by Elise Faber
“I know.” The right words, but her tone told him enough. She didn’t really believe that. Not deep down.
“Mia—”
“Did you know I thought she’d gotten distracted by one of the galleries up north?” she said. “I kept thinking she would show up with a pair of earrings made from abalone shell or a necklace or even just a random carving. I just knew she’d walk through the door any second, bags stuffed with trinkets from one of the shops along the coast in her hands.”
He wiped his thumb beneath each of her eyes, drying her tears. “But she didn’t.”
“No,” Mia murmured. “She didn’t.”
He waited, just held her close, knowing instinctively there was more she needed to say.
“Then the knock on the door came. It took them a while, you see. Two other divers found her body pinned underwater against some rocks. They tried to help her, but it was too late, and they didn’t know who she was or if she had been with anyone.” Another tear slipped from the corner of her eye, dripped down her cheek. “Hours later, it became clear there was only one car left in the parking lot, so they got inside it and discovered it was hers—she’d locked her purse inside, along with her ID.” A deep breath. “And then they came to the apartment and—” She broke off on a sob.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“It shouldn’t hurt this much,” she said. “It shouldn’t. Not after all these years.”
“You’re allowed to feel what you feel,” he said. “You lost your mom. That hurts. It doesn’t just go away because a few years have passed.”
“It’s been a decade.”
He smiled down at her, brushing away her tears. “So good at arguing,” he said lightly. “But, J.B., I don’t care if it’s been a day or a decade, you don’t have to justify how you’re feeling.”
Wide brown eyes. Wide, soft brown eyes. “You’re such a good guy,” she whispered, slipping her hands from around his waist to rest on his shoulders.
He shook his head. “Mia—”
“No,” she said. “You’re not allowed to argue with me.”
“Is that a rule?” he teased.
“It’s my rule,” she said pertly.
He grinned. “Noted.”
“I’m sorry I turned into a blubbering mess,” she said.
“If blubbering means you crawl into my lap and put your arms around me, then I’ll take it, any day of the week.”
She swatted at his chest. “This is you being sensitive?”
“No.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “This is me thanking you for trusting me with that.”
Mia stilled, and then her lips curved into a rueful smile. “Good, you see?”
“What I see is a beautiful woman in my arms, who saved my sorry ass from getting flattened by a car,” he said. “I see a trusting, lovely woman who’s strong and capable and wonderful. I see carrot sticks and kicks. I see someone who can fit right in with the people who are rapidly becoming my new family. And J.B.”—he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—“I see a woman who overcame a tragedy and continues to put one foot in front of the other.”
“There’s more,” she said softly, pain still lacing through the warm brown of her irises. “I haven’t even told you everything yet.”
He chuckled. “Is this your way of trying to get me to run?”
“I—” She stopped, made a face. Then sighed. “I’m good at pushing people away.”
“Well,” he said. “I’m good at being stubborn. Plus, I dumped my sad family story on you, remember? If anyone should run, it should be you. You’re dating the least successful of all the Williamsons, remember?”
Fingers on his jaw. “You were pretty damned successful tonight.”
“You helped with that,” he murmured, running his lips along her jaw, nipping at the delicate skin there, needing his mouth on her, but also needing to take away the shadows in her eyes. “Seeing you do your routine—”
“My form,” she corrected.
“What?”
“It’s called a form. I have to know many of them for my next test and to teach the classes. A routine is for dance. A form is tae kwon do.”
“Seeing you do your form,” he said, and she smiled at him. “It inspired me. You were smooth and graceful and strong . . . all just practicing on your own. I admired the discipline. And fuck, but you can fly through the air.”
A flash of bright white teeth. “So can you. Well, fly across the ice.”
“See? That’s why we’re perfect for each other.”
She nibbled at her bottom lip. “What about the other stuff?”
“Do you want to talk about it tonight?” Her face screwed up, and he laughed. “I’m guessing that’s a no.” She nodded. “Okay, so should we go somewhere for dinner before I drive you home? We’ve only got one more game at the Gold Mine, and then I’ll be on the road for five games. I’d like to spend some time with you.”
“I don’t think I want dinner.”
Liam couldn’t ignore the slice of disappointment, but he nodded anyway. “I understand.” He started to shift her off him, so he could drive her back to her apartment, but before he could, Mia stretched up and slanted her mouth across his.
When she pulled back, eyes hot, breath coming rapidly, she said, “I don’t want dinner. I want you.”
Heat arrowing for his cock, need making his hands clench into fists.
“I want to say that can be arranged, but I think the cheese factor for that line is too much, even for me.”
She laughed, ran her tongue along his bottom lip. “Say it for me anyway.”
“Trouble.” He kissed the top of her nose before setting her to the side and reaching for the door handle. “My place or yours, J.B.?” He waggled his brows. “Just saying, I have all the Marvel movies on lock.”
She followed him from the car, let him help her into the front seat. “And by on lock, do you mean you have the streaming service with all of them?”
A grin. “Maybe.” He leaned close, whispered in her ear, “I even pay for it.”
