Guilt stabs at me, ridiculous and sharp. Like I'm betraying Liam. The thought makes me snort under my breath because, really, between the two of us, I’m not the one who knows anything about betrayal. Still, I glance over at him. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. Whether he's asleep or just pretending, I don't know and I don't care. I grab the moment like a lifeline, slipping into the bathroom to shower and change for dinner. The hot water scalds some of the tension out of my body, and by the time I emerge, wrapped in fresh clothes and a little armor, I'm feeling more like myself.
Liam disappears into the bathroom next, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. I’m halfway to the door, ready to leave, when I hear it. A low sound, almost like my name.
I freeze.
Heart hammering, I cross the room and crack the bathroom door open just a sliver. Steam billows out, thick and heavy. Through it, I hear it… him.
“Olive,” Liam pants, his voice raw, desperate. “Fuck.”
Heat lashes through me like a live wire. I know that sound. The thick, slick rhythm of it. The aching, broken moan as he shudders into release. I stand there far too long, every nerve ending tuned to the sinful sounds of him coming apart.
Then, slowly, I ease the door closed and back away, pulse racing.
Why did he say my name? And why does it feel like my body heard him louder than my ears did?
My cheeks are still warm when he steps out, dressed in head-to-toe black. He looks devastating, and he knows it. We stare at each other across the room, the air between us charged and fragile.
Before, I would’ve said something. Told him how damn good he looked, maybe even teased him about putting the baby-making bed to better use.
But now?
Now, I swallow the words that want to rise and simply say, “I’m ready if you are.”
He nods, silent, holding the door open for me. As I pass, our arms brush, the brief contact sparking a line of goosebumps along my skin.
Neither of us says a word as we walk to the grand family room, footsteps soft against the hardwood floors. Teddy and Bessie are already there, waiting for us by the stone fireplace, bathed in the golden glow of evening light.
“Did you rest well?” Bessie asks, her eyes twinkling with a knowing mischief.
I manage a smile, keeping it light. “We did, thank you. And I love that quilt on the bed.”
A soft, proud look crosses Bessie’s face. “My momma made it years ago. Every stitch sewn with love.”
I hold on to that thought—love stitched into something meant to last—because right now; it feels like everything between Liam and me is unraveling by the second.
Bessie lifts a decanter and asks, “Wine?”
I nod, grateful for the offer. “Please.”
Teddy turns to Liam with a grin. “Whiskey or bourbon?”
“Bourbon,” Liam says without hesitation.
Teddy chuckles. “Knew I liked you.”
Once I have a glass of wine in hand, the knot in my chest loosens a little. The alcohol softens the sharp edges of the evening, and by the time we finish dinner, I’m more than a little buzzed. Judging by the easy laughter echoing around the table, I’m not the only one.
At nine, Teddy gives the table a satisfied tap. “Well, as much fun as this has been, my wife and I are ready to call it a night. We’ll see y’all at breakfast. Eight sharp.”
Liam and I share a smile as we make our way back down the hall toward the baby-making room. There's a lightness to my steps, a warmth in my veins, but it has nothing to do with the wine by the time Liam quietly shuts the door behind us.
I turn to say something—some awkward, flirty, meaningless thing to keep the moment easy—but I don’t get the chance.
Liam moves fast, crowding into my space, and then his mouth is on mine. The kiss crashes over me like a wave, wet and wild, leaving no room for thought, only feeling. His hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him like he can't bear even an inch of distance between us.
And God help me, I kiss him back.
19
