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I’ve let fear control me in the same way in other instances in my life. A fear of how a man could hurt me was enough to avoid a guy who could love me. The fear of standing out was enough to keep me silent and small while people like Lyla Dawson stepped on me.
Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to you, because that’s one of the ways we’re alike. Liam, the universe, just like the leash, did its job. It stopped Giselle from getting too close and so enmeshed in your lives—that if she ran two, five, or ten years later, she would’ve left ten times the devastation in her wake. All Elizabeth’s known her whole life is a father who loves her, instead of a mother who resents being tied down.
I don’t mean to downplay the pain of Giselle leaving you and Elizabeth. The fear of another woman abandoning your daughter is real, but at some point, it’s not about age, life experience, or maturity. Because when you’re saying no to someone who makes you laugh and hears what you can’t say, then it’s not about protecting Tricky, it’s about protecting your heart.
I want to promise you that we’ll have a perfect life and the perfect relationship to go with it, but I can’t. What I can promise is I’ll never look at you and see a rich baby daddy or dream about the Chanel bags you’ll buy me.
I’ll look at you, Liam, and see the man splashing in the pool with Laurel, pretending to be a kraken, blending unicorn smoothies for Lizzie, painting lilies in the nursery, and yes, the man whose gaze bites with sub-zero cold when he plans revenge against everyone who hurts the people he loves. You’re rage, vengeance, passion, kindness, and protectiveness, and when you’re mine, I won’t let you go.
I typed the final period, panting like a marathon runner. So much for not begging him to be with me. This text left my soul bare, and if he rejected me again, the scars he’d leave on it would last two lifetimes.
But it’s true. This is real. This is me.
Biting my lip, my fingers flew across the screen again.
But since you’re also an incredibly stubborn man, why don’t I make it easier for you to leave the gentleman at the door? You can’t resist a challenge when someone says you can’t, so how about this...?
You’re too scared to put me on my knees and make me swallow every thick, throbbing inch of you.
You can’t strum my clit till it sings, plunge inside my pussy, and fuck me till I come screaming on your fingers.
I bet you’ve never been near an asshole, let alone teased it with a rim job. You won’t have the balls to go near mine.
And as for binding my wrists with your tie, bending me over the couch, and stretching me with that big cock... you couldn’t find my pussy with a map and a flashlight.
You can’t put a hitch in my step that makes me moan Liam Hunt with every lovely ache, so maybe you’re right, we shouldn’t even try.
I giggled, throwing myself back on the sheets. Writing that second half felt insanely good. Of course I would never in a million years send it, all the same, it was great holding nothing back—privately, in my room, where no one else but me would read it. Imagining the look on Liam’s face was sweet enough to tempt me, but no.
“Erase, erase.” I highlighted the entire second half. “Era—”
“Ah! Bababababa.”
Jerking, the phone slipped through my fingers and smacked me full in the face. Laurel’s baby talk poured out the speakers—the soundtrack to my jumping up, scrambling for my phone.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”
Sent.
The whole message. Both halves winged through digital space to Liam’s cell phone.
“This can’t be happening.”
LIAM
My nightstand vibrated. Peeling an eye open, I threw the covers off. Blue light pierced the gloom, confirming I had a text message.
Late-night messages were common when you owned a string of underground nightclubs, and were in charge of the underground activities that went down while everyone danced above. I checked the screen.
Mackenzie?
I hesitated—my finger hovering above open. It pained me turning her down the second time. Even harder than the first. She may not see it now, but what I did was for the best. The two of us were at different points in our lives. Mackenzie was better off with a guy like Sole who still had years of adventure in him—including creating a new, young family. A man twelve years her senior with a six-year-old and more issues than a magazine rack wasn’t what she needed as she started a new life with Laurel.
I should delete this, I thought. No doubt it was what Mackenzie promised: a string of unfiltered explanations to why my reasons were bullshit. Why make it worse for us and continue dragging it out? I said my piece. We were nothing more than friends.
