Liam hasn’t melted into the kiss like my body aches for him to do, and the genuine fear I’m overstepping consumes me.
Maybe I should stop, maybe—
A raw guttural sound rumbles Liam’s chest. He pulls me tighter into him, and warmth spirals across my skin. I relax, and our bodies mold together like a Rodin sculpture. My panic and hesitation smooth away with every pass of his hand on my back as Liam builds a masterpiece, curve by sculpted curve.
My lips part as if on their own accord, and my head tilts, seeking better access. With each soft caress, I beg to be handled with less care, aching for the rough broad strokes of an Impressionist desperate to catch the fleeting light of a moment as ten years of pent-up whatever releases into sheer reckless abandon.
My hand slides to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair’s soft, thick strands. I’ve imagined this hundreds of times, how his hair would feel tangled in my grasp, how his mouth would feel pressed against mine. But in my dreams, I never imagined my insides coming to life like they’re live in technicolor for the first time. Not to mention the unquenchable fire burning in the pit of my stomach. Its hunger propels me further to an abyss that looks much more like Heaven than Hell.
Our bodies become a single unit of tangled breaths and racing hearts as Liam deepens the kiss. Yes, this right here. This reality is better than any daydream. His tongue urges my lips further apart, and I feel his desire down to my marrow, mingling with my own. Molecules rearrange to become one. I arch against him, asking for some sort of confirmation that I’m not imagining this.
He wants me too.
Liam obliges, sweeping over my mouth and feeding years of starvation with an embrace that threatens to devour me whole.
“Okay, we got it.” Harmony’s voice floods back into my reality. “You guys can quit mauling each other.”
Right.
Right.
Opening my eyes, I reluctantly pull away before I’m fully addicted to Liam. He leans again for half a second but stills. His forehead falls to mine.
“I think she knows I’m very taken now, Peaches,” he murmurs, hovering over me with heavy eyelids and swollen lips.
“And you doubted I could fake it,” I whisper. My fingers stay frozen, threaded through his disheveled hair. I honestly cannot think of a time he’s looked more utterly divine than in this moment cast in the light of the Eiffel Tower.
“You win,” he says on an exhale. He narrows on my lips, and mine part again in response.
Divine and dangerous.
“How did the sparkles come out?” I nervously laugh, turning my attention to Harmony, straightening my clothing and smoothing down my hair. “I’m never sure in the dark.”
“Perfect, honestly, dream kiss,” she says, glancing at my phone with a frown and shoving it back into my hand. “So we actually got a text from a friend to go over to their apartment for a party, so we’re going to have to leave you guys here.” She grimaces with an oh-this-is-awkward face.
Strong arms fall over the tops of my shoulders, pulling me tightly into a firm wall of muscle. “You want to go back to my apartment?” Liam asks in a low husky whisper. His fingers lightly trail up my arm, sending way too many goosebumps in their wake.
“That sounds good.” Ignoring the butterfly garden fluttering in my stomach, I scroll through Harmony’s rapid-fire collection of photos, stopping at one toward the end. The look cut across Liam’s face in the picture causes a slight pause. I want to squeeze my two fingers and zoom in, but he’s hovering over my shoulder.
“You want my jacket? You’re shivering,” he whispers in my ear.
“I’m fine. Thanks for taking this, Harmony. Did you want one with you and Samantha, was it?”
“Oh, uhm.” She flashes another glance at Liam. “We’re good, actually. We’ll catch you.” She leans in for a bise and doesn’t spare him another glance as she leaves.
Well, that was weird.
When Harmony’s out of sight, the fingers grazing my arms stop, and I am released from a wall of warmth. I face Liam. He’s rubbing the back of his head, gaze roaming toward the musician who RickRolled us earlier strumming out “Fix You.”
He catches my eyes on him and offers me a smile. “Want me to walk you home?”
“Oh—no. It’s. You’ve. I need to. I’m just going to—” I straighten my shirt, that final picture burning in my pocket.
He dips his head. “I get it. It’s fine.”
“I’ll see you Monday?” I pull at the tips of my fingers. Electricity hums through me in a restless current. What would happen if I leaned in for another round? Everything in his kiss felt real, but what if I’m wrong? What if I’m misreading this like I always have? What if he really is that good of an actor, and I come across like a clueless Lina Lamont, convinced he couldn’t kiss me like that and not mean it just a teensy-weensy bit? “If you want. I mean, if the offer still stands for another practice date.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Monday’s good.”
