Liam’s hand was firm around hers as he led her up the stairs. Which was lucky, because her legs were ridiculously weak—probably because she’d gone from zero to sixty in a crazily short time. In his room, she sank gratefully onto the bed, and he shuffled her across, tucking a pillow under her head. Then he grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed, and pulled it up over them. It wasn’t cold, but it felt good to snuggle in.
“That was…unexpected,” she said.
“Yeah.” He studied her face. “Bad unexpected, or good unexpected?”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
He laughed, and she felt her cheeks get even hotter.
“Good unexpected, then,” he said. “And fast.”
“So freaking good,” she admitted, her voice a little husky.
“I enjoyed it myself,” he said, and she could have sworn he looked proud. Typical man. Although he had every right to be pleased with himself, after that. It felt like the entire area between her belly button and her knees was still humming. She forced herself to think straight.
“Except we’re not supposed to be doing any of this,” she added. “Remember? We’re just making it okay for Sam, until I go.”
He looked away, hesitating, then back again.
“Right,” he said, his tone casual. “But he’s not here. So I thought I’d make it okay for you instead.” He shrugged. “And it seemed like that was okay.”
“You can stop fishing for compliments now,” she told him.
But he just grinned, and tucked the blanket around her.
She looked around his room, which didn’t seem to have changed at all since that summer. Then, with a jolt, it occurred to her that Ethan’s room was just down the corridor. Was it still exactly as he left it, too? She shook the thought away. Because nothing was the same as it had been then…not the important stuff, anyway.
She noticed a worn blue notebook on the nightstand next to the bed, and reached for it, curious. But Liam stretched over her and put his hand on it, and lifted it away.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Just…notes,” he said. “Nothing really.”
She watched as he put it in the nightstand drawer. “Hidden depths, huh?”
“Don’t get carried away,” he told her dryly, and she laughed.
He turned back to lie close to her again, his head propped on his hand, watching her like he was waiting to see what she’d do next. She had no idea—she didn’t even know why she’d agreed to come in for a drink in the first place. Especially when she’d known the drink was just an excuse.
Or maybe she did know why, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself.
And…it hadn’t turned out so bad.
Because he wasn’t just muscle-flexing, guitar-playing, clever-tongued eye candy. Much as she liked all those things—a lot, apparently—he was more than that. She had to acknowledge the way he shouldered life’s painful complications, and his need to do the right thing, even as he frustrated the hell out of her. Despite what he’d just said, there was an intriguing depth to him, a loyalty and moral compass that was very obviously doing battle with their mutual desire. She was feeling the same kind of conflict herself—the push and pull of an unexpected, off-limits attraction—but for him, the stakes were even higher. She wished she could read his mind, figure out how he could swing from practically cursing her name, to lavishing her with the hottest kind of attention. And she still didn’t know why he was even here, back in the bay, at all.
“So…why did you come back, after all this time?” she asked.
He tangled his fingers in the strands of hair that trailed over her shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said. “It just felt like everything reached critical mass, you know? I have this friend, Grant…he builds houses, and I help him out a few times a week. Keeps me from seizing up in front of the computer. I go to the gym, too, but manual labor works out the knots better than anything. In your body and your mind.”
She nodded, running a finger over the curve of his bicep. “That explains the muscles on a confirmed computer geek.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Anyway, we’d just finished building a house for Grant’s brother and his family. And we were all there, having a few drinks to celebrate. And I realized…” He stopped, rubbing the edge of his jaw, where a dark whisker shadow was starting to show.
“What did you realize?”
He cleared his throat. “That everyone was moving on. All around me. Moving forward.”
“And you weren’t?”
“No. Not really.”
She rested her palm on his chest, and he covered it with his hand. Underneath his shirt, she could feel the reverberation of his heartbeat, steady and regular, keeping on.
“So I came back here to…restart,” he said.
“Like your computer.”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “I think some of my coding got messed up.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll live.” He waved a dismissive hand. “What about you, though? How’s your coding?”
