"No need," Liam said, his public persona sliding partially back into place, though Libby could still see the slight flush on his cheekbones, the dishevelment of his hair where her fingers had been. "I'm coming."
After Chase disappeared, an excruciating silence fell between them. The intimacy of moments ago had been replaced by the crushing weight of everything unresolved—Jane and Chase, the ESPN interview, Anne Davenport's impending arrival, the vast gulf between their worlds that no amount of kissing could bridge.
"Did you see Anne in Paris this summer?" The question escaped before Libby could stop it, her voice barely above a whisper.
Liam's jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid. The silence stretched between them, his non-answer more damning than any explanation.
He hesitated, clearly struggling with what to say. His hand lifted slightly, as if to touch her again, then fell back to his side. "Libby?—"
"You should go," she said quietly, unable to bear whatever he was about to say. Not when she could still taste him on her lips, still feel the phantom pressure of his body against hers.
Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or frustration. But he simply nodded once, straightened his tie with hands that weren't quite steady, and walked toward the door.
"Liam," she called out before she could stop herself.
He paused, looking back.
"This doesn't change anything," she said, needing to establish some boundary, some protection for her heart. "About Jane and Chase. About... us."
His expression shuttered completely then, the captain's mask sliding fully into place. "No," he agreed quietly. "I suppose it doesn't."
He left then, and Libby stood alone in the dim hallway, her back still against the wall where he'd pressed her, her lips still swollen from his kiss. She could hear the distant sound of celebration, knew that in moments Liam would deliver whatever toast was expected, would play the perfect captain, the perfect D'Arcy heir.
But she'd felt his control shatter. She'd tasted his desperation, felt the tremor in his hands as he'd held her. Whatever carefully constructed walls he maintained, she'd broken through them, if only for those few devastating minutes.
As she slipped out through a side entrance into the cool Boston night, Libby tried to process what had just happened. The kiss changed everything and nothing simultaneously. Liam had still interfered with Jane's happiness. He still thought maintaining boundaries was more important than authentic connection. He still lived in a world where people like Kate Davenport could casually threaten careers and relationships like pieces on a chess board.
But he'd also kissed her like none of that mattered. Like she mattered more than all of it.
Her phone buzzed.
Clara
Where did you disappear to? Liam just gave the world's most distracted captain's toast. He kept looking around like he'd lost something.
Libby turned off her phone without responding. Tomorrow, she'd have to face the aftermath—the ESPN interview, Liam, the ongoing fake relationship that felt less fake with every passing day. But tonight, she just wanted to go home, pour a large glass of wine, and try to forget the way Liam D'Arcy kissed when his perfect control finally, inevitably shattered.
The problem was, she was fairly certain she'd never forget it. The feel of him was already branded into her memory, into her skin, into the stupid, traitorous heart that had no business falling for someone so absolutely wrong for her.
"Well," she whispered to the empty street, touching her fingers to her still-sensitive lips, "that definitely wasn't in the PR agreement."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Libby woke on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket she and Jane had shared while pretending not to think about certain members of the Boston Steel organization. Saturday morning sunlight streamed through Jane's apartment windows, catching the two wine glasses on the coffee table and the remains of last night's Thai takeout. The television was paused on Bridgerton season two—Anthony and Kate frozen mid-argument, which felt a little too on the nose given their current situations.
Jane was already in the kitchen, moving with the forced brightness of someone determined to be functional despite emotional upheaval.
"Coffee?" Jane asked, though she was already pouring a second mug.
"Bless you." Libby accepted the cup gratefully, noting her sister's perfectly composed appearance—hair neat, workout clothes pristine, not a trace of the tears from last night when Chase had texted asking about Henslar’s shoulder recovery timeline.
"Your flight's at three?" Jane asked, though they both knew she'd memorized Libby's schedule.
"Yeah, need to be at the airport by two, so I'll leave after lunch." Libby was grateful the team had flown out early this morning on their charter. Being trapped on a plane with Liam for two hours wasn't something she could handle right now. The memory of their last flight together, when he'd shut down Peterson's snide comments with quiet authority, only made the memory of his mouth on hers more confusing.
"You could come with me, you know," Libby said. "Tell Dr. Patel you changed your mind about sending Ryan and Keiko in your place."
"I can't do it, Lib." Jane's composure cracked slightly. "Watching Chase maintain professional distance, seeing him barely look at me... The other staff were giving me these sympathetic looks. Even the players noticed. I'd rather stay here and help Mom with her latest craft disaster than be that pathetic in Montreal."
