“No, I don’t. Because I only got you for that tiny amount of time and now she gets you forever. And there’s no way that’s fair. It’s just not.”
“Jesus, sweetheart.” Then his hands are on me. Pulling me. Wrapping around me. And I’m pressed into his chest and surrounded by his smell, and I beg the tears to stop but they don’t listen.
Goddammit.
I hate this.
Love.
Longing.
Attraction.
Need.
Everything he brings out in me.
I’m so tired of wanting what I can’t have. Wanting him. I can’t do it anymore.
I can’t.
I fist his shirt and close my eyes. His hands stroke my back. His lips press against my forehead. Warmth and comfort surround me, and even though I know they’re not mine to keep, maybe for tonight, I can pretend they are.
My head is pounding. I try to ignore it because I’m warm and comfortable, but it beats a sick, insistent rhythm behind my eyes.
Ugh. Stoppit. I’m awake already.
I rub my hand over my forehead and groan. I haven’t had a hangover this bad in years. Curse you, Champagne, and your evil, delicious bubbles.
I crack open my eyes and frown. Where the hell am I?
Warm, muscled arms tighten around me, and I stop breathing.
Liam? Why the hell am I in bed with Liam?
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think. Wedding dresses. Champagne. Liam answering the door. Tears.
I take long, measured breaths. The details are fuzzy, but the squirming in my stomach reminds me how far I went. How I broke down and blurted out all my messy, unrequited feelings. After the tears, however, I’m at a loss as to what happened.
Please God, tell me we didn’t have sex. If there was one way to make this entire situation exponentially worse, that would be it.
When I look down, I breathe a sigh of relief: I’m in my underwear. A glance over my shoulder, however, reveals Liam’s naked chest and shoulders.
Please, no.
I lift the duvet and look down. He’s wearing boxers. They’re doing nothing to disguise his morning wood.
Okay, so I’m assuming we didn’t have sex. Also, if Liam had been inside me, there’s no way I wouldn’t be feeling it this morning. He’s kind of huge.
Reluctantly, I ease myself out of Liam’s arms. When he moans my name, I freeze and hold my breath, but after a few seconds he turns over and goes still again. Moving as quietly as possible, I climb out of bed and look around.
Even in the early morning gloom I can tell his bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment.
I tiptoe around until I find my clothes folded neatly on a leather chair, then quickly pull them on, along with my shoes and socks. My pounding head reminds me I need pain relief, so I make my way into the giant ensuite and gently close the door before flicking on the light.
“Jesus, fuck!” I whisper, and squeeze my eyes shut as the world’s brightest bathroom lights pierce my brain. “Dammit, Liam. Do you perform surgery in here? Who the hell needs lights this bright?” I fumble with the dimmer until they reach a less blinding level, then carefully open the mirrored cabinet in the hope of scoring some Tylenol.
I scan the shelves. Shaving cream. Razor. Aftershave. I pick up the bottle and sniff it.
God. Yes. Liam scent.
The shudder that runs through me makes me curse at myself. One thing I remember about last night is swearing to be done with Liam. Pretty sure sniffing his cologne like a creeper is several hundred steps in the wrong direction.
After replacing the aftershave, I spy some Tylenol on the top shelf and down two with water from the tap. Thank you, Jesus.
I take a deep breath as I assess myself in the mirror. I make a plan to sneak out, grab a few hours of sleep at home, and face him later when I’m in better shape to have the conversation I know we need to have.
Okay. Let’s go. Stay quiet. Avoid head exploding.
I turn out the light and crack the door open, and that’s when I freeze. There’s a shadowy figure crossing the bedroom, and it’s not Liam-shaped. I’m about to scream blue murder when I hear Angel say, “Hey, sleepyhead. Good morning.” She’s wearing workout gear and trainers. When she sits on the bed next to Liam, he moans and wraps his arms around her. She laughs and whispers, “Okay, steady, tiger. Come work out with me. I drank a crapload of champagne last night and have a severe case of the bloats. Not to mention a killer headache. I need some endorphins to clear the fog.”
“What are you talking about?” Liam mumbles as he grabs for her again. “You hate exercise, remember? Fitness protection program. Stay here. Snuggle.”
Angel frowns. “Liam? Are you even awake right now?” She shakes him. “Come into the real world, please. You’re not making sense.”
Liam sits up with a start. “Angel?”
“Uh, yeah. Expecting someone else in your bedroom, stud?”
I hold my breath behind the door as Liam looks around the room. “What? No. Just—” He looks around again, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. Just a dream.”