Page 4 of Claiming Ours (Anchor Bay #2)
I forced myself not to grimace, knowing he wasn’t happy that I’d gone off running on my own.
Not that he’d ever show or voice his frustration at my so-called lack of self-preservation.
He wasn’t really angry at me or the situation, more worried about my safety.
Even before we started dating, or whatever we were doing now, Liam was overly attentive and protective of me.
At first, I thought it had to do with our size difference, him being around six foot three and me being about a foot under that, or the fact that these days it was possible that a strong breeze could blow me over.
Whatever the reason, he fixated on me initially and still waited patiently for me to figure things out at my slow pace.
I loved it—it made me feel wanted and special, precious even.
Approaching the porch steps, fingers interlaced behind my head, I worked to slow my rapid breaths while walking out my jelly-like legs.
Liam’s observant gaze never deviated as I paced, attempting to cool down from the punishing run, so I did the same to him.
The soft red plaid material of his open button-up shirt stretched around his massive biceps that flexed as he crossed both arms over his chest. The tight white undershirt hugged his defined pecs and displayed the ripples of abs that came from all the hard labor he put in with the horses and farm side of our community.
“Baylee.”
I jerked my gaze up from the exposed tattoos decorating his lower arms to his gray eyes, finding a spark of humor there at my obvious ogling. How could I not, though, with a man like him standing right in front of me? I was still grieving, not blind.
“Hey, Liam,” I panted, though it wasn’t all from the run.
Heat that had nothing to do with the workout warmed my cheeks.
Fingers wrapped around the wooden railing that lined the porch, I steadied myself and lifted a heel to my ass.
A pitiful groan escaped at the glorious pain that radiated from my tired muscles.
“What’s up?” I asked in my lame attempt to play it off like I had no idea why he was here looking all grouchy-hot like an overprotective brown bear.
“What’s up?” He shifted to lean a shoulder against a thick post and glared down at me, though there was absolutely zero heat to it. “Woman,” he groaned, like I tried what little patience he had left. “Where have you been?”
I released my hold around my foot and gestured to my running gear with a raised brow. A minuscule twitch curved the corners of his lips before he schooled his features back to the stern “You’re in deep trouble, Baylee” expression.
“You know what I meant. Where did you run, Baylee?”
I sealed my lips shut and avoided his probing gaze.
He grumbled a string of curses under his breath. “You ran the trail, didn’t you?”
Not wanting to lie, I nodded as I adjusted my stance to stretch the other leg.
“Little Bit,” he growled in that way that made my heart flutter and breath catch. “What if something had happened to you?”
“I was fine. See, here in one piece,” I offered, my light tone meant to ease his worry even though I knew it wouldn’t work.
His perfectly plump lips parted, but I cut him off by gesturing to the sharp-as-hell knife strapped around my calf.
“I ran with a weapon and”—I raised my wrist and inclined my head to the smart watch—“a way to contact you if something happened, plus a GPS. You worry too much. I needed to run, so I went on a run.”
His frustrated groan vibrated through the covered porch. Liam ran a wide palm down his face in sheer exasperation, grumbling under his breath about frustrating women.
My lips curled in a small smile, loving this side of the normally stoic man. Sure, his body was a lethal weapon, but he was all bark and no bite with me. He loved control—that was obvious—but he also loved my independence and pushback, even if he hadn’t realized yet.
“I swear, woman, you’re trying to make me consider my last-resort option to keep you safe from yourself and others.”
Hands on my hips, I smiled up at his handsome face.
Broad forehead, thick dark brows, almond-shaped gray eyes, and a square jaw.
He looked like a superhero and was built like one too.
His muscles were practically chiseled from stone, and his diverse yet violent background produced a dangerous aura that radiated off him, making everyone terrified of him.
Well, everyone but me. With me, Liam was romantic, sweet, and cuddly.
No one would expect that softer side from the former MMA fighter and retired Army Ranger.
I treasured that little secret. We were opposites in almost every way except when it came to our shared grief from tragic loss.
Though his made him bitter for years after his wife’s accident, while Dean’s death left me hollow and sad.
At fifteen years older than me and many years since the accident, Liam has had time to process his pain and anger, whereas mine was still fresh, my wounds barely healed.
Watching as he ran a hand over his short dark hair, transfixed at the way his defined muscles flexed, a dreamy sigh escaped my parted lips, only for them to snap shut when his comment finally registered.
“Wait, what?” I moved up the steps, his gray stare following me to where I stopped beside him. “What’s this so-called last option to keep me safe from myself and others?”
My heart rate jumped at the heat that filled his gaze as a slow, cocky smirk overtook his face. Damnit, why did he have to be so good-looking that I was constantly distracted?
“Tying you to my bed.” He shoved off the post and turned, erasing the small distance between us.
I took a hesitant step back, my ass pressing against the railing, keeping me from tumbling over as he leaned in close, hands wrapped around the solid wood on either side of my hips, caging me in.
