She Found Him

by Cranford, B.

  “I solemnly swear that I will not steal your fluffy pillow.” She maintained eye contact as she made the vow, then nodded gravely. “I can—I will resist the temptation.”

  * * *

  But can I resist the temptation of you?

  Liam couldn’t answer, not when he was pulling Rose down beside him on his couch and tucking her under his arm. They’d never sat together, not like that, and yet they fell into place easily.

  She fit. Like she was always meant to be there, and he honestly didn’t know whether he’d be able to resist the temptation that was Rose.

  She’d been on his mind more or less since the day of the march and since he’d been seeing her regularly, she was a constant presence in his thoughts.

  His often dirty thoughts.

  His increasingly dirty thoughts.

  But now he knew more about her, what she’d overcome and how she’d come to live in his hometown, he didn’t think he’d ever get her off his mind. Which was one hundred percent fine by him.

  He was starting to realize that he could easily think about her for the rest of his days and have no problem with it whatsoever.

  Except for the fact that she was leaving.

  She wiggled beside him before settling once more—much like Wilbur might have, had he been there—and he grabbed the pillow they’d been joking about. Although . . . it really wasn’t that much of a joke. He did love the thing—it was soft and very strokable.

  Just like Rosie, his mind supplied, along with a few X-rated images that were definitely not pillow-related. Which caused a not-so-little situation that required a particular placement of said pillow. Shit.

  He propped it on his lap and watched with aching need as Rose reached out and petted it. Her head rested on his shoulder, and his one arm was curved around her, the other fisting on the couch cushion beside him.

  Because he wanted to reach for her. Reach out, grip her hip and help her rearrange herself until she, not the stupid, fluffy pillow, was on his lap and he was petting her.

  Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to be petting her. Except he didn’t know where her mind was at, and after what she’d just confided in him, he refused to make assumptions or make her uncomfortable.

  “Liam?” Her voice was pitched a little higher than normal and he wondered if she realized the effect she was having on him. Surely, she must. “Are you okay?”

  He felt her head move on his shoulder and when he opened his eyes—when did I close them?!—and looked down at her, she had a longing kind of question on her face. She wasn’t just asking if he was okay, he understood that.

  She wanted to know if he was affected by her story, if he was okay with all she’d shared with him.

  He wanted to tell her, no. He wasn’t okay. The story—well, that made him want to fly to Melbourne and find Mister Bradley so he could get at least some of the comeuppance he’d avoided at the bank.

  But as to the other aspect of her question? Yeah, he absolutely wasn’t okay on that front either. He was hard as a rock beneath that fluffy cloud of comfort, and he wanted her hands on him. “Mm,” he murmured instead, unable to find it in himself to say that yes, he was fine.

  She shifted around some more, until she was on her knees beside him, her shoes having been kicked off and under the IKEA coffee table that matched the rest of the décor in the room. As if in slow motion—or maybe that was just the arousal coursing through his veins and making everything feel thick—kind of like your dick, douchebag—she reached out and ran a single finger along his jaw.

  The tension in the room heightened. He felt that finger cross over every pore on his skin as it traversed from just below his ear, around the square curve of his jaw, across the small cleft he had in his chin, and up the opposite side.

  His eyes fell closed once more and if it was possible, he fisted his hand on the couch cushion tighter. His knuckles ached, but he was determined to let her touch him until she gave him a clear signal—preferably a verbal one—that she wanted him to return the favor.

  After what they’d just talked about, he wouldn’t accept anything less.

  “You have the best chin.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice, but it was said in a tone that sounded taut with want.

  She wanted him.

  And she liked his chin?

  “I never realized I was a chin girl, you know? But this one”—she ran her finger back the way it’d come the first time and he heard her draw in a deep breath—“this one is stupidly perfect.”

  He chuckled tightly, amused but unable to really let go because this was happening. She was touching him and talking about him and this, this was the reason he’d been standing so close to her that day. Close enough to be knocked on the head.

  Now he felt knocked on the head for a different reason. And not just the head on his shoulders.

  The chemistry they shared raged in him, so much so that he was sure he’d give her a shock should she break and reinitiate contact with his skin. He kept his eyes closed as he waited for her to make the next move, fighting to keep his breathing steady when he felt her lips press a line of kisses along that same path around his perfect chin.

  She was tracing his jaw with her lips and he was on the edge. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, his dick was twitching, and his mind was screaming at him to wait, wait, wait.

  He, damn it, he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to bring his hands to her body and take away all the uncertainty and the hurt and the fear he’d sensed in her as she talked about her past, and replace it with pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  “Rosie,” he croaked out, knowing he probably sounded pleading but unable to do anything but. He’d beg if he had to, but he needed her to tell him she wanted him to touch her too. “Please, can I?”

  Her lips moved up until he felt their plushness against his ear. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. What are you waiting for?”

  He fought the urge to pounce on her with those words, slowly moving his head around so when he opened his eyes, he was looking right at her.

