“Then why can’t you seem to actually remember it?” I squeak and try to pull my body away from his grip—and fail, again.
“Someone doesn’t sound drunk anymore.” I hear Dani speak but I don’t take my gaze off Liam. “She does look it though.” She muses on a laugh, which finally gets my eyes to snap to hers.
“I’m fine! I just had a few glasses of wine and I haven’t eaten much. But, I most definitely am not drunk. I think I would know if I was drunk.”
Okay, so that’s a lie. I might not be drunk, but I am definitely slightly past tipsy. Dealing with Liam—or rather my attraction to Liam—is hard enough for me on a good day, when I’m completely sober. But with this amount of wine flowing through my body, I just can’t trust myself.
It’s taken everything I have to keep him, and his obvious interest, at bay for the last couple months. When he’s around he goes out of his way to get me alone and lay it out. He wants me.
“You look stunning when those shadows aren’t rolling around your shoulders,” Liam whispers, his lips press close enough to my ear that I can feel his words one by one against my skin.
I shiver, his words hitting me close to home, but the tone causing me to forget I should be pushing him away. Especially when he’s talking about things that he has no business speaking about.
“I’m fine,” I stammer.
“Yeah, darlin', I know you are.”
His eyes keep their hypnotizing hold on my own. I hear Dani excuse herself. I don’t turn to watch her disappear in the lingering crowd of party-goers that are still left milling around. The music is still floating in the air around us. As I look into his eyes everything around me feels like it’s . . . alive. It’s a feeling that I’ve been missing for the last few years. A feeling that only comes to visit when I’m with my daughter, or until recently, when Liam Beckett is in the same room. It’s a feeling that, even though I shouldn’t, I feel guilty for allowing myself to enjoy.
Whether it’s the wine, the fact that Molly left a few hours ago with Dani’s parents, or the man standing in front of me, all I know is if I don’t hold on to this feeling for as long as I can right now, I’ll regret it for years to come.
“Megs,” he says on a sigh, his fingertips digging in and his eyes swirling with a rich hopefulness that turns those golden flecks you can normally see swimming in his brown eyes into a burning fire lighting his gaze.
Hungry eyes.
I don’t think. If I had given myself just a second to process my next move, I’m sure I would have backed out of his hold and run as fast as I could to my car. But, I didn’t think, so my next move was pure, one-hundred-percent Megan. But not the Megan I’ve been for the last couple years since my husband died. No, this Megan feels like I’ve finally dug myself out of those ashes I’ve been living in since my life burned up around me. The cloak of depression that normally lingers loosely around my shoulders, dropping to my feet with the feel of Liam pressed tight. I know this feeling won’t last, but I suddenly want to hold on to every second I can of this experience, until it leaves me.
I reach out and curl my fingers around his forearms. My eyes growing wide when his brow lifts. With a quick push I rock up and close the distance that is left between our mouths. When my lips touch his, that feeling of being alive burns so bright every nerve in my body feels it, each inch of skin boiling and cooling so quickly it’s as if I can’t make up my mind if I want to be hot or cold. My hairs stand on end, my skin pebbles—going cold before rushing heat fills my veins, and the very ttowardhump of my heart seems to skip a beat the second our lips touch.
One thing I know for sure. I want this. I want this and Liam’s going to give it to me.
He doesn’t pause. His groan vibrating against my chest only lights the feeling that is firing through my skin. My hands move from his forearms and I run my hands up his chest until both hands curl around his neck and I use the hold to pull my body even closer to his.
His hands move from my hips and he curls them around my bottom, pulling me tightly against his body. When I feel the very obvious sign of his attraction, I moan deeply, and shiver when he answers with one of his own.
I can’t tell you how long this kiss lasts. When his tongue moves to swipe against my lips, I open without reservation. We continue, our tongues dancing together while each of our moans are swallowed by the other, until I have to pull away to gulp a breath of air before I pass out—however, the way I feel right now, passing out might very well be a possibility.
“This is finally happening,” he snarls in a tone that should scare me, but all it does is act as kerosene to our already uncontrollable fire of lust.
“It is,” I agree without question.
“Now,” he says.
“Okay,” I agree on a sigh and sway toward his hard body.