"So if I picked you up and carried you to bed right now, you wouldn't be interested?"
Hell yes, I would. And no, I suddenly don't want to have a heart-to-heart with him anymore. I want my body beneath him. I want his hands gripping the back of my thighs as he brings us both the satisfaction we crave.
"I didn't say that."
Focus on mixing your ingredients, I tell myself as he continues to kiss, lick, and suck every inch of bare skin from my ear to my shoulder.
"How about you finish whatever you're making, I take a shower, and while that cooks"—he nods at the mixing bowl—"I'll show you how much I've missed you."
"Deal," I reply quickly, cocking my head to the right so I can kiss him on the lips.
Big mistake.
One kiss was all it took to forget about making meatloaf. To forget my hands were covered in raw meat. And as I wrapped them around his neck, it was almost enough to forget Liam wanted to shower.
Almost.
The fact he now has meat in his hair, covering his neck, and dripping down his back didn't stop me from pulling myself as close to him as I could. It didn't stop him from lifting me onto the counter, pushing the mixing bowl aside and almost onto the floor. It also didn't stop us from spending twenty minutes with my legs locked around his waist, clawing at each other.
Now he needed a shower and I needed to clean the counter and the floor.
He laughed at the mess we made the entire way down the hall. He was still laughing when he came back into the kitchen smelling fresh with only a towel wrapped around his waist, a come hither look on his face and lust in his eyes.
My appetite is no longer for food.
"Dinner smells good," he states, slowly stalking toward me with a sense of purpose.
"So do you," I reply, my skin pebbling with goosebumps from the heat of his stare.
Standing toe to toe, we gaze at each other, challenging the other person to make the first move. Knowing Liam, he'll wait as long as he needs to for me to be the one to cave. I'm not as patient as him, and that's probably what he's banking on.
"You're so beautiful," he finally says as he cups my cheek, caressing it with the pad of his thumb.
A million replies run through my mind.
Thank you.
You're so sweet.
So are you.
Of course those are not the words that pass my lips.
"Show me." My voice is raspy, the words coming out with my breath.
A slow smile plays across his face as he bends and presses his lips against mine. Once. Twice. Three times before his hands glide down my body, pausing to squeeze my hips, then moving around to grab the back of my thighs and lift. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I keep my lips connected as he turns, the motion causing his towel to fall from his hips.
Carrying me the five feet to the dining room table, he sets me on the edge, pulling away to peel my shirt over my head. He's about to capture my mouth again when he notices what I'm left in.
As soon as he texted to let me know he was coming home for dinner, I changed my clothes. Ditching my tank and yoga pants, I replaced them with a dark t-shirt and jean shorts. I also changed into my favorite see-through lace bra and matching barely there thong.
"Are you trying to kill me, Cass?"
Laughing as he inspects the delicate lace with the tips of his fingers, I smile proudly to myself. If the bra has this much of an effect on him, I can only imagine what the panties are going to do to him.
"What else are you hiding under here?" Liam asks, stepping back, continuing to appreciate the view and giving me a view as well.
His body is even more delectable in the light. From his toned abs to his impressive package, I can't peel my eyes away. When he grabs himself and begins stroking, a sense of urgency slams into me.
Hoping off the table, I pop the button on my shorts and drop them to the floor as he carefully watches me. Kicking the shorts aside, I sit back on the edge of the table, spreading my legs ever so slightly.
"Why have I never seen these before?" He runs his free hand up the inside of my thigh, his thumb grazing over my sensitive nub.
"You're seeing them now," I reply playfully.
Grasping the lace in his hand as he continues to stroke himself, he asks, "Are you attached to them?"
I shake my head, and he rips them away, placing himself at my entrance in one swift motion. Gripping my hips, he's about to thrust inside me, the tip entering and stretching me slightly, when he jumps back and lets out a growl.
"I'm sorry, Cass. I didn't mean to . . ." His voice trails off. "I want you so bad. I can't believe I almost forgot."
I know what he's referring to, and at the moment, I don't give two shits. I trust Liam. With my whole heart.
But my heart doesn't get to make these kinds of decisions, so I only smile as he runs to his room and returns, condom already on, and thrusts into me, impaling me against the table. Just the way I needed him to.
Chapter Nineteen
The meatloaf burned. Not to the point it was inedible, but there was no way either of us was going to stop when the kitchen timer went off. The slightly burnt taste was worth it as we sat across the table from one another with nothing but a grin on our faces.
After dinner, we turned on a movie and cuddled under a blanket on the couch, which led to other activities. The moon was shining brightly in the sky by the time Liam and I were fully sated and he had to head back to the station to follow up on a lead.
There was a big stakeout tonight. It made me nervous knowing he was going to be sitting in an unmarked car alone tonight. Anything could happen or nothing at all. It was not knowing what events would unfold that had me picking at my nails and avoiding eye contact with him while he dressed.
When I hear the pull of his zipper, I finally look up and my insides clench tightly
Dark jeans. Black hoodie.
