Page 76

Then, in one sharp, measured movement, he closes the distance between us.

Not touching. Not quite. But close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough that my breath catches.

"Don't," he says quietly.

My brows furrow. "Don't what?"

"Don't put words in my mouth. Don't stand there and act like I regret anything about you." His voice is rough, raw. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don't—" He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply, and for the first time tonight, I see it.

Not anger.

Not frustration.

Fear.

The same fear that's been clawing at my chest since Vanessa's words took root.

I swallow hard. "Then tell me, Liam." My voice drops, barely above a murmur. "Tell me what this is."

His eyes darken, and then there is a shift.

The weight of his stare, the sharp edge of his breathing, the way his entire body tightens like he's barely holding himself together. Like whatever battle he's been waging with himself is finally—finally—cracking at the seams.

I should push him for an answer. Demand the truth. Make him say something to pull me out of this free fall.

But I don't.

Because right now, with the way he's looking at me—like I'm the one thing he can't afford to lose—I already know.

I see it in the way his fists slowly unclench, in the way his breathing turns shallow, ragged. In the way his gaze flickers between my eyes and my mouth, like he's standing on the edge of a cliff and deciding whether or not to jump.

I don't move.

I don't dare move, even though I want to close the distance, to reach for him, to demand that he stop fighting this, that he stop fighting me.

And then, as if he hears the thought before I can say it, he moves first.

One second, we're standing inches apart, locked in some silent, desperate standoff. The next, his hands are on my face, his fingers threading into my hair, and his mouth is crashing into mine like he's been starving for this—like I'm the only thing that can save him.

The kiss is hard. It is a culmination of everything we've been holding back from each other, a slow, burning unraveling.

His lips part against mine, his breath ragged as he tilts my head back, deepening the kiss, consuming me. His body presses against mine, pinning me between him and the counter, the heat of him searing through my dress, through my skin, through everything.

I gasp into his mouth, my hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tightly.

He growls—actually growls—and kisses me harder, his tongue sliding against mine, slow and devastating. His hands are everywhere—cupping my jaw, skimming down my sides, gripping my hips like he can't bear the thought of letting me go.

And God, I don't want him to.

I don't want to think, don't want to question, don't want to hold on to all the fear clawing at my chest.

I just want this.

Want him.

Liam breaks the kiss, but only long enough to mutter, "Fuck, Ava," before his lips find my throat, dragging a hot, open-mouthed kiss down the side of my neck.

I shudder, my nails digging into his back as his teeth scrape against my pulse point, as his tongue soothes the sting.