  Her face was flushed, and her eyes were bright. She looked hot—not just in the fact that she was sexy as hell and he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything, ever—but like she wanted him too.

  Like she’d die if he didn’t touch her soon.

  He couldn’t let that happen. He was just barely getting to know her; she couldn’t leave him so soon.

  “I was waiting for you to invite me, Babe.” He leaned in, bringing their mouths together in an insistent kiss, one that spoke to all the desire that had been building inside him since they’d sat down.

  Since before then, actually.

  Since the day he’d seen her long, dark hair at that animal rights march and felt compelled to get closer and closer and closer.

  He broke the kiss, adding, “I was trying to be a gentleman.”

  Except then she nipped at his lower lip, and whispered, “Touch me, please,” and he forgot about being a gentleman. What a ridiculous notion anyway. She hadn’t said she wanted that, had she?

  No.

  And she had said she wanted him to touch her, right?

  Yes.

  So he was going to.

  He flung the pillow off his lap at the same time he twisted his body around and moved toward her, making her fall back from her spot on her knees, her back meeting the cushion of the couch.

  “Wait, my, I need to”—she wiggled until she was laid out flat underneath him—“there we go. Continue.”

  He no longer needed the invitation—it had been given, he’d RSVP’d and now he was going to enjoy it, enjoy her.

  He lowered himself, giving her as much of his weight as he thought she could stand, then started with her mouth, their tongues tangling in a wet, hot kiss that made his hips roll involuntarily. Working his way down her neck, nipping and kissing her, listening for her little sounds of pleasure to figure out what she liked and what she loved.

  Because one thing was for sure, she ei
ther liked or loved everything he was doing to her, and he wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon.

  “More, please.” Her voice was gentle, so gentle he almost missed it. Not that it would’ve mattered. He’d have given her more and more and more again until she told him to stop, even without her sweetly asked request.

  Except, she didn’t tell him to stop.

  Not when he slid his hands under her shirt, or when he sat up to pull his own over his head. Not when he moved down to her breasts, then beyond, getting familiar with her body in every possible way.

  Not when he finally had them both stripped bare, their bodies pressed close, the temperature and their heart rates rising with every passing moment.

  And definitely not when he finally slid into her waiting, willing, wet body, riding her until they were both gasping for air, and both begging for one thing.

  More.

  Chapter Fifteen

  One Week Later

  “Please tell me you have a brother. Because you’re gorgeous, and even though I’ve sworn off men, a one-night-stand with a hot Aussie”—Sasha raised and wiggled her eyebrows—“would be worth it.”

  “I do, actually.” Rose laughed at the way Sasha fanned herself, looking through the open door of Liam’s office as Tanzi walked past with a wave. “A half-brother—”

  “That works. I only need the lower half for a good time, anyway,” Sasha interjected, making Rose snicker.

  Shaking her head to clear that visual, she added, “Lucas. His name is Lucas.”

  “Ooh, it’s a hot name, too.”

  “A what?” Liam interjected, giving his sister a face that told Rose he was not amused by her antics.

  Rose, on the other hand, was. She’d taken a Lyft to Pupp’s to see Liam and share his lunch break, and it was her first time meeting his sister, Sasha, since their ignominious meeting at the March for Animal Rights. She’d been certain she would end up on the wrong side of the third degree, but instead Sasha had been funny and kind, offering a hug instead of the handshake Rose had gone for, and making sure to put her at ease right away.

  “I told him I’d have hit him, too, given half the chance.” Sasha rolled her eyes. “He acted like he was dying but actually, he was fine.”

  Rose had giggled at the way Liam shoved his sister’s arm, the way they’d bickered about how he’d acted after taking two blows to the “noggin.” And thereafter, they’d fallen into easy conversation.

  Although, Rose wasn’t completely convinced about the prospect of Sasha and Lucas together.

  “Is he single?” Sasha asked, ignoring Liam’s follow-up question about “hot guy names.”

  Thinking back to the last time she’d spoken to him, she nodded. “He was seeing a girl, one he followed over here when she decided she wanted to travel and ‘see the world’ or whatever. But she fell for a ranch hand at a place they stayed at in Texas, and now he’s planning to head home. Lick his wounds, I guess.”

  “A ranch hand in Texas? How cliché.” Sasha made a face, before sadness fell across her features. “Your poor brother, though.”

  Rose knew Sasha’s story, that her marriage was only recently—very recently—over and that she’d been cheated on, so she wasn’t surprised to see her sympathize with Lucas, despite not knowing him.

  Which is why Rose was quick to set the record straight. “My brother is a hopeless romantic, and he’d known Erin for all of three weeks when he booked his flight, so I wouldn’t feel too bad for him.” She weighed whether to add more, deciding to go for it when Sasha still looked more than a little bummed on Lucas’ behalf. “He was—and this is a direct quote, ‘pretty bloody sick of her’ by the time they made it to West Texas, and was happy to see the back of her, so really, really, don’t feel bad for him.”