Liam looks professional and sexy no matter what he puts on. He wears the clothes—the clothes don't wear him.
This look though . . . it’s a contradiction to his personality. It gives him an edge. It makes me curious as to who's hiding under the façade.
I know he changes when he's undercover. He's not the same person depending on who he's talking to. I get it. It's part of the job. He has to be someone else in these clothes.
It makes me want to play pretend with him again. This time, instead of traveling to different places and being tourists and spies, I want to be the person he's stalking. The one under his watchful eye.
"You keep looking at me that way and this guy's going to get away with murder. Literally. Because I won't be able to leave the apartment ever again."
"We can't have that," I tease, leaning back on my elbows, the mattress sinking slightly.
Liam had to put clothes back on, but I haven't bothered yet. For a reason.
Bending to kiss me, Liam is careful to keep his body from pressing against mine. When I lean forward and attempt to wrap my arms around his neck, he releases my lips and steps back. Adjusting the growing bulge in his pants, Liam winks at me and exits the room, blowing me a kiss.
Damn him.
I really thought I might be able to keep him here tonight. Where he's safe. With his arms wrapped around me. I miss that the most. The way my body fits perfectly against his. His breath against the back of my neck when he's asleep. How he pulls me closer to him if I move even an inch.
As if it's automatic.
There are donuts on the counter and a fresh pot of coffee waiting for me when I wake up. Next to both is a note.
I hadn't even realized he came back home last night. It couldn't have been for long. I fell asleep a little after midnight after reading over course materials.
His note brings a smile to my face. They have the evidence they need. He should be able to wrap up the case in the next few days.
Maybe then he can take some time off and we can spend quality time figuring out what we're doing and where this is going. Because as much
as I'm certain I know, I need to hear the words.
Is he my boyfriend?
Are we dating?
I would like the answer to both of those questions to be yes because if anyone asked me, that's what I'd tell them. I'd say I'm dating my best friend. That I've fallen madly in love with him. That he blindsided me, but that I've been in love with him my entire life.
I just hadn't realized it.
I hadn't realized what love really was even though I've had the best role models for true love.
It's not about materialistic things. It's not saying the words.
It's the feelings you create. The emotions brought out in you. It's happiness and fear mixed together. It's missing someone when they've only been gone for five minutes. Not because you're alone but because, in their presence, you feel whole.
Love is an intense feeling that consumes you—mind, body, and soul.
At least it should.
If you think you're in love and you don't feel completely consumed by the other person and the way you feel about them, it's probably not love. Lust, maybe, but not love.
It's a fine line.
Right now, I'm in love and lust with Liam. My body craves his touch, and my heart beats for his.
And I miss him. Not because I need him by my side every second of the day. I'm more independent than that. I have a life. I miss him because I've barely seen him.
Hell, I saw him on a regular basis before I moved in here.
Breakfast at least twice a week. Drinks after work at least once. Get-togethers with friends on the weekends.
It's been years since we've gone more than a day or two without spending quality time together, talking, catching up on life. Even in college, we scheduled our classes around one another so we could have lunch together every day. And since moving in, with Liam working from home, we've spent even more time together than normal.
Maybe that's the real problem.
I've been spoiled having him around every day.
In the beginning, it was nice not to be alone in the aftermath. Then it became the new normal.
I'd give anything to go back to normal right now. I mean, as long as that doesn't mean we also go back to being just friends. I'm enjoying the perks of our new relationship. A lot.
Shaking off thoughts of missing Liam, I enjoy two glazed donuts and a cup of coffee while I make a list of all the things I need to get done before the school year begins. I've picked up most of my supplies, but I'd like to build my classroom library a bit more this year, fill it with books from around the world. I want to be able to not only show my kids the places we're going to talk about but enrich their excitement for the same places.
Which means I get to go to the bookstore. And for someone like me, that can turn into an all-day event. I get lost between the stacks, running my fingers over the beautiful, intriguing covers and flipping books over to see if the description on the back matches the allure that made me pick it up in the first place.
Then, when I get home, hopefully Liam will be here. The case will be closed and we can spend the night relaxing, without having to worry about him rushing back to work.
As I set my bags on the floor inside the door, my phone rings in my purse. I don't recognize the number, so I send the caller to voice mail and begin unpacking and sorting all the books I purchased. One pile for my personal library, one for my classroom.
I'm going to need another bookshelf to display them all. And I know just the place to put it. It looks like we need to turn my room back into an office, one that Liam will have to share with me, my books, and all my sugar skull decorations.
My phone rings again a few minutes later, the same number appears on the screen, and I once again send them to voice mail.
They don't leave a message. Not unusual for a telemarketer.
This continues for the next hour. Call after call. The same number. No voice messages.
I finally turn my phone on silent, annoyed by the constant ringing.
That's when I notice the little green light blinking.
A text message. From the same number.
I swear to God if it's someone trying to sell me life insurance—
UNKNOWN: This is Officer Randall. Liam has you down as his emergency contact. Please call me back at this number ASAP.
Emergency contact?