That was kind of a complicated question. “I don’t know. I think I’m rewriting it at the moment. Trying to decide what the next lines will be.”
“When you go home.”
He said it matter-of-factly, as though he was totally fine with it. Which was perfectly okay with her. She swallowed, but it didn’t lessen the lump in her throat. She crossed her ankles and pressed her thighs together, trying to stifle the lingering heat where his mouth had been.
He was totally fine. She was perfectly okay.
“I might have a tour to do.” She shrugged. “Still figuring out the details.”
She could be cool about it too. No need to tell him the tour would be opening for a guy who’d dumped her and moved on with someone younger, prettier, and thinner.
But then he was running his hand along the ridge of her thigh, following the curve under the cover-up she was still wearing, over her bare hip and into the dip of her waist. Then back down her leg. Then back up and over the curve.
“I love that,” he said, in an appreciative tone.
“The tour?” she asked. But she knew what he meant. Under his hand, her skin was alive, her nerves humming, waiting for the next place he’d touch her.
That place started up a slow, hot burn of anticipation all over again.
The space between them was suddenly taut with expectation.
“Not the tour,” he said. And he tugged at her cover-up. She wriggled out of it, with his help, and then he reached behind her and undid the strings of her bikini top. When she took it off, her breasts spilled free, and she was entirely naked beside him.
“It was dark last time,” he said, his voice heavy with wonder and desire.
“Now you see me,” she said simply.
He nodded. “I do see you, Jacinda Prescott. I see you. That’s who you are.”
At that moment, she remembered their exchange after he rescued her from under the house, and told her that he knew she was Cin Scott.
No, she’d said. Not here, I’m not. Here, I’m Jacinda. I’m me.
You could be, he’d said.
And now she was. Why had it taken his company, his touch, to bring her back to herself? He resented her, hated what she’d done. And yet…he was caressing her with a tenderness that could only be genuine.
And, he was still fully clothed.
She quit the self-analysis, and focused on the one thing she knew. There was a tall, dark, and stinkin’ hot man in bed with her, and she was wasting time.
“Who I am, is a woman in need of action,” she told him, pointedly grabbing the front of his tank. “And you are a man who’s overdressed.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Am I?”
She worked her way closer, pressing her breasts against him, feeling the heat of his body through the cotton shirt. Then she dragged it upward, and he pulled it over his head. She smiled as he threw the shirt somewhere off the bed, and ran her hands over his broad, sculpted chest, warm as though he was still standing in the sun. Shirtless again. And so completely lickable. But still overdressed.
She tucked one finger into the waistband of his board shorts, but he was way ahead of her. He shucked them off, and then they were gone from the bed too, and she was suddenly on her back, looking up at him. He leaned down and planted a kiss on her exposed throat, sending a shiver through her body.
“Now I’m not overdressed,” he said. “And you’re going to get your action.”
She laughed, but that one kiss had already set her senses alight. “Well, you sure know how to talk to a lady.”
“It’s not about the talking,” he replied, his expression suddenly dangerous. “It’s about the doing.”
And then he was doing all the things she’d thought about over in her bedroom at number ten, all the nights since that first time, intensified by the night she’d walked away drenched with her need for him, her panties in her pocket. If he’d guessed what she was thinking and doing in her room in the dark, while he was lying in this room, not even a stone’s throw away…
His long, elegant fingers were playing across her skin, leaving a trail of blazing sensation. His lips followed, stoking the fires, and she held her breath as he went lower, nearer, closer…and then he was between her legs again, his mouth working the same perfect, dirty magic. As she breathed faster, her body given over to wanton heat and craving, he slipped his fingers inside her, and she moved involuntarily against his hand, matching his rhythm, feeling the rise of something deep and desperate.
“Oh, God,” she ground out, not wanting him to stop, but wanting something else even more. She pulled at his arms, wrapping her legs around him and urging him up. “I want…I…”
He pulled away and dragged open the nightstand drawer, and reached in for a condom. With lightning speed, he had it unwrapped and on, and was back in the exact same spot, oh so ready.