Fluttering eyelashes, a mouth quirked into a small smile. “Oh, Liam, you know the words that go straight to my heart.”
“I hope so, J.B. I hope so.”
He kissed her before she could reply, then ushered her into the passenger’s seat before rounding the hood, getting behind the wheel, and taking his woman back to his place.
Sixteen
Mia
“Frankly,” she said as Liam let her into a decidedly gorgeous condo, “I’m a little disappointed.”
He slanted a glance her way, eyes twinkling.
Clearly, he knew her well enough by now to understand she was teasing. “I expected bachelor pad and I got . . .”
Bachelor pad.
But really nice bachelor pad.
A big couch. A bigger TV mounted on the wall. A spaghetti mess of cords that looked to be a jumble of gaming systems on top of a sleek black entertainment system. No throw pillows or blankets. No curtains.
This was pretty much her place.
Except nicer and more expensive.
But funny if her mom didn’t come into the forefront of her mind again, because she had the distinct idea that a bright painting on the wall by the windows would liven up the space, that a couple of blankets and pillows on the couch would make the leather cozier.
Probably, she should start with her place first.
It was austere, could use some soft, and she actually owned it.
Fingers shifting her ponytail aside, lips on her nape. “Why are you smiling?”
Mia turned in the circle of his arms, met stormy gray eyes. Except, they were less storm and more fluffy cloud in the light of his place. “We have the same decorating style.”
“Empty Chic?”
She nodded. “I was thinking more like Mid-Century Nothing, but yours works just as well.”
A sexy chuckle that arrowed straight between her thighs. “You hungry?”
Mia sho
ok her head.
“Want something to drink?”
Another shake.
“Should we turn on a superhero movie and get lost in Thor’s abs?”
Mia burst out laughing.
“God, I love it when you laugh.”
She stilled at the reverence in his voice, the soft fingers on her jaw, the warmth in those gray eyes. Never had anyone talked to her like that. Never had they touched her in veneration, looked at her like she might be someone’s salvation.
Pain.
Mia had only caused pain.
But not to this man.
To this man, she was different. She was more. She was special. She—
“Liam?” she asked.
“Yeah, J.B.?”
Damn, she needed to find out what the hell that nickname meant. But, more important to this moment, she needed him. Clenching her fingers onto the lapels of his suit, a sleek gray number that made her wonder if it was one of those original five suits he’d bought with his first paycheck.
Also, not the point.
“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, and she realized she’d been quiet too long, focused on the thoughts, her body, her need spiraling ever higher.
She traced her fingers over his chest, feeling the row of buttons bump-bump along her palms, soaking in the soft hiss of his breath when her hands slid over the flat, hard planes of his abdomen.
“I don’t want to watch a movie.”
“Okay,” he said. “So, no movie. No drinks. No dinner.” He lightly tugged a strand of her hair. “What is it you do want?”
What she wanted was him. Because she’d moved way past frozen and scared and was firmly in the seize-the-life-in-front-of-her camp. Because Liam was different, was more than she’d ever hoped for.
Because he was a good man.
Her man.
A curl of satisfaction slid through her at the last. Yes, her man. He was made for her. Hell, they were made for each other with this strong ass connection, the ability to fill in each other’s gaps, to complement and make one another better.
And that was just emotionally.
Because physically?
Off the charts.
He was near. She was wet.
Cause. Effect. As simple as that.
“Uh-oh.” Liam’s voice was hot velvet brushing over her breasts, her stomach, slipping between her thighs and making them clench. “There’s that look again.” Lips on her jaw, her earlobe. “What went through your mind?”
Seeing as she didn’t have anything to lose, Mia told him.
And was rewarded with a kiss so hot that she was surprised her eyebrows weren’t singed.
“J.B.?” he asked, one hand clamped to her hip, the other woven into her hair.
“Hmm?” She didn’t even care about the nickname, not when his mouth was so close to hers, not when she was plastered against him, not when need was a hot brand sliding over her skin.
“Are you sure you’re wet?”
His hand slipped in, fingertips just beneath the waistband of her jeans.
Her breath caught, stymieing any sort of quippy answer she might have come up with.
Rough callouses on smooth skin. His fingers undoing the button of her jeans, sliding the tag of her zipper down.
“Maybe I should check,” he murmured, lips resting against hers, words vibrating against her mouth . . . and all the while those fingers slid lower, crept nearer. His hand was inside her jeans, beneath the cotton of her underwear. So close. So far. And fuck, but she wanted this man.
“Enough,” she growled, clamping her arms around Liam’s shoulders, leaping into his arms, and slanting her mouth on his. “Show me to your bedroom,” she snapped, glaring into his mischievous gray eyes. “Otherwise, I’m taking you to the ground here and now.”
A smirk.
A twitch of a finger just above her clit.
She wasn’t kidding. She shifted her body weight, rotated her arms and legs in a quick flick of a movement.
And then he was on the ground.
Beneath her.
“Mmm,” he murmured, seemingly not bothered by the move.
She had taken him down slowly, cushioning him against the brunt of the impact. Still, if the hands gripping her hips, the hard-ass cock between pressing against her, hitting that perfect spot as she straddled him was any indication, he didn’t mind being beneath her.
