“Are you kidding me?” he asks in a low, resentful rumble, reminiscent of the night before I left for Paris when I found myself in a similar position. “Is that seriously what you still think of me?”
I shrug him off, staring past his shoulder, keeping everything inside cold and devoid of feeling.
This is how I stay safe from him.
But the heat radiating off Liam threatens to melt away my reserves, and I’m severely out of practice feigning disinterest in this type of situation.
“Tell me, Evie. What exactly was my plan? Take you to your brother’s wedding—and what? Embarrass you in a place you already had a mental breakdown about going to? Because apparently, I’m that much of an unfeeling ass? And what about Eli? He was just going to let—whatever—happen to his best friend?” Liam’s chest heaves, and his eyes blaze in the low light of the alley.
I’ve never seen Liam mad. Annoyed? Sure. Hundreds of times. But not—this.
The way he’s staring at me, lit with passion, burning heat with a pronounced rise and fall of his chest, it’s intoxicating. It heightens the tugging sensation that tortures my insides whenever he’s near and scatters my thoughts in dangerous directions.
What would he do if I gave in and leaned? Would his lips crash into mine, while he buried my back into the wall with a demanding embrace? Or would he maybe enter with a gentle caress instead and work into something more? Who am I kidding? He’d probably be repulsed. Or find a way to use it to his advantage and string me along like the lovesick puppet I’m dangerously close to becoming if I ever let my guard down.
“No. I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think it out yet.” I wipe my clammy hands on my apron, pulling my attention off his lips.Focus, Evie.“But given our history—”
“Oh yes, let’s talk about our history”—he steps forward, narrowing his fiery gaze—“because I’d like to know why every time we get remotely close, you shut down like this.”
Picking my lean up off the wall, I mimic his powerful stride, strangling a gasp in my throat at the sudden proximity.Bad idea.“Maybe if you hadn’t taken advantage of my trust in the past, I wouldn’t be so defensive.” I tilt my chin up and unleash the full force of my glower, hoping he misses the desire broadcasted through my gaze.
It’s infuriating.
He’sinfuriating.
Liam’s body sways forward, bumping into my chest and clearing my mind. The rigid, humorless line of his mouth parts slightly.
My chin raises the final fraction, leaving my lips recklessly close to his.
“I thought you’d at least make it forty-eight hours before you ran.”
“I’m not running. I’m being practical.” My pulse thuds in my ears. My lips tingle, craving his. The temptation is far too close to be sensible for much longer.
“You’re always running, and I’m tired of chasing you.”
He thinks he’s chasingme?The mirror images from the night before I left for Paris pull me between the past and the present. I was so sure he was going to kiss me that night, so sure I wanted it—and yet—
Liam’s eyes flicker to my mouth, and I let myself believe he might be under the influences of a similar spell for half a second. Maybe Maria’s right, and he’s fighting against the same intoxicating pull, drowning in the same overwhelming pool of need.
But he didn’t kiss me that night. He taunted me and told me to admit defeat. Right?
“You’re never going to see anything else, are you?” he asks. Cool mint and heat curl around me as we exchange breaths. Neurons and synapses misfire, and any chance I have to make sense of this goes up in a puff of smoke. “After everything this week, you were still so quick to villainize me.” His eyes search my face for something.I’m sorrydances on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back down. “Nothing I do is ever going to change that.”
“I can—I could—” My tongue fumbles over itself as I desperately wish it was doing something else right now.It’s not him you don’t trust.I shoo the revelation away, but it’s too late and far too right.
His lips part as if to say more, but he shakes his head instead. His spine stiffens. The space between us grows again, and I’m left to catch my breath in the emptiness between us.
“Right, well, I’m sure you need to go back to work.” He nods, his granite expression faltering slightly. Like it’s a mask he’s warring to keep in place. But I can’t tell if I’m imagining something I want or not. “I’m sorry for keeping you as long as I did.”
He tosses his jacket on, and my back finds its emotional support wall for balance while he walks away.
A chorus of “The Fields of Athenry” hits my ears, sliding back into the main room of The Quays. Drunken men huddle in celebration after an apparent rugby match win. Or are they upset they lost? The line is fine and relatively undefined regarding their demeanor either way.
Sighing, I stop at one of the repurposed oak barrels Declan converted into tabletops and stack a round of shot glasses together, cleaning up in the wake of the mass of men emptying out onto the street. Marching back up to the unpretentious counter where Eli’s waiting, I duck as an errant dart throw from a ruddy-nosed man in a rugby sweater narrowly misses my head.
“There she is.” Eli smiles. My hands fumble over the dirty glasses, placing them into the gray plastic dishwasher rack. “Any chance you’ve seen Liam? I lost him.”
“Scared him off.” I shrug. “What do you want to drink?”