“I like your style,” she teased.
But he didn’t laugh, or shoot back a smart retort. Instead, he looked right at her, straight and level. “I like you.”
In that moment, with the afternoon sun lighting the room, his words counted for more than any grand declaration of love. Something shifted in her heart…a crack in the ice, or the break of a wave. Just like he’d seen her, she saw him too—a decent man watching the world move on while he carried his painful past with whatever grace he could. Sometimes struggling, sometimes failing. She didn’t know if what they were doing counted as a failure, but she wanted to give him something to hold on to. Wanted to be the one he could escape to.
“I like you too,” she whispered. Because she did.
At that, he kissed her, gently at first, then growing more insistent, and she parted her own lips, their mutual confession igniting the kiss into something inflammatory and revealing, any last reticence or resistance gone up in flames. She tangled her legs in his, grinding close, acutely aware of the heat of his tongue, and his rock hard desire against her. She shifted and twisted, hungry for the one thing she needed right now, angling closer to the exact right position to take, and give, what she wanted so badly.
But then he paused, unbearably near and yet so far away. “Seems like maybe we’re not finished after all.”
She writhed underneath him, trying, trying, trying to get nearer. “Cancel what I just said. I don’t like you at all.”
He grinned. “Yeah, obviously.” Then, very slowly, he slid inside her, so easily, but just a little, just enough to bring a moan of pleasure and frustration from her mouth. She lifted her hips, only wanting more of him, overflowing with need and lust and not caring that he knew it.
“Like me yet?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, arching beneath him, forgetting everything but his body under her hands and the desperate need to have him inside her. “Yes.”
The word came out half plea, half demand, and he relented, sinking into her, finally filling her completely, and her head tipped back as sensation overwhelmed her. All the longing and teasing collided in a rush of urgent, ravenous heat, and instantly they were moving together, their rhythm rapidly becoming faster, deeper, more determined. A tiny corner of her brain knew she should slow down, that it would be over too soon, but her body had its own momentum, in tune with his, and there was no putting the brakes on now. She gave in to her own impulses, and his, abandoning any last thought or reasoning, letting them both ride the irresistible, exhilarating wave. Finally, with one last thrust, he came apart, and she felt herself tip over the edge along with him, pulsing around him, the stars bright behind her eyelids, only half hearing the raw, incoherent sounds coming from her own mouth, and from his too.
When they finally came down, back to a blurry, smoldering reality, she was only aware of how tightly they were holding each other, of their hot, damp skin, and the occasional jolt where they were still joined. If the world could be condensed to just this, it would be enough. She closed her eyes again, burying her face in the side of his neck, where his pulse was still pounding. But then he raised himself off her a little, and they looked at each other. And in his eyes, she saw the bare emotion of the moment—his undisguised need and turmoil, and something that looked so real and heartfelt, her own heart tilted in her chest. He touched her cheek, her nose, her lips, as though he was committing every inch of her face to memory, then kissed her fiercely. And she kissed him back.
It was sexy, and strange, and sweet. Never in all these years had she expected to be in this situation with him. Never even thought about it. But now that she was…she liked it. A lot.
“You’re not so bad, Liam Ward,” she told him, faking a surprised voice, her blood still rushing in her veins. “Not. So. Bad.”
But instead of coming back with a smart reply, or a compliment in return, he froze.
“Not so bad,” he repeated, his voice strangely dull, considering what they’d just done.
She dropped the act, a twist of foreboding starting in her belly. “That’s what I said.”
But he suddenly rolled off her and pulled away, putting space between them. She raised herself on one elbow, trying to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at her as he went over to the trash can, then came back. As he pounded his pillow into shape and lay down, she only just heard him mutter, “Except I am.”
Surely he wasn’t serious. “Well then, we must both be,” she replied, the twist turning into a knot.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Because we shouldn’t be here.”
No. Not this. She felt rebellion rise from somewhere. “Can’t we try to be happy?” She nudged him. “Don’t we deserve that?”