“Where I can know exactly where you are at all times and know you’re safe. ”
Throat dry, I swallowed hard before responding. “That seems a tad extreme for one tiny run.” He arched a brow. “Fine, a few runs.”
With an exaggerated exhale, he pitched forward to seal our foreheads together.
“Don’t do something careless with your safety on the line, please.
” His closed lids flickered open. My heart hammered in my chest at the devastation in his sad eyes.
“I’ve already lost so much. We both have.
Don’t make me live through that hell again. ”
“Liam,” I whispered. Reaching up, I cupped his scruff-covered jaw.
“I need it. You know I do. I need that space and freedom to work through my messy thoughts during the bad days, and today was one of them. Tell me you understand, that you won’t ask me to give up the one thing that holds me together when I feel like I’m breaking. ”
I didn’t deserve his patience or understanding, but I was thankful for it every damn day. He knew I needed the solo runs, that time away, to process my trauma. Knowing I was still grieving and healing was why he understood that if we attempted a romantic relationship, he needed to move slowly.
And I mean glacier slowly.
Though he didn’t know the full extent of why. When was there the right time to tell someone like Liam Wilson, badass veteran and MMA title champion, that you were, despite being in a relationship with your high school sweetheart for almost a decade, a virgin?
I was 100 percent certain he was not.
Very not, if that was a term to describe his sexual history. Not that he bragged about it, but of course I googled him after meeting him that first time, and it was all there. Pictures, articles, posts. So. Many. Posts. With many different women. All beautiful and badass like him.
And then there was me.
If he was the overprotective brown bear in our relationship, I was a tiny gray rabbit.
Lips pursed, clearly not loving my needs but respecting them just the same, he nodded. “I know, and I won’t ask you to stop. Just let me know next time so I can secretly follow you.”
I bit the corner of my lip to stop my growing smile. “It won’t be a secret if I know you’re there.”
“Maybe that’s the point too. I want you to know I’m there for you.” My brows pulled in tight. “That way you know you’re not alone in your fight, Baylee. I’m here, right here, always. You’ve done this long enough by yourself. Lean on me, let me help you heal. You deserve to be happy, Little Bit.”
Conflicting emotions swirled in my chest as he leaned in, his lips hovering right over mine, allowing me the choice to close the distance or not.
What sucked was that I wanted him, craved his lips on mine, longed to be wrapped up in his strong hold and let go of everything that constantly weighed on me.
But then his face would appear, followed by a trailer of memories starring Dean and me, of his secure embrace and the thousands of kisses we shared, resulting in a tidal wave of guilt that made me nauseous.
Sensing my indecision, Liam tilted up a fraction to instead brush a barely-there kiss on the tip of my button nose.
“You better get ready for work or you’ll be late for your first appointment.”
The mention of work snapped me out of the shame-filled thoughts I was quickly succumbing to.
Muttering a curse, I dipped under his arm and hurried for the front door.
It opened with zero resistance, but before I could step over the threshold, Liam’s deep voice called my name, stopping me in my tracks with a grimace.
Oh shit, now I’d really done it.
“Yes?” I looked over my shoulder with a wide smile, hoping he didn’t notice that I accidentally left my cabin unlocked in my rush earlier, though I knew he did.
He jutted a single thick finger at the door. “Was that really unlocked this whole time?”
Lips forced down in a false frown, I studied him with fake confusion.
“What? No, of course not. We’ve had too many talks about me locking it despite me feeling incredibly safe here.
” I snapped my fingers like a brilliant thought just hit me.
“You know what? You must have missed me unlocking it. I’ve gotten superfast at it since I always lock it like you’ve instructed.
” I batted my light lashes as I retreated inside the cabin.
Easing the door closed, I stifled a giggle at his grumbled response.
“Tying her to the bed seems like a rational option every fucking day.”
Locking the deadbolt, I leaned against the solid wood and grinned like a crazy person up at the ceiling. If I were honest with myself, I wasn’t opposed to being tied to his bed, but I would want him there too.
Just as I thought that, like so many times before, guilt at fantasizing about another man who wasn’t my fiancé, of balancing that edge, of moving on or staying stuck in my sorrow, swelled in my gut, making it twist painfully.
Unshed, frustrated tears burned down my throat as I fought the urge to cry.
It was a shock that I wasn’t constantly dehydrated from how much I’d cried over the last two years.
I slowly realized my grief had become a crutch, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d get so used to falling back into using it that I’d never heal properly and move on.
This toxic swell of guilt and anguish had to end. It was time for me to move on with a life worth living, not just surviving.
“Please, Dean,” I choked out into the quiet cabin, begging him or anyone to hear my plea.
“Send a sign. Anything to make this”—I pressed the heel of my hand to my sternum to ease the mounting ache in my chest—“fade. I can’t move on from you, from missing you every damn day, until I know. Show me something, anything. Please.”
Shaking my head, I shoved off the door and started for the single bathroom to shower and get ready for work. No matter the emotional devastation I was working through, there were patients who depended on me, and I wouldn’t let them down.
One day at a time. That was the best I could do.
For now.