It wasn’t just that his focus was divided, however. It was more like the goal had become muddy. It was harder to be excited about the program when she wouldn’t be a part of it in just a few months. The rush of creating used to be enough, of shaping young singers and stewarding their artistic development. But that was before he’d met Min. How could he create without her now that he knew what they could be together?
He'd considered asking her to stay. She could apply to the graduate program and they could work together for two more years. But that would just be two more years that they couldn’t be together openly. He wasn’t sure which was more selfish – asking her to apply or hoping she didn’t.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Min’s arms wound around him, her lips dropping a timid kiss on his back. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room. He turned around to envelop her in his arms. She’d wrapped his top sheet haphazardly around herself like some kind of sinful toga stretched over her generous curves. He bent to kiss her temple as she conformed to his body.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said as he stroked her hair. “But it looks like I might not be back in town until Saturday. The dean lined up a meeting with the Dietrichs while we’re in Jersey.”
Her body went rigid in his arms and he frowned at the change. He arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain as a million emotions flashed across her eyes, there and gone before he could identify them.
“So it’s really going to happen,” she said slowly, the resignation in her voice like a stab to his chest. “They’re going to rename the theater.”
“I haven’t promised anything yet. But it seems likely.” She burrowed into his chest, hiding her face from him. “Min, I don’twantto put his name on the theater.”
“I know.”
He grasped her chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to his. “What happened between you and Aidan Dietrich?”
“Aidan and I…” her voice trailed off, her eyes distant, as if remembering something. She winced and blinked, her eyes shuttering.
“You were involved,” he prompted her, his entire body rebelling at the notion of the perfect woman in his arms anywhere near that asshole.
Aidan Dietrich had a reputation – as a drunk and a womanizer, yes, but there were rumors of worse. Nothing anyone could confirm, of course. There had never been any charges levelled against the boy. But Liam had heard enough whispers to suspect the lack of legal action had less to do with his innocence and more to do with his father’s money.
Min plastered on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ancient history,” she said.
“Did he hurt you?” Liam asked, his stomach lurching at the thought. He didn’t want to know. But he had to. Hehadto.
“Let’s not talk about him anymore,” she said, planting kisses along his chest. She was avoiding giving him an answer – which, in a way, was its own kind of answer.
“Min,” he pleaded.
“We only have a few hours left before I have to leave,” she said. She swirled her tongue over the hardening bud of his nipple before moving to lavish the same attention on the other side of his chest.
Fuck. That’s a very effective distraction.
He cursed under his breath as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her fingers going to work on the drawstring at his hips. Liam gripped her hands, stopping her. She raised her eyes to him in a look that begged him to drop it. He pulled her to her feet.
“Wewilltalk about this, contessa,” he said.
He swallowed hard to stop himself from speaking the three little words he was always so careful not to say. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to shout it from the fucking rooftops. But not like this. Not when she was hiding herself from him.
“I care about you so much,” he said instead.
“I care about you, too,” she whispered.
Her words warmed him, spreading through his chest like light in the darkness. She rocked up on her tiptoes and wound her hands in the short hair at the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips. It started slow and tender, but it wasn’t long before she licked into his mouth, biting and sucking.
“Liam,” she panted between kisses. “Please. I need you.”
He groaned and helped her climb back onto the kitchen counter, spreading her thighs and standing between them. He took his time. This was not the frantic, breathless coupling they’d fallen into the habit of after rehearsals. Every movement was slow, deliberate, designed to make her feel his love.
His heart was so full it felt like it would burst if he didn’t tell her he loved her. So he told her as he cradled her face like the most precious, rare work of art. As he moved his lips on her body like it was a form of prayer. He told her with every flutter of his fingers against her core, with every stroke of his tongue over her clit. He brought her to orgasm while he looked into her eyes, steadying her against himself as she surrendered to the pleasure he gave her.
He worshipped her breasts with his mouth until she nearly came again just from the masterful way he prayed there. And when she was shivering with need and begging with incoherent little moans and whimpers, he slid into her, her legs wrapping around his waist as she canted her hips to meet his thrusts. He caressed her face and hair as he moved within her, looking deeply into her eyes as he took her in slow, languid strokes. When her body contracted and fluttered around his cock, he came, too, pulsing and pumping until he was drained completely, shooting his heat deep into her belly, as if it would write the truth of his love on the inside of her body.
Chapter Twenty-six