He didn’t say anything, and she felt anger creeping in. No way was she letting him back out on her again without explanation. They’d had a glimpse of something hopeful, and all she wanted was to cling onto it, like a life preserver in a wide, stormy sea. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, be one of his failures.
“Even if we don’t deserve it, we have to decide,” she said. “Either we’re doing this, or we’re not.” The words were a gamble she had to take.
But he stared at her in the shuttered light, his eyes so deep blue they were almost black. “We’d better not then.”
She tried to breathe away the jagged feeling in her ribcage. “If you want it that way.”
It was time to go. She couldn’t bear to get all attached like this, and then have him pull out with an attack of the guilts. She was only just keeping her own under control. And she couldn’t go any further down this path, and then lose him. Those depths of his were turning out to be over her head. She started to search around under the blanket for her bikini.
But he took hold of her chin, making her look at him. “I don’t want it that way,” he said.
His voice was hard and sharp, the sound of someone who’d been through hell and hadn’t yet made it out the other side. But the words made a foolish hope flicker in her heart.
“What do you want then?” she asked sharply. “Because until today, it seemed like I was the last thing you wanted, even when you had me.”
One corner of his mouth twisted upward, in a dark half-smile, and he shook his head. “Do you know why I didn’t go looking for Ethan?”
“You said your dad wanted you to wait for him at home.”
“He was wrong. I could have gone. I should have. But I didn’t, because…” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the pain she saw in them made her heart twist. “Because I was secretly pleased you’d left him. Because I was jealous.” He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Because…I was in love with you.”
She could hardly drag in a breath. He’d already confessed to wanting her, but love? She’d always known that Ethan hadn’t felt that way—and she’d never lamented the absence of the ‘L’ word, because it was obvious from the start. They’d been a fling. A summer fling, on the edge of adulthood. Love hadn’t come into it.
She looked at Liam. He was still staring upward, his jaw tense, his brows darkening his face. “If I hadn’t been so fucking wrapped up in myself, so wrapped up in my brother’s girlfriend...” He stopped, then blew out a breath. “He’d still be alive.”
Her chest was one giant knot of conflicting emotions. “You were in love with me?”
He passed a hand over his face. “Yes,” he said, in a resigned voice.
She didn’t even know where to start processing what he’d said. Because of his feelings for her, he hadn’t gone looking for Ethan until it was too late. He was still carrying the blame for his brother’s death, and guilt about his feelings for her. All of it still real and raw.
And he’d been in love with her.
“Ethan was never in love with me,” she said. “He was only playing around.”
At her words, Liam flinched. She knew it was all kinds of weird to be talking about his brother like this, when they were in bed together, after everything they’d done. But she had to say it.
“If it hadn’t been for the baby, it all would’ve been so simple. Ethan would have gone to university in Sydney, and I guess I would have missed him for a while. But I would have stayed and finished school on the Other Side, and then gone home to the States again. And we both would’ve moved on.”
“But that wasn’t what happened,” he said, his voice flat.
“No. But it’s not your fault.” She wanted to shake him. “You can’t spend your life second-guessing and blaming yourself.”
“Yeah, sounds easy when you say it,” he said, the bitterness obvious in his voice. “Try living it for a while. For ten years.”
She let the barbs lie where they fell. “I can see why you’d hate me now.” She paused for a minute, figuring out exactly what she wanted to say. “I’ll walk away if that’s the right thing to do. But even without me in the picture…Ethan wouldn’t want you to live like this.”
At that, he exhaled a heavy breath. “Ah, fuck.” He blinked, and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I don’t hate you.”
“Sometimes it seems like you do.” She frowned. “And then you have a temporary change of heart.”
He rolled toward her and took her face in his hands, threading his fingers in her hair. The intensity she saw in the deep blue of his eyes sent a shiver down her back.
“Just before,” he said, in a low voice. “You asked what I want.”
She nodded. “Do you even know?”
“I do.” His gaze didn’t waver as he answered. “I want to know if we can make it okay for us, too.”