A second? A week? A year?
It’s like asking how long it takes to fall asleep. Some people are gone as soon as their head hits the pillow. Others lie awake for hours, and it’s only when their brain stops churning for a while that sleep sneaks in and drags them under.
That’s how I visualize people falling in love. Some people fall so easily, they seem reckless. They love freely and unashamed.
Those people are idiots.
Or at least I used to think so. Until now.
I tried to stay as detached as possible with Liam last night, but every time I thought I’d pushed out any real emotion, he’d kiss me, or whisper something sweet that made it come crashing back in again. In the end, I just went with it. I knew it was dumb, considering our situation, but I couldn’t help it.
And now, he’s behind me, wrapped around me like he never wants to let go. His breath is warm and steady on the back of my neck as he sleeps, blissfully unaware I’m getting more uptight by the second.
In our current position, every inch of my naked back is pressed against every inch of his naked front, and my head is resting on a plump bicep while his other arm is wrapped around my waist.
I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. It shouldn’t feel this good to be enveloped in a man, especially one I can’t have.
I try to pull his arm away from my waist, but it won’t budge. Damn. Stupid giant muscles.
“What are you doing?” he mutters, voice dark with sleep.
“I have to go.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do. I have things I need to take care of.”
“Me too. All of them involve being inside you. Leaving isn’t an option.”
I pull at his arm again. It’s like iron. “Don’t you have to pack?”
“All done. I’m having dinner with Mom and Dad tonight and then they’re taking me to the airport in the morning. Other than that, I’m free.” He loosens his grip and pushes me onto my back, then leans over for a lingering kiss. “Is this convincing you to stay?”
“Hmmm. I’m not sure. Maybe you should try harder.”
He presses his very obvious erection against my hip. “This hard enough?”
My whole body reacts. “Ah, yes. That’ll do.”
“Man, you’re easy. Thank God.”
I squeal as he pins me to the bed.
Forty minutes and two orgasms later, I’m boneless. I drift in and out of consciousness, and when I open my eyes, Liam’s there, head cradled in his hand, staring down at me.
“I’m confused,” he says with a frown.
“About what?”
“You say you’ve had boyfriends who’ve left you for other women.”
“Yes. Three of them, to be precise.”
“Did you exclusively date blind men? Or were they just total idiots? Because honestly, apart from those options, I don’t see how it’s possible.”
I smile. “I told you the reason already. They were actors.”
“That explains nothing.”
“Doesn’t it?” I turn on my side to look at him. “Tell me about how you feel about Olivia.”
He frowns. “Olivia? As in Juliet-Olivia?”
“Yes.”
He looks at me dubiously. “Is this one of those tricky female questions I shouldn’t answer for fear of being smacked?”
“No. Just be honest.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “Okay. I . . . like her?”
“As a friend?”
“Yes. Just a friend. Definitely nothing more.” He still looks nervous, so I stroke his chest to calm him. Also, because his chest is beautiful and I want to touch it.
“So now explain how your love scenes in Romeo and Juliet were as hot as hell.”
“They were?”
“God, yes! Did you not notice me subtly fanning myself every time you guys made out?”
“I just figured you were warm.”
“I was. In my pants.” He laughs and lies back on the bed. When he puts his hands under his head, I don’t miss the way his biceps pop. I run my forefinger over one.
“I had no clue you were turned on,” he says. “I was trying so hard to stay away from you, I avoided looking at you most of the time.”
“So, how did you do it?”
“Stay away from you? It wasn’t easy. Cold showers and heavy drinking helped.”
I pinch his bicep, and he squirms. “I mean, how did you appear so in love with Olivia when you only liked her as a friend?”
He pauses. “I don’t know. I just used my imagination, I guess. As Romeo, when I looked at Juliet, I made my body feel things for her. My adrenal system is pretty gullible.”
A tinge of jealousy squirms inside me. “So you just made yourself feel love for her, and then expect me to believe those feelings don’t bleed over into real life?”
He turns to me and props himself up on one arm. “It’s not that simple. Onstage, Romeo was completely in love with Juliet, but offstage . . . I don’t know. Olivia was a different person. So was I.”
“But she’s not. And you’re not. You’re the same people with the same faces and bodies. How is it possible for actors to make love to someone every night onstage and stay faithful to their wives and girlfriends offstage?”