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“I take what I want. End of story.” He took a step toward me, his gaze landing on my mouth.
I stepped back, already feeling that familiar haze settle into place. The one that came over me every time this man turned his attention my way. “Well, that’s easy for you to say. You’re a freaking billionaire. You can just buy whatever you want.”
He scoffed but didn’t stop his approach. I bumped into the soup cans lining the shelf behind me. Not that it stopped him. Liam pressed into me, his hips skimming mine as he leaned down to look straight into my eyes. He smelled like mint and sandalwood, and he felt like sin personified.
“I’m not a billionaire. My parents are.”
“That’s exactly what a billionaire would say.” But my response was barely a whisper. No need to be loud when our mouths were so close. I couldn’t stop my tongue as it ran over my lip quickly. I could practically taste him, pressed so tightly together.
“And it doesn’t buy whatever I want,” Liam said, his thumb dragging across my lower lip and down to the edge of my jaw. His touch left a trail of heat, burning my nerves up in a blaze worthy of a two-alarm fire. My body clenched, lips parting as I arched helplessly against him.
“What do you want?”
His hand trailed down my side, fingertips tracing me as if I were the most interesting jigsaw puzzle he’d seen in his life. “Do I really have to answer that?”
“Yes.” Because I needed to hear it. I needed to hear that he wanted this as badly as I did. Bad enough that I wasn’t worried for my job, or his, or that I was becoming dangerously intoxicated by the presence of this man. Or that I knew what he’d been in the past. That he didn’t date, that he wouldn’t ever probably date.
He was untouchable.
He was intoxicating.
“I want to kiss you, Miss Grove.” He leaned in until his mouth was close to my ear once more.
“In the middle of the store?” I whispered back, feeling suddenly unsure.
His chuckle was dark. “I want to kiss you here.” He pressed his lips against the side of my neck. “I want to kiss you here.” One hand skimmed my collarbones, making my stomach leap.
“I want to kiss you here.” His thumb pressed my shirt up, the calloused digit sliding across the skin of my hip bone.
“And I want to kiss you here.” He tightened his grip, pulling me against his body, my crotch against his, where a hot, throbbing bulge dragged something akin to a whimper from my mouth. “I want to know how you taste, Miss Grove.”
His voice was like gasoline against my fire-lit skin, and my arms flew around his neck. My fingers clawing his skin, hauling him closer, desperate to soothe the ache that he’d built in me. Our lips met and clashed, all need and hunger and heat. But even in that, I could taste him, feel the delicious pull of his tongue against mine. It was more than I could’ve imagined.
And I’d imagined it plenty.
Now I knew I’d never forget. The way his lips tugged at mine, begging and provoking my own to dance with his again. When I tightened my grip, bringing the seam of my leggings against his hard-on once again, I felt rather than hear his moan into my mouth.
Somehow that made it even hotter.
“Ashlyn,” I heard him whisper, his breath panting against my lips. Every part of me vibrated, held on the precipice by this devilishly good-looking man who had entangled himself so perfectly in my life.
“Liam,” I whispered back. It was an answer and a request.
Somewhere behind us, there was a strangled noise. And then a loud, uncomfortable clearing of a throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
