“There’s a violence in men,” he murmured into her hair. “All men. That’s what my life has taught me.” His tone was quiet, but matter-of-fact, instructional even.
His voice vibrated against her hair. It took her a moment of reflection to realize that this was his answer to the story of her attack. He wasn’t shocked by what had happened to her; he wasn’t horrified. What happened to her made logical sense to him because men were violent.
Her eyes welled with unshed tears of despair, jarred loose from his words and the memory of her attack, along with the pressure of his fingers activating her survivor chakra.
“I know,” she answered with as steady a voice as she could manage.
Until he’d breathed the words, she hadn’t thought in those terms about her attack and the war he’d fought in and the world at large, but that was how she felt, too. There was a violence in all people. A horrible, senseless capacity for brutality that lay dormant inside everyone.
He swirled the bergamot oil against her chakra. “There’s a violence in me,” he said.
His words made her tremble with their power. A tear slipped free. There was a violence in him, and it had scared her that first night. It scared her tonight, too. She didn’t want it to. She wanted to be all right in his presence, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the violence. “I know.”
“That’s why you were scared of me at your yoga studio. That’s why you panic when you’re not in control, sexually. Because you know about the violence, instinctually, because that violence hurt you deeply. Not just physically. It hurt your soul. Yoga, meditation, tantric sex, that sexual healing workshop—those are all about control. That’s what you’re fighting for—to control the violence.”
Another tear jarred loose and slid over her cheek. How did he know? How did he get it when she was barely able to acknowledge, much less embrace, that truth? “Yes.”
He stopped talking and set his lips on her hair. His warm hand held still on her stomach, his fingers pressing into her solar plexus and his solid body standing motionless behind her. She didn’t know where to put her hands except back on his forearm, on that skull tattoo that wouldn’t stop staring at her. His tribute to the soldiers he couldn’t save.
She closed her eyes and breathed into the moment. But rather than calm, she saw a flash of memory—her attack. The kitchen. The sinking feeling of helplessness. Pain that looked, in her memory, white hot and too bright. The beige pattern in the linoleum when she’d fallen. How she hadn’t been able to get small enough to disappear.
She shook away the unwanted images and feelings.
“You see the violence in me,” Liam said, bringing her back to the moment. “But you want me anyway, don’t you?”
Her arms twitched with the instinct to hug herself. Instead, she rubbed his tattoo and took a breath. She’d been so honest with him, there was no stopping now. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
She’d asked herself that same question over and over again, but couldn’t put her finger on the reason, for the life of her, what the universe was trying to teach her by drawing her so intensely to him all these years. “I don’t know.”
Clicking his tongue with disapproval, he rubbed a circle over her solar plexus. “You’re the person with all the answers. But you don’t know?”
He was right. She had all the answers, except this. “No. I just do. The universe is pushing me toward you, and I’m done fighting it. Why do you want me?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out, that nagging thing I told you about, because I don’t know, either.”
She did the only thing she could think to. On an exhale, she turned to face him. She hadn’t meant it as a test to see if he’d release his grip on her ribs and solar plexus, but she experienced a wave of relief that he did. The sexually aggressive man he’d been a couple weeks earlier was still present, and she still didn’t find it possible to relax—she didn’t feel safe—but she did feel open and alive.
She slipped her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and touched his stomach, much the same way he’d touched hers. His abdominals tightened. Their gazes locked. Her hand traveled up the ridges of muscle. When she’d reached his solar plexus, she stretched her fingers out and pressed her palm into his personal power chakra. His energy was strong, guarded, but vibrant. Olivia had been so very wrong. Liam was anything but broken. He made her pulse race with his primal power and grounded energy.
He reached up his shirt and covered her hand with his. Then they stood still, touching, breathing, and being. Two survivors, two healers. They might be different animals, but at the moment, the glass seemed more like a mirror.
“I have a violence in me, too, you know,” she said. “Everyone does.”
With a gentleness that negated his words of warning, he moved her hand up from his solar plexus to his chest, pressing her palm to his heart, leaving his hand covering hers. His pecs were well defined, curved and hard and covered with a light dusting of hair, from the feel of it.
“It’s not the same,” he said. “I’ve seen things that would make you hate the world and the men in it, the same way that I do.”
“I know you have.” Thinking about what he might have seen, imagining the horrors of war, her own heart hurt.
“And it’s also not the same because I’m stronger than you, physically.”
His words held an ominous tone of warning that made her shiver. He was stronger than her. It was just the two of them in her apartment, and if he wanted to, he was big enough and strong enough that he could do whatever he wanted to her. She forced the fear to take a back seat to her logic. If he’d wanted to do those things to her, then he’d be doing them, not talking to her about it.
“You said the way I like sex is all about controlling violence, but that’s what your sexual preferences are all about, too. Just in a different way than me,” she said.
