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A rush of warmth floods my body and I find myself moving closer. I can’t resist. “I think I understand that.”
“It was unprofessional though, wouldn’t you say?” She widens her eyes at me, but she replicates my movement, shifting closer.
“Very,” I reply.
Her gaze drops to my lips as she continues. “We deserved a verbal warning, at the very least.”
My fingertips find her wrist, and the pad of my index finger skates along her forearm. Just as soft as I remember. “Oh, I’d say a written warning. Especially after what you did to my t-shirt.”
Her eyes lock on mine and something strong and tangible passes between us. Her breath catches as her eyes drop to my lips and my heart picks up speed. She’s so close now, her face mere inches from mine.
“Maybe I wanted more than just a lousy t-shirt,” she whispers.
I can’t stand it another second.
The rational part of my brain knows that this can’t happen. But I’ve sent it packing on an all-inclusive vacation to Cancun so that the primal part of my brain—the part that needs to know what her mouth feels like on mine—can take control for a few sweet moments.
My fingers tighten on her arm as my other hand slides over her thigh. I lean closer, close enough that I breathe her sweet smell and feel the warmth of her skin. I’m just inches from finding out what she tastes like, and my heart is hammering so loudly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she can hear it. The wild, brazen, almost hungry look in her eyes tells me her heartbeat’s matching mine.
“Annie,” I say, her name trailing off on my lips.
Her eyes close, her chin tilts, and—
“Uncle Liam?”
The voice in the distance may as well have been a nuclear bomb exploding. I spring backwards so fast, I almost topple off the sad excuse for a loveseat. Annie hurriedly sits up and adjusts her shirt.
“Legs!” I gasp, turning to see my niece in the doorway, backlit by the kitchen light.
“I had a bad dream,” she says feebly.
“Oh, honey. I’ll come right up.”
Her eyes move from me to Annie.
“Can Annie come too?”
Annie and I share a long, lingering look that’s full of something so heavy, so weighted, that I feel moored to the spot.
“Annie’s got to get home, sweetie,” I say.
She nods. Stands. “I do. But I’ll come back and see you soon, okay?”
“I’d like that,” Legs says.
I cast one last glance at Annie, taking in her mussed hair, smudged lipstick, and wild, fiery eyes.
Yeah, that makes two of us.
30
ANNIE
Drip… drip… drip…
I stare at the brewing coffee as it trickles through the filter—rich, treacle-dark and scalding hot.
Kind of like Liam’s eyes the other night. Eyes that captured me, drew me in. Liam Donovan’s eyes are the human equivalent of a Venus flytrap.
