Page 100 of The Has-Been

Just a little while longer, just one last time.

I take her hand, pulling us to our feet. Her skin is cold from the snow, our bodies wet as I pull her into me. I press my lips on hers. They are chilled at first, but as I deepen the kiss, the heat of want warms them through.

She pulls back, just slightly. “Liam—” she begins, and I know that if I don’t stop her, she’ll finally tell me what I need to know.

The final piece keeping us apart.

I’ve waited a whole year for answers. To understand why she left me. Why, after months standing by my side…what was the final straw that made her leave?

But I don’t want to know. Not tonight.

“Liam, I-I⁠—”

I pull her close, reclaiming her lips, crashing into her as I say against them, “Tell me tomorrow. Tonight—tonight, I don’t want to talk.”

Then I scoop her into my arms and pray my balance holds as I carry her up the rest of the hill. Our kisses are wild as I breathlessly make it up the steep incline.

When I get to the cabin door, I drop her to her feet, sucking in sharp breaths that burn my lungs from the frigid air. Aubrey pins the code to the front door and steps inside.

Her exposed skin is reddened from the cold, but she seems wholly unconcerned as she moves her hair aside, looking over her shoulder.

But she keeps her promise and doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t need to.

I close the door and hastily reach for the laces of her corset.

CHAPTER 22

WAIT FOR ME

AUBREY

As soon as Liam pulls the last section of my corset free, I let my elaborate dress fall to the floor.

Shame that Cynthia’s hard work is wasted—being worn for less than two hours.

But a quick smile cracks across my face as I feel the seamstress would be enthralled with happiness if she knew her masterpiece ended up as scraps on the floor.

In fact, anyone who designs a dress of this caliber surely has every intention for their artwork to end up in this exact place—pooling around the wearer’s heels.

Liam takes several steps away, distancing himself as if he needs the length to take in my complete form—his back slams into the cabin’s front door as he leans against it.

He’s always had boyish good looks to him, young eyes, and mid-length hair falling around his face. But right now, with the way he’s looking at me, there is nothing innocent about him.

He cracks a smile, looks over me boldly, as if he is photographing me with his eyes.

I step over my water sodden dress, standing only in my nude colored thong, my body shaking. I tell myself it’s from the cold and wet of the snow we were lying in only moments before. But even I’ll admit that’s far from the truth.

His gaze drops from my eyes, to my shoulders, then my breasts—which are hard enough to cut through this fucking tension separating us. My skin prickles just from the touch of his stare. He doesn’t move, remains motionless against the door.

I step closer to him.

We promised no words, no talking. And he doesn’t need to say a thing for me to understand what he wants. Violent tremors wrack my body, from anticipation, from the cold touch, and from his stare. From it all.

I wet my lips, watching as his gaze hardens, his arms folded over his broad chest. I reach down to shimmy out of my underwear. Something intense flares through his entrancement. I grin as I watch him take a hand and rub at his jaw—as if he’s trying to find his composure.

But damn him, he doesn’t move an inch.

And suddenly I’m jealous of a doorway, of how his body is resting against it, pressed to it, and how I wish it were me instead.