“Exactly. That’s what I crave, that kind of control. You can’t imagine how badly I want pin you against a wall right now. I want to tie your wrists together and smack your tits and ass, and kiss you hard. I want you to submit to me, to do whatever I tell you to, and then I want to fuck you in every hole, whichever I want, as long as I want. Down and dirty, mixing pain with pleasure. That’s how I’ve always imagined it would be with you.”
He’d been vulgar and threatening in a calculating way, a way meant to shock her, but she didn’t understand why, if not to scare her away from wanting him. It worked.
She tried to wrest her hand from under his, but he locked his grip around it. Fear tightened her throat.
“You’re afraid of me right now?” he said, his voice stabbing through her panic, making her jump. Everything about him was hard again—his body, his eyes, the set of his jaw. Where was the yoga-practicing healer with the bergamot-oiled fingers that had found her chakra?
Her first instinct was to deny her fear. She hated giving voice to this dark corner of her psyche, this part she wished didn’t exist at all. But she had no doubt Liam would keep pushing the envelope until she confessed.
“Yes,” she whispered from behind clenched teeth.
In that moment, she hated him and the universe for forcing the truth from her. Until the night of Liam’s massage appointment, she’d been perfectly content, and he ruined it by dragging her monsters into the light. It was bullshit, being afraid of her best friend’s twin. She was a vixen, not some shrinking violet.
His fingers opened, releasing her hand. “Good. That’s good.”
She wished she were brave enough to leave her hand where it was on his chest, to give her fear the middle finger and challenge his assumptions about her, but there was no denying the urge to protect herself by retreating. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back.
“Why is that good? We’ve known each other since we were eleven. Why is it so important that I feel that way about you now?”
“It’s not good that you feel that way about me, but it’s good that
you can acknowledge the fear instead of pretending you’re fine, like you tried to the night of my massage appointment.”
Irritation burned inside her. “It must be nice to be so perfect that you can lecture other people on their flaws.”
“Yeah? You want to hear about my flaws? How about this: even though I would never hurt you or abuse you physically, you’re probably right to be afraid of me because I am not okay. I’m a fucking mess.” Each word was measured, resolute. As though he’d said that in the mirror a thousand times. “And if something were to happen between us, the most likely scenario is that I’d hurt you emotionally, not because I’m trying to, but because I have too much going on in my head to care about what anybody else wants or needs except me. I’m a selfish, loner prick. And if I were you, I’d stay away from me. How’s that for honesty?”
He was wrong in his assessment that he wasn’t capable of caring about others. The questions he’d asked had been about her and her past. And he wasn’t a loner because he was an integral member of Bomb Squad who, as far as she could remember, never missed a game since he’d joined two years earlier. But he was right about it being the safer choice for Marlena to keep her distance from him. She’d heard enough stories about him from Olivia and Harper to agree with his assessment that he wasn’t okay or that the women he’d dated since his discharge from the army did end up worse off for it.
What was more, he wasn’t treating her like an active participant in their back-and-forth. He was too busy lecturing her and warning her to consider how she could affect him if something happened between them. He wasn’t acknowledging how tough and intelligent she was, or how she might change him, for better or worse. “Fine. You’re a fucking mess and I should be afraid of you, but here’s a better question—are you afraid of me?”
Amusement flashed in his eyes. “I’m absolutely terrified.”
It made her even madder, that hint of amusement. How dare he come into her home, physically intimidate her, lecture her, then be condescending to her. “You should be, because I’m not going to let you get away with these bullshit mind games like you do with your family and friends.”
With that, she walked to the door, feeling more empowered with every step. The universe might have plans for the two of them, but she’d had enough of it for one night.
His work boots clomped over the laminate floor as he followed her. “You think that’s what I’m doing, playing games with you?”
She flung the door open and stepped aside to give him plenty of space to leave without coming into physical contact with her. He didn’t take the hint. Instead, his right hand gripped her waist. He crowded her against the door frame. “I’m not playing with you. I came here tonight because I wanted to finish our conversation about why you turned into a crazy person when I kissed you in your studio. Then you admitted you still wanted me, so I tried to let you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Ignoring his reminder of what she’d said, she held her chin high. “I’m not getting myself into anything. You pursued me. Don’t pretend it’s the other way around.” True, she’d gone into his massage appointment hoping to get him to finally take notice of her as a woman, as a sexual being, so the universe was only giving her what she’d wished for, but she was over that juvenile, prideful plan now.
His expression softened into a hint of a smile. “The return of Ms. Know-It-All. In a sick and twisted way, I like it. And you know what? You’re right. I am pursuing you. This nagging thing I feel for you isn’t going away like I want it to. A smart man would have seen the way you flipped out and been done, but maybe I’m not so smart because I still can’t stop thinking about you.”
He dipped his head. Marlena tensed, bracing for a kiss, but all he did was press his cheek to hers. In her mind’s eye a vision flashed—their future connection. How her energy would seep into his blood, how she’d make him see the world in a different light. How he’d change her, make her stronger. How he’d heal her. She startled at the image and had to swallow a gasp.
She didn’t need to be healed. She’d been fine until he crashed into her world again.
