I burst out laughing. “My God, you’re such a cocky asshole sometimes.”
He grinned, pleased. “There it is.”
“What?”
“That laugh,” he said. “You were getting too in your head again.”
He was right, which should’ve annoyed me but instead it made me more comfortable with him. But that was the reason he’d done it, wasn’t it?
My smile slowly faded as we stared at each other, and a new feeling whirled around me—a mix of longing, heat, and a strange addition I’d never really felt before. Safety.
No matter how crazy things got on my list, I suddenly knew with the same certainty as knowing my own name that Liam would keep me safe. Not just physically, but emotionally too. He’d keep me from doubting myself and sabotaging this.
“It’s your turn again,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“Truth or dare?”
His head tilted slightly closer to mine, our breaths mingling. “Truth.”
“Why have you never had a relationship?”
Any trace of humor on his face evaporated into thin air. He looked almost somber as he cleared his throat and replied, “Because I’m my father’s son.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nope. You got two questions last time. Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“I dare you to take your shirt off.”
I hesitated for only a second before I reminded myselfthat he’d seen me in a bikini for years. This wasn’t really all that different even if it felt like it was.
I pulled my shirt over my head, and when I tossed it on the floor, I looked up to find he'd stripped out of his shirt too. My gaze dropped to his abs, then drifted to the tattoos covering his arms. I'd seen them plenty of times at the lake, but never from this close. His left arm was a full sleeve—Celtic knots and geometric shapes woven together from shoulder to wrist in one cohesive design. His right arm had a mountain ridgeline that ran along his inner forearm in clean linework. There was a set of crossed hockey sticks on his outer forearm. A compass was on the inside of his bicep, and just below it was a string of coordinates in fine script that I couldn't read from where I stood. On his upper bicep, near his shoulder was a wolf howling at a full moon. My gaze darted back up to his face when I realized how long I’d been staring at him. He arched a brow, but didn’t call me out.
“What are you doing?”
“You think I’d make you take your shirt off and not even the playing field?”
“Isn’t that kind of the point of the game?”
He shook his head. “I don’t see it that way.”
He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask him to because the energy in the room had changed. It became charged, and it felt like we were both walking a very dangerous tightrope.
“Truth or dare?”
“Dare.” He didn’t even hesitate, and I wondered if he’d avoided truth because of my last question or if he was just trying to move the game along.
I took a breath, then said, “Touch your favorite part ofmybody.”
His hand lifted and I held my breath as his thumbbrushed over my lips. A shiver raced through me at the gentle touch.
“These,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb back and forth like he was memorizing the feel of them. “I’ve thought about these lips for years.” His voice dipped lower, almost like he was confessing something he wasn’t sure he wanted me to hear. “Always wondered what they’d taste like.”
“And?” I whispered.
He leaned in, his mouth close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin. “You’re perfect, Aves.”
