“Of a treadmill?” I arch a brow. “Hardly. I’ve seen it trip you.”
“That was one time.”
“Sure it was.”
He walks past me, close enough that I catch the scent of him. Who would have guessed that sweat could smell so good?
“You coming, or are you gonna stand there pretending I’m not the best-looking thing you’ve seen all day?”
“Bold of you to assume you outrank a fresh peach cobbler.”
Liam glances over his shoulder with a smirk. “Guess we’ll have to see which leaves a better taste in your mouth.”
I almost choke. But I school my face into something neutral and breezy and follow him like he didn’t just light my brain on fire.
I follow him toward the kitchen, the scent of cinnamon and peaches still lingering in the air, and just because I can’t help myself, I throw out, “There’s no way you taste better than cobbler.”
Liam stops mid-stride and turns, one brow raised, grin slow and sinful. “Wanna bet?”
I breeze past him, chin lifted like I haven’t just tossed gasoline on a smoldering fire.
“Ignoring you,” I sing lightly. Then, without missing a beat, “Me, on the other hand? Well, I’m sweet as pie.”
His breath catches and for once, he doesn’t have a comeback right away.
I keep walking, extra sway in my hips because he deserves it after that gym stunt.
Behind me, his voice is a low rumble. “If you’re sweet as pie, honey, I’m gonna need a bigger spoon.”
I nearly trip over my own feet. But I don’t turn around. I just smirk. Because I might’ve just won this round and it’s about damn time.
I stop at the counter and lift the foil from the cobbler, the warm scent of peaches and sugar filling the space like a hug.
But then I feel him.
Liam steps in behind me, and suddenly his arms are on either side of mine, braced against the counter. Caging me in. The air shifts, heavy and charged, wrapping around us like the storm still rolling outside.
My breath hitches. I should step aside. Or say something casual. Or pretend I don’t feel the heat radiating off his body and bleeding into mine. But I turn.
And instantly regret it.
Because now we’re chest to chest, barely an inch between us, and I can feel the heat of his skin through the damp fabric of his shirt. Sweat-soaked cotton clings to both of us, and when my hands press against his chest to steady myself, he doesn’t move. He just watches me.
And all I can think about is how easy it would be to lean up and kiss him. Right here. Right now. No more pretending.
His eyes flick to my mouth. And mine to his. And damn it, we are so close to crossing that line we keep flirting with.
I should move. But I don’t.
Because Liam is standing there, heat rolling off him, eyes locked on mine like he’s searching for something he’s finally ready to find. And I’m afraid if I so much as breathe, I’ll tip us both over the edge.
His gaze drops to my lips again, but he doesn’t lean in.
Instead, his voice comes low, barely a whisper.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as bad as I want you right now.”
The words hit harder than any touch. Not because they’re bold. But because he says them like they cost him something.
