"Then explain it," she cut him off, stepping closer, fury making her reckless. "Make me understand why you'd hurt two people who've done nothing but support you and this team."
Liam opened his mouth, closed it, something warring behind his eyes. For a moment, she thought he might actually tell her something real. Then his expression shuttered again.
"When the season is over—" he started.
"When the season is over?" Libby interrupted, incredulous. "You told them to put their lives on hold for hockey? Who made you the arbiter of when people are allowed to have feelings?"
"That's not what I?—"
"That's exactly what you did!" Libby's voice cracked with frustration. "You're so terrified of anything that doesn't fit your perfect plan that you're poisoning it for everyone around you. God forbid someone from the wrong side of Boston might actually matter to someone in your precious circle."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? You've kept me at arm's length since Portland. The second things got complicated—the moment your family got involved—you pulled back. And now you're making Chase do the same thing."
"It's not the same?—"
"It's exactly the same!" Libby's voice cracked with frustration. "You're so terrified of anything that doesn't fit your perfect plan that you're poisoning it for everyone around you. God forbid someone from the wrong side of Boston might actually matter to someone in your precious circle."
They were standing too close now, both breathing hard, the air between them electric with anger and something else entirely.
"You think I care about that?" Liam's control finally snapped, his voice rough. "You think any of that matters to me?"
"Your actions suggest otherwise," Libby said, the words hanging between them like a challenge. "Poor Jane, not good enough for a D'Arcy adjacent. Poor Libby, only suitable for a fake relationship with clear boundaries."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Careful."
"Why? Afraid I might say something inappropriate? Upset your perfect professional boundaries?" She was deliberately pushing now, wanting to crack his perfect composure, to make him feel something. "Heaven forbid anyone in your world actually feel?—"
Liam moved so suddenly she didn't have time to react. Her back hit the wall as he crowded into her space, one hand bracing against the wall by her head, the other cupping her jaw.
"You want to know what I feel?" His voice was low, intense, his thumb stroking along her jawline. "I feel like I'm losing my mind. Like everything I've built, every wall I've maintained, means nothing when you're near me. Like I want things I can't have, things that would destroy everything. Is that real enough for you?"
Libby's breath caught, her anger transmuting into something else entirely. "Liam?—"
"You think this is about class?" His hand slid from her jaw to tangle in her hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt her head back. "You think I give a damn about pedigrees and trust funds? I've spent weeks trying to forget how you looked that night in Portland, trying not to think about you in that dress at the gala, trying to maintain some semblance of control when all I want?—"
"What?" Libby breathed, her hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her palms. "What do you want?"
Instead of answering, Liam closed the distance between them, his mouth claiming hers with none of the careful control that characterized everything else he did. This kiss wasdesperate, demanding, full of weeks of suppressed want and frustrated desire.
Libby responded instantly, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, Liam's hand tightening in her hair while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pressing their bodies together. Every careful boundary they'd maintained shattered as the kiss turned hungry, almost desperate, saying everything they'd been unable to voice.
The world disappeared—the argument, the team celebration beyond the hallway, the complicated professional entanglements. There was only the surprising softness of his lips contrasted with the demanding pressure, the strength of his hand cradling her head, the solid heat of his body pressed against hers.
Libby rose onto her tiptoes, bringing their bodies into better alignment, a gasp escaping her as the new angle shot electricity through every nerve. Her hands moved to his shoulders, his neck, finally threading through his hair and tugging gently. The action drew a deep groan from his throat that she felt vibrating through her chest.
This was nothing like the careful public performances they'd shared for cameras—this was real and raw and demanding, a conversation without words that said everything they'd been avoiding for weeks.
"Liam, they want you for—oh."
They broke apart at Chase's voice, both breathing hard. Chase stood frozen in the doorway, his expression cycling rapidly through surprise, embarrassment, and something like resignation.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't—the team is looking for you, Liam. Captain's toast."
"Of course," Liam replied, his voice rough. He stepped back from Libby, though his eyes remained locked on hers for another heartbeat. "I'll be right there."
Chase hesitated, his eyes moving between them with obvious discomfort. "Should I tell them you're... delayed?"
