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“Do you want a glass of water?” Liam’s question startled me, the sudden movement causing the knot on my towel to loosen enough to slip down my body.
Liam’s breathing sped up until he sounded like he was running a marathon. I sat frozen, caught in his heated stare. Neither of us moved, the silence so charged I felt abuzz with tension.
Or maybe it was being this close to him that made me feel as if I’d put my hand on an electric wire.
How did he elicit a response so absolute, so intense in its nature that I would forever feel its ghost whispering over me? He wasn’t even my type. I usually went for blond, tanned, and easygoing guys. Liam was dark in looks and nature and the furthest one would ever get from easygoing.
Yet the attraction and undeniable pull I felt whenever we were in the same room was becoming harder and harder to resist. Especially after I knew how great his kisses were.
“I should be fine now,” I said instead of responding to his question.
The sudden need to put as much distance between us as possible became all I could think about. He wasn’t interested in me, and my silly crush was turning into an unhealthy obsession. I’d never survive the mortification of throwing myself at him a second time only for him to reject me.
I stood up, intent on getting past him and out of the bathroom.
“Are you sure?” Liam stood up with me, crowding me against the toilet.
“Absolutely. Thanks for patching me up.” Hoisting up my towel, I stepped past him, shuddering at the feel of his suit brushing over my breasts.
His arm on my belly stopped me.
“Quinn.” My name on his lips sounded like a promise. It made me feel special. Important.
With a shuddered inhale, I tipped my head back. Liam’s mouth crashed down on mine, his lips devouring me, his teeth scraping over my lips. The delicate thread pulling me in his direction grew into an iron chain, wrapping me up and anchoring me to him. I wound my arms around him, uncaring about my towel slipping.
My skimpy bikini was the only barrier between us, and I squirmed with the need to take it off.
His hands worshipped me while his mouth slayed me. I couldn’t help but rub myself against his suit, the feel of the soft fabric on my naked skin enough to cause wetness to pool between my legs.
With a tortured groan, he walked me backward until I was flush against the sink. He lifted me onto the counter, his body never losing contact with mine, his mouth traveling to my neck.
His hands seemed to be everywhere, tracing my skin, leaving me flushed and wanting for more. His fingers sank into my hot center without warning. It was like he already knew my body, every touch and caress lighting me on fire.
I rocked against him, my movements uninhibited. The only thought on my mind:more. I couldn’t get enough of his mouth, his fingers, and the feel of his body under my hands.
Not recognizing myself, I moaned against his shoulder where I’d buried my head. His mouth wandered over the swells of my breasts, pulling the triangles of my bikini down.
Panting, I shuffled closer, my body searching his in a desperate bid for more. I was aching, cresting closer and closer to a release.
My feelings should have scared me, but any fears of my visceral reaction to this man were fleeting, soon overtaken by the feel of his mouth and hands.
And when I thought I couldn’t feel any more, couldn’t climb any higher, he lightly bit my nipple, and I shattered into a thousand pieces.
“Liam.” I sighed, unable to lift my head from his shoulder.
Something cracked, and when I lifted my head, I saw he’d half broken the towel rack off the wall.
His mouth and other hand dropped from my body, leaving me cold and bereft. He released the half-attached metal rods and stepped back. Buttoning his shirt, he tucked it back into his pants, once more looking like the untouchable king he was. “I apologize. This won’t happen again.”
His expression was again closed off. He handed me my towel, then turned and left me in the bathroom with his touch imprinted on my body like a brand.
* * *
I arrived at dinner early, unable to stay in my room and alone with my thoughts any longer. My feelings were doing some kind of fertility dance, while my head was desperate to come up with a banishing spell.
Freya’s parents were already seated at the table, chatting in low voices.
“Mr. and Mrs. Olysses,” I greeted them. They looked up, Mr. Olysses having regained some of his color.
