberty, it was a life-long dream come true.
Mrs. Griffin McShane.
A dreamy sigh wisped across her lips as she replayed last night at the Poppys’. Yes, they had some issues to work out, certainly, but this was the man she had pined for since the age of twelve, and Liberty had never been surer of anything in her life.
Breathing in the crisp morning air, she reveled in the heady scent of leather and lime as more memories fluttered her stomach. Besides, keeping their relationship secret for three months would be fun, she’d argued last night, as long as they could still meet to wrap up festival business and propose a plan for next year. A slow smile wended its way across her lips as she thought of the possibilities. Innocent meetings that would benefit both the city and them, affording valuable time to iron out any kinks in their relationship. With another languid stretch, she turned on her side.
After all—what could possibly go wrong?
A strong arm looped her waist, dragging her close. “Mmm … mornin’, darlin’.”
Libby froze before she screamed and vaulted from the bed, body shaking while she snatched the sheet off of Finn McShane. “Sweet m-mother of mercy,” she rasped, body woozy and mind even worse, “what are you doing here?”
Bleary-eyed beneath a haphazard quilt, Finn lumbered up with a hand to his head. “What the—” Rubbing his eyes, he blinked up at Libby, groggy gaze spanning wide at her state of undress. His face leached as pale as the sheet she clutched to her chest. “Blue blistering blazes … it’s not a dream!” he whispered in a hoarse morning voice as rough as the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. His Adam’s apple ducked hard while his gaze wandered from her disheveled hair spilling over bare shoulders down to her bare legs and back up, his grin growing along with the whites of his eyes.
Libby faltered back, fingers quivering as she clutched the sheet around her body. Her gaze darted frantically around the room. “And this isn’t my room—it must be the Poppys’ guest room, so what on earth happened, Finn?” Her throat convulsed as she stared, cheeks on fire while she wagged a trembling finger between them. “Oh, sweet mother of mercy, we didn’t … did we?”
Finn lumbered up to sag against the headboard, muscled chest bare and eyes closed while he kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Well, it sure seems like we did in my dream, darlin’”—he lowered his fingers to stare at his left hand where a wedding band gleamed bright in the morning sun. Glancing up, he managed a wince of a smile—“so maybe so?”
Her hands flew to her mouth in horror, belly quivering at the thought she’d just spent the night with Finn McShane. “Holy heavenly host—what are we going to do?”
He scooted to the edge of the bed with a sheepish smile, wrapping the quilt around his middle before tugging her to sit on his lap. “Well, for starters,” he whispered, voice husky while he lifted her hand to graze the wedding band on her finger, “I’m going to kiss my wife.” And before Liberty could utter a single word, he disarmed her with a playful tug of her lip while slowly easing her back on the bed, devouring her with a kiss that swirled a dangerous heat in her middle. “Great day in the morning, but I love you Mrs. Liberty Margaret McShane, and Mrs. Poppy was right—that three months did go by in a blink.”
Liberty gaped, confusion fluttering her lashes as much as Finn’s kiss fluttered her stomach. “But … but … I don’t understand—how did this happen?”
Chuckling, he settled back against the headboard again, hooking her close to his side while he feathered the strands of her hair with his fingers. “Not exactly sure, Libs, but I have a sneakin’ suspicion an excessive amount of poppy seeds may have been involved.”
Liberty spun around to face him, eyes wide. “Oh my goodness, that’s it! I remember reading an article at Vassar once, about certain poppies that are harvested for opium, and I think it said poppy seeds from Spain were particularly powerful.”
“Which is why I dreamed Pastor Poppy married us last night, darlin’.” The edge of his lips crooked while he lightly traced the line of her bare shoulder with his fingers. “No wonder Mrs. Poppy wins the baking contest every year.” His smile faded to soft as he nuzzled her mouth. “Are you sorry, Libs?” he whispered, skimming her jaw to gently suckle the soft flesh of her ear.
A tiny moan escaped as her eyelids drifted closed, the prospect of being Finn’s wife suddenly feeling so right. Memories of his tenderness last night, his kisses, his lovemaking purled through her brain, potent and strong, and her breathing shallowed. She opened her eyes to cup his bristled cheek. “No, Finn, I’m not. Somehow I feel … well, like I’ve been set free, you know? As if I’m ready to embark on a new adventure where I can be the woman I’ve always dreamed I could be.”
A twinkle lit in his eyes as he teased her lip with another tug of his teeth. “My wife?”
“Finn McShane!” She attempted to wrestle him away, but he only laughed, pinning her to the bed with a perilous gleam in his eyes. “But the smartest, prettiest, feistiest wife any man ever had.” He lowered to kiss her long and slow before rolling to his side and pulling her along. Buffing her arm, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “The truth is that I feel freer too, Libs, like all this time I’ve just been waiting for my life to start—with you.”
Tap-Tap-Tap. “Uh … Libby darling, Finn …” Mrs. Poppy’s loud whisper was laced with concern. “It seems we have a slight problem …”
Finn grinned as he buried his lips in her neck. “Not from where I’m lying,” he said softly, drawing her body flush with his.
“Me either …” Libby’s voice was breathless, her tummy tumbling along with her heart.
“Liberty Margaret O’Shea—you come down here this instant!”
Libby jolted straight up in the bed, the sound of her father’s shout causing her stomach to swoop in a whole ’nother way. “Uh-oh.” She gulped, voice shaky. “Uh, please tell Papa we’ll be right down, Mrs. Poppy.”
“Certainly, dear.”
“Oh, and ma’am?” Finn called with a grin, giving Libby a wink. “Dish him up some of that poppy-seed ice cream with a big ol’ piece of your famous cake, if you will, along with a nice, big cup of your tea.” He eased Libby over on her back with a wicked smile. “Because I have something to say to my wife first”—his voice lowered to husky as he skimmed her throat with his mouth—“and do.”
Libby’s contented sigh met his when he kissed his way back up to capture her lips with his own. “Happy Independence Day, Mrs. McShane,” he whispered against her skin, “because we’re finally free to start our life together. Although I’m pretty sure the fireworks display today won’t compare to those we saw last night.”
Libby’s cheeks warmed along with her body. “That was yesterday, Mr. McShane,” she said with a dreamy smile, “today is the 5th of July.”
Finn deposited a kiss to her nose, then headed south to nuzzle the curve of her neck. “That may be true, darlin’,” he said with a chuckle, feathering the length of her collarbone with his mouth before lifting his head to give her a wink. “But something tells me loud and clear, Libby McShane”—he gently grazed her lips before delving in deeper—“the fireworks are just beginning.”