“Why do I suddenly feel the need to be wearing cowboy boots?” she asked, resting more of her weight against him.
He thrust up, pressing the seam of her jeans against her clit. “Just cowboy boots?”
“Well, obviously,” she said, though her pert reply was lost when she moaned as he thrust against her again. It was glorious and not enough, and suddenly she was cursing all of the layers between them. “Why do you still have your pants on?” she grumbled.
“You’re the one who got us into this predicament,” he pointed out.
She made a face. “I’ll take this moment to reiterate that I wanted you to show me to your bedroom.”
“It’s more Mid-Century Empty,” he said, hissing out a breath when she reached down and began undoing the button on his slacks.
“I thought it was Mid-Century Nothing,” she asked, mouth watering.
She’d tugged down the zipper on his pants, separated the fabric, revealing his black boxer briefs. Black cotton that was currently stretched very tightly over his cock. A very large, very hard, very—
“Are you going to keep staring at it?” he asked hoarsely.
“Yes,” she murmured, thinking the sight of him mostly dressed, sprawled out beneath her, the tight cotton emphasizing more than it hid was the most intoxicating thing she’d ever laid eyes on. In fact, the longer she stared down at him, the bigger and harder he grew, until a hint of the tip of his cock had appeared, slipping out from beneath the waistband of his underwear. She traced a finger over the silken steel. “It’s like a magic trick. Out of my hat I pull a—ack!”
Mia was strong.
Mia was used to sparring, to grappling with men bigger and larger than her.
But Liam was an athlete.
He was just as strong. He was just as fast.
And she found she didn’t mind being the one sprawled out beneath him.
Especially when her shoes were yanked off her feet, landing with twin thumps somewhere in the direction of the door. Especially when her jeans followed suit, when her arms were coaxed up, her sweater and T-shirt tugged over her head in one quick move.
She pushed at his jacket and he obliged her, shoving it down his arms, launching it to the side at the same time as she began working at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling to slip the circles of plastic through the holes because his fingers had moved down—
“Oh fuck!” she cried out, bucking against him when his palm ground against her clit, making stars flash behind her eyes, pleasure shoot through her limbs.
Found it on the first try. No roadmap, GPS, or headlamp required.
God, this man was perfect for her in so many ways.
And perhaps the best one was that he didn’t need a floodlight and those airport signaling thingies to find her clit.
She grinned at the thought, but then just as quickly the thought disappeared . . . because her panties were gone, tossed in the direction of her jeans, and leaving her bottomless.
One leg over his shoulder.
The other.
And then his mouth was on her.
She cried out, throwing her head back as sparks flowed through her body, desire inundating every cell, every nerve. There was no fumbling about, no missing the key bits, no need for her to direct or multitask—trying to position him correctly while also trying to get there.
When he discovered what she liked, he did it again.
When she moaned, he repeated the action.
When she squirmed, hips seeking purchase, he gave her more pressure.
When she felt empty, her pussy convulsing with a growing ache,
he filled her, one finger slipping inside, curling forward, finding a spot that made her brain shut down and her body just feel.
And how it felt.
So much heat threatening to reduce her to ashes.
So much desire ramping higher and higher until her muscles trembled from the strain, until she was perched on that precipice and. So. Fucking. Close.
Which was when he pulled out the big guns, doing something with his tongue that should have been illegal. She could have sworn she’d gone blind for a moment or at the very least, blacked out as pleasure swelled up, bursting over her in a tidal wave of sensation, filling every part of her body with complete and utter bliss.
It could have been seconds or minutes or hours as wave after wave after wave spread through her, but when she finally came to, Liam was next to her. He had three buttons undone but was otherwise dressed.
“I’m bottomless and you’re clothed,” she muttered. “Not fair.”
His fingers—still between her thighs—twitched, sending little flurries of pleasure throughout her. “I like you bottomless.”
Mia smiled, unable to stop herself. “Well, I like you, Liam. Too damned much considering we’ve known each other for maybe two weeks, if we’re counting this being the second week.”
“I stopped counting when I saw you moving on the other side of the glass.”
Her lungs froze.
“I definitely stopped counting when you kissed me at the bottom of that slide, where you twisted my arm and made me break all the rules—”
“Hey!”
His fingers twitched again, cutting off her protest, lips parting on a moan, and he took full advantage, dropping his mouth to hers and kissing her until she’d forgotten all of what she’d planned to say.
Lips on her chin, her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts.
“I stopped thinking,” he said, against her skin. “Because I wanted to feel.”
Feel.
Well, his mouth felt good. His fingers, his hands, his body all felt incredible. His soft words, his gentle teasing . . . they made her feel complete.
And she had the fleeting thought, right before his mouth slid up from her breasts to slant across her mouth, that perhaps she was more like her dad than she’d given herself credit for. Maybe it was less mask, less trying to be the person he’d wanted her to be. Maybe she was just like him in the sense that there was only one being on the planet, in the universe that could fit perfectly into her heart.