I ran both hands through the hair at the back of Liam's head, thick and damp. He made a sound, low in his throat.
All my excuses for pushing him away were just that — excuses. There was another reason I'd pushed him away. A reason I hadn't wanted to admit to myself.
I leaned into Liam. He brought his hands to my hips.
I'd been afraid of opening up. Of letting someone in. I'd been afraid of being hurt again. Afraid of experiencing the loss, the utter devastation I'd felt when Harper died. I'd been weak. I'd fallen apart. I'd barely managed to pull myself together afterward. I'd never wanted to feel that way again. And the easiest way to make sure that happened was to never open myself up. Ever. To anyone. But with Liam—
I lifted my chin. He lowered his head. Our lips were a hairsbreadth away from each other.
I didn't feel weak around Liam. I felt strong. He turned me inside out and muddled my head, but I never felt lesser when I was around him. I never felt like I was anything other than myself. Vulnerable but with a strong will. Unsure and yet still capable of being bold. I was myself around Liam. I was Cerise.
The real Cerise.
"What happened on that stage—" Liam tried to say. I cut him off.
"Do you really want to talk?" I asked.
"I know you felt what I felt up there."
"Or do you want to kiss me?"
His gaze flicked to my mouth, pupils dilating, fixated. "I've been thinking of those lips of yours for weeks."
"Still talking," I murmured, inching closer.
"Fuck it," he growled.
Liam closed the distance and captured my mouth with his.