  Sasha’s eyes widened, her sadness and worry for Lucas draining away to be replaced with a big laugh. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that plot twist, and its reveal had lightened the mood in Liam’s office immensely. “I think I love you and your brother already,” she proclaimed, leaning in for another hug. “I’d better let you two do whatever you have planned for this office before you need to head back to work.”

  “Sasha,” Liam groaned, covering his eyes while Rose giggled after stepping out of Sasha’s hug. “Bugger off, will you?”

  “Ahhh, you said ‘bugger off’! You’re turning Australian right before my very eyes!”

  “Whatever, get out of here.” Liam pushed his sister toward the door, albeit gently, telling her to “close it behind you,” as she disappeared.

  “Alone, thank God.” He turned toward Rose and opened his arms, which she readily fell into, sinking into the comfort mixed with desire that being held by him invoked in her.

  “Is she always like that?” she asked, looking up at him and sneaking a kiss to his chin.

  His perfect chin.

  I’m obsessed with a bloody chin. Insane.

  It was true though—she loved kissing him there, tracing it with her fingers or her lips, and marveling at how perfect it was.

  There really was no other word for it.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” He made a noise in his throat when she kissed around his jaw a little more. “Babe, you’d better stop or I’m not going to be able to let you go.”

  That made her stop, though not for the reason she was sure he thought.

  Because, with the feel of his two-day stubble still stinging her lips so good, all she could think was not that she didn’t want him to let her go back to work, but that she didn’t want him to let her go at all.

  * * *

  Liam thought about the words he’d just given Rose, and about how true they were.

  I’m not going to be able to let you go.

  The fact was, she was due to leave North Carolina, America, his life, in two months. Mid-December was the deadline and damn, if it wasn’t approaching way, way too quickly. He wanted to stop time. Or slow it down. Or, shit, at least have some kind of plan in place for when she inevitably left.

  Because she was leaving. And when she did, he’d have no plan and no Rose and—

  “Why are you all broody all of a sudden?”

  He frowned, a simmering feeling of discontent making his voice sound rough. “Broody?”

  “Thoughtful, but like, dark and manly thoughtful.” Looking up at him, she made a face that he could only assume was meant to portray “dark and manly thoughtful,” but actually looked more like maybe she needed a couple of doses of Metamucil.

  He forced a smile when one wasn’t exactly forthcoming. “I thought maybe you meant I was like a hen wanting to lay some eggs,” he quipped, still feeling way too off-balance for his liking.

  She frowned, tilting her head. “Huh?”

  “Chickens, when they want to lay and sit on their eggs? They’re broody.”

  “I . . . had no idea. Although, I guess I did know it meant feeling like you wanted to have a baby—maternal, so it’s kinda the same. But also not at all what I meant.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to distract me?”

  He slid a hand down her back, to her ass, and gave it a little squeeze, trying to distract himself instead. “Ah, no. What would ever make you think that?”

  She giggled and squirmed in his arms, placing both hands on his chest to brace against him. “Don’t think a little game of arse-grab is going to get you out of this, bucko.”

  Releasing her, pleased that she kept her hands on him anyway, he pointed to himself. “Who me?”

  “What’s got you looking all pensive?” She nodded. “Yes, pensive is a better word. You can’t make that about chickens, Liam the Vet.”

  Making a face at her reference to his very first text, he gave her the truth—or a small portion of it, anyway. “I was just thinking about how quickly time goes.”

  How you’re going to be leaving soon.

  And how I don’t know what’s going to happen after that.

  “It does, right? I was thinking that the other day, when I r
ealized that I leave in two months.”

  He cleared his throat, bringing his hands up to rest over hers where they still laid on his chest. Holding them, he looked into her eyes—he needed to make sure she understood what he was trying to say—he said, “I know.”

  Her eyes fell away almost immediately, breaking the contact but not the moment. There was a tenseness in the air around them, one borne of the fact they hadn’t talked about this yet. Because they hadn’t needed to.

  But now . . . Now Liam thought that perhaps they needed to.

  “I don’t–I can’t stay.” She whispered the words at the same time she tried to tug her hands out from under his, but he didn’t want to lose that contact.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, he asked, “Why not?”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice was quiet and held a note of warning and this time, when she pulled her hands back, he let her.

  “Aside from homesickness, what else is holding you back?”

  “Besides the fact we don’t know each other that well, you mean?”

  “I think we know each other pretty well, Rosie.” He offered her a smile, trying to hide the unreasonable part of him that wanted to demand she stay. “Well enough to talk about this, at least?”

  “I can’t just make that decision with a snap of my fingers, you know.”

  He snorted. “Babe, you can’t make any decision with the snap of your fingers.”

  Eyes flickering between acknowledgment that he was right—because he was, damn it—and annoyance, she said, “I’m not ready yet, Liam.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and he somehow knew what they were asking of him.

  Let’s not talk about it now. Let’s save it for another time.

  Gritting his teeth, because he hated the not knowing, because he knew what they had, what they were building, was worth trying to hold onto, he nodded.

  It was only a few weeks since the march and a couple since they’d met again. There was still time to figure it out.