A startled sound caught in my throat as I stumbled half a step, my back hitting the bartop on the half wall. To say his presence was unexpected was an understatement. He sat there as if he belonged in my apartment, calm and composed. One ankle rested over his knee while the low light cast shadows acrosshis body. The effect did dangerous things to his unbelievably handsome face.
Jesus Christ. I flattened a hand to my chest, feeling how my heart galloped erratically with the sudden fear. My mind raced through every logical reaction I should’ve been having.
Owen had broken into my apartment.Again.
A sane person would’ve been terrified.
Instead, relief crashed through me so fast it was almost humiliating.
He was here. It wasn’t a late-night dream or lingering hope to see him again. It wasn’t a silly daydream to get me through the day. He was actually sitting in my living room.
Warmth unfurled in my chest at that realization, even as my nerves continued to misfire violently under my skin. It felt impossibly wrong that the sight of the man illegally sitting in my living room somehow comforted me.
It shouldn’t have. One fantasy of a night didn’t constitute a realanything. It was irrational to think that he wanted more like I did. I straightened quickly and forced my expression into something far more annoyed than relieved while my heart continued trying to beat right out of my chest.
“Owen,” I said when my throat would let me. “Do you make it a habit of breaking—”
“How was your date?” Owen asked, cutting me off. The curt tone in his voice was off-putting and set me on edge.
“It was… good,” I replied.
“It wasgood,” he repeated slowly. His jaw ticked as he considered me—considered my words. Was that a hint of disappointment in his eyes? I could only hope. “And will there be a second date?”
I took my time answering. Maybe I wanted to know what he’d do or what he’d do if I didn’t say anything right away. MaybeI wanted to know if he hated the idea—if he wanted me not to want another date.
“Liam.” He unfolded from the chair and got to his feet with the kind of grace I could only envy and admire. The way he moved was sinfully seductive without trying to be. I hung on his every step until his hands braced on the bar behind me. The simple move caged me in. My breath hitched, and my lips parted slightly.
Owen leaned in just enough for his presence to consume me. The aroma of his expensive cologne washed over me, familiar enough to make my pulse stumble. Oh, how I’d missed that scent, as ridiculous as it sounded. Every rational instinct told me to hold my ground or push back.
Unfortunately, every other instinct wanted to melt right into him. To be whatever he wanted me to be. To say whatever he wanted me to say.
The tension between us thickened almost painfully as his gaze raked slowly over my face. His eyes lingered on my mouth for half a second too long before lifting back to mine once more. The heat of his breath fanned over my face, and the intensity in his expression made my nerves tingle head-to-toe with anticipation.
All of him was intoxicating—terrifyingly so—like a fantasy come to life. Except this time, it wasn’t some controlled environment. It was my apartment, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
One of his hands shifted slightly against the counter behind him and slid close enough that the movement brushed against my hip. As quickly as his hand was there, it was gone. I instantly missed the contact.
“Liam,” Owen repeated.
“Yes?” I managed to get out.
“Are you going on a second date with him?”
The question felt pointed in a way that was difficult to read, as was the composed expression on his face. I should’ve expected that, considering how I’d met him. That didn’t stop me from wanting to know why he cared. Was he jealous?
Some little part of me wanted him to be jealous—so jealous that he’d sent me a cocktail to derail my night and broken into my apartment while the date ended.
That had to be why… didn’t it?
“No,” I told him. “I won’t be.”
Something subtle shifted in his expression, and satisfaction flickered briefly across his face. Or maybe I was imagining it.
“Good. Now that you’ve had two weeks to clear your head,” he began, “do you still like me?”
My breath caught embarrassingly fast while my thoughts scattered wildly.Thatwas why he was here? Did he care whether or not I liked him?
And if he cared… did that mean there was a chance this could become something more outside of the fantasy experience?
