“Teddy’s gonna expect to see some PDA between us.”
“What?” My voice cracks slightly.
“PDA.” He enunciates it slowly, like I’m the one struggling. “Public displays of affection.”
“I know what it means, Liam.”
His grin sharpens, wicked and amused. “Good.” He rises from his chair in one slow, easy movement. “Should we practice?”
Every synapse in my body fries at once. I can’t think of a single intelligent response. My mouth opens and nothing comes out.
He steps around the desk, closing the distance between us. Calm. Confident. Like he already knows the answer.
“I promise you’ll like it,” he says, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous.
And that’s the problem.
I’m afraid I’ll like it too much. Because if he kisses me now, there’ll be no salvaging this fake-relationship charade. At least not for me.
But he’s right. We’re supposed to sell this. We have to make it believable.
I stand, too, forcing my legs to work, even though my heart is punching itself against my ribs.
“Okay,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes are warm, predatory and soft at once. And when he steps closer, I realize this isn’t practice. This is the beginning of something neither of us is going to be able to undo.
Liam closes the last few inches between us, slow enough that I could move away if I wanted to. I couldn’t if I tried.
His hand comes up, brushing a loose piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger at the curve of my jaw, warm and calloused, and I swear I feel the touch all the way down to my toes.
My breath catches.
“This okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
I nod, afraid that if I speak, I’ll beg. He smiles, just a little. Not his cocky grin, not the teasing smirk I’m used to. Something softer. Something that feels like it belongs only to me.
Then, slowly, he leans in.
His forehead brushes mine first, a soft, grounding touch that nearly buckles my knees. His nose skims mine, his breath feathering over my lips, and I can feel the tension radiating off him, sharp and electric.
He’s holding back. Giving me a chance to stop this.
I don’t.
I tilt my face up, and that’s all the permission he needs.
His mouth finds mine soft at first. And God, it’s perfect. The kind of kiss that melts years of longing in a heartbeat. The kind of kiss you don't practice. You just fall into.
I reach up without thinking, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, anchoring myself. His free hand slips to my lower back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us, until I can feel every inch of his strong body against mine.
The kiss deepens, slow and devastating, a gradual burn that starts in my chest and spreads outward, setting everything inside me alight.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his thumb stroking a lazy line along my jaw. The air between us hums, electric and fragile.
I swallow hard, willing my heart to slow down, willing myself to say something before I completely shatter.
So I do what I always do. I reach for humor.