What the hell is going on?
Dialing without hesitation, he picks up on the first ring.
"This is Cassidy," I rush to say before he can speak. "Is Liam okay?"
"He's stable." Stable? What the hell does that mean? "We were able to get him to the hospital in time. The doctors are working on him now. He should be out of surgery soon."
Surgery.
Doctors.
Hospital.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, Miss. Have you not seen the news?"
Rushing into the living room and snatching the remote from the arm of the couch, I turn the TV on and impatiently wait for the screen to load.
"No. I've been out all day."
"There was an incident earlier today. Liam was serving a bench warrant, and the suspect fired two rounds through his front door. One of those rounds grazed his shoulder, the other hit him in the chest."
As he finishes explaining, the TV comes to life. The headline across the top of the screen tells me everything Officer Randall just explained.
Breaking News: Local investigator shot by suspect in death of police officer.
"Miss? Are you still there?"
"Yes. Sorry. Where is he?"
My hands refuse to stop shaking the entire drive to the hospital. I called Betty and Michael before I left the apartment. They offered to pick me up, but I insisted we meet at the hospital. They live closer than I do. They should get there first.
The doctors won't talk to me anyway. I'm family. Not by blood. No matter who Liam listed as his emergency contact.
Walking into the waiting room, my eyes land on Michael’s, and he rushes over to pull me into his arms. I collapse against him, and he holds me until I'm steady on my feet.
This is the same hospital my parents were rushed to.
The same waiting room I spent hours in while the doctors tried to save my parents.
The one place I'd hoped I'd never have to visit again.
That night was the beginning and the end of so much for me. If it weren't for Liam, I wouldn't have survived. I can't lose him. If I do, I can't see the beginning of anything.
"He's going to be all right," Betty says, patting my leg. Michael places me in the middle seat, wrapping one arm around my shoulder. "He's a survivor, Cassidy. Just like you are."
Yes, he's a survivor. He's also my protector. The love of my life. The reason I was able to get up every morning after my parents died. The reason I persevered. Without Liam, I wouldn't be here today.
He's so much more than just a survivor. He's my everything.
All I can do is stare straight ahead at the clock on the wall as life continues to move around me. I can hear the second hand as its ticks turning into minutes. Those minutes turn into hours.
Two emergencies come in. Doctors and nurses rush around, calling out names of family members. Every time one enters the room, I suck in a deep breath and hold it until I know if they're looking for Liam's family.
Police officers are filling the seats around us. There's a growing crowd when the doctor finally comes out and calls Michael's name.
He stands, and the doctor motions for him to follow.
The beginnings of a panic attack begin to settle in my chest. At this point, there's nothing I can do to stop it from taking over. The uncertainty, the fear, it's overwhelming me.
Bending, I place my head between my legs and attempt to breathe deeply. Betty rubs her hand up and down my back, attempting to soothe me, but nothing works. Then I hear Michael's voice in the distance.
"He's going to be fine, Cassidy. Take a deep breath. Another. He's going to be fine."
That's t
he last thing I remember hearing before the darkness sets in.
Opening my eyes, I'm disoriented. The room is bright, and there are beeping sounds echoing off the walls. My head aches, and when I reach to rub the throbbing spot, I'm warned not to by a familiar voice.
Searching for the source of the warning, I'm surprised to find Garrett standing by my bedside.
Why is he here?
Where is Liam?
Oh my God. Liam!
Is he okay?
"Stay calm. Let me get the doctor in here. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell out of the chair."
I fell out of the chair. That makes sense.
"Where's Liam?" I ask, my voice cracking.
Garrett reaches for a foam cup and places the straw at my lips. "Drink."
Doing as I'm told because my throat is dry, I suck down a few sips and try again. "Where is Liam?"
"He's in recovery. You should be able to see him in a little while."
"Why are you here?"
"They called me. I was listed as your emergency contact still. I had to be the one to give consent."
"Consent for what?"
"To treat you. You needed stitches."
No wonder my head hurts so much.
"I'm going to get the doctor. Don't touch your head. Don't try and sit up. Just relax. I'll be right back."
Garrett disappears from view only to reappear a few minutes later with an older brunette female wearing a white lab coat and dark-blue scrubs.
She does an assessment before helping me sit up. After explaining everything that happened and follow-up instructions, she clears me for discharge tomorrow morning and leaves me alone in the room with Garrett.
"I'll go find Michael and then be on my way."
"Garrett, wait," I find myself saying. He pauses in the doorway but doesn't turn around. "Thank you for helping me. I'm sorry things didn't end differently, but I want you to know I appreciate what you did for me today."
"As much of an asshole as I was to you, Cassidy, I'm the one that should be apologizing to you. Believe it or not, I did love you. I'd never do anything to hurt you, even if my actions prove otherwise. When they called, I came. I didn't hesitate. I don't want to see you hurt, and I'd do anything to protect you. Maybe if I had been more concerned about that than the promises Kendra was making me, I wouldn't have screwed everything up."
Worth The Fight Page 16