Pressing her eyes closed, she brought her hand up and stroked his hair. She splayed her other hand over his chest, reveling in the hard planes of his muscles. He was a damn fine specimen of a man—strong and fit and beautiful. Why couldn’t she relax around him and be herself?
“Where do we go from here?” he asked, his voice tight and quiet.
“I don’t know.”
“You want me to leave you alone? You want me to stop pursuing you?”
She honestly couldn’t decide; the two parts of herself were thick in battle—push him away, pull him closer. But hadn’t it always been that way between them—that eternal battle of wills and wants?
His thumb stroked the shirt fabric at her hip, but he otherwise remained still, allowing her hands to explore his chest and hair unchallenged.
“I don’t know what I want,” she said.
“Sure you do. You want me, you said. Is that still true?”
She debated the merits of lying, but she couldn’t bring herself to defy the pull of the universe like that. Opening her eyes, she studied the individual stubbles of hair on his neck and near his ear. He smelled like soap and the sweet-spicy scent of male skin with just the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, as though he’d tried to wash the scent off him with a shower, just like the night of his massage. It was as though he meant to be a gentleman, but try as he might, he couldn’t keep his bad-boy self under wraps. It was so endearing that he’d tried.
He was giving her some effort, some real effort, which was saying something about the man whom everyone in their circles, including himself, had written off as unreachable and aloof beyond fixing. And he was standing there with her, talking, trying. Like he’d said, after the breakdown she’d had at her studio, a smart man would’ve walked. “Yes. I still want you.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple as though in reward for her answer. “But you also want me to get the fuck out of your grill so you can stop feeling threatened, right?”
“Yes. That, too.”
With his cheek pressed against hers, he released a deliberate, slow exhale that ruffled her hair and made her skin tingle. “Okay. How about we do this: someday, when you trust me, I’ll help you work on taking the power away from your triggers, maybe with a hard, rough fuck the way I like it. But not until you trust me so much that I could have my hands on your neck and you’d know in your bones, all the way in your heart, that I would never physically hurt you. Got it?”
That was never going to happen, but still, she nodded.
“Good. But for now, I’m going to kiss you again—your way this time. You stop me if you need to.”
He stepped them away from the wall and turned them so his back was to the door, and hers to the apartment, giving her plenty of freedom to move or put space between them should her self-protective instincts kick in. Slowly, slowly, his hand came up to touch her cheek. She closed her eyes, her whole body tensing, her pulse racing in anticipation.
She wanted him to kiss her, she did, but she couldn’t quite let go of the panic. His words about dominating her, forcing her, echoed ominously in her mind along with visions of the last time they kissed. At the slightest touch of his lips on hers, her hands pushed against his chest of their own accord. She forced her body to go still, to accept what was happening without a fight. This was what she wanted—Liam on her terms. He’d been unflaggingly honest with her, so there was nothing to fear.
The kiss never came. His lips brushed hers with the lightness of a feather for the count of a breath, then another. She held still, waiting, not breathing.
On a huff, he removed his hand from her cheek and patted her hand, which was still pushing on his chest. “I’m going to take that as you telling me to stop. And I’m going to leave, okay?”
Frustration flooded through her—at herself, at him—letting her know loud and clear which side of the battle be
ing waged inside her should have won the day.
Swabbing a hand over his face, he backed out the door and held her gaze from the hallway. “I want you to make note of that,” he said. “You told me to stop and I did. Just like last time. You always have a choice when you’re with me. Remember that.”
Shoving his hands in his pants pockets, he turned to leave, which transformed her frustration to a whole new kind of panic.
“Liam. Wait.”
She didn’t think. She didn’t plan. She ripped her yoga camisole over her head, ripped the bandage off from the wound in her spirit that wouldn’t heal, and stood in the doorway, bidding him with her eyes not to give up on her yet.
His dark, hungry gaze swept over her breasts and stomach, but he kept his feet planted on the brown hallway carpet and other than the need in his eyes, his expression was a mask of stone. She watched, waiting, somehow feeling less vulnerable now than she had before. The cool hallway air swirled over her skin, tightening her nipples, making her keenly aware of the perspiration accumulating on the undersides of her breasts.
She wondered what he saw. She was proud of her body, proud of the hard work she did every day to stay toned and healthy, even though her body type meant that she’d never dip into single digit clothing sizes and her breasts would never be small or perky enough to pass the pencil test.
His focus lifted with a slow crawl of attention up her body until he locked gazes with her. “Take your pants off.”
Chapter Five
It’d been a long time since Liam did anything other than exactly what he wanted. He was surprised by how arousing he found it to demonstrate the kind of restraint required so as not to spook Marlena. It was as though the act of holding back, denying himself, made the potency of his desire grow fiercer. He stood in the hallway and drank her in, his attention rolling over every inch of her exposed flesh, her flawless pale skin, her curves, those perfect tits. The longer he stood there worshiping her body with his eyes, the more he felt like a junkyard dog in comparison—a ravenous dog on a short chain.
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