Page 162 of Cruel When He Smiles

His thumb brushes along my jaw. “That’s why you’re in my shirt.”

“Yeah. And I couldn’t stand smelling her perfume.”

He studies me for a long moment, and I let him. I know what he’s thinking, how fast his mind is moving even when his body is still. I know he’s already planning something, and for once, I don’t care what it is. I just want her gone.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says finally.

I lean into his chest, closing my eyes again, but this time it’s different. This time I’m not locking myself away—I’m just letting him be the one to hold me up. His arms tighten around me, and for the first time since I saw her, the cold starts to fade.

His mouth finds mine, slow at first, not careful but intentional, like he’s mapping out exactly how he’s going to erase her from my head. His fingers slide back into my hair, holding me there, his body warm and solid beneath me.

I can still feel the ghost of her touch on my face, but it’s fading under the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the low hum in his chest when I finally kiss him back.

“Better?”

“More.” It’s out before I can stop it, my hands fisting in his shirt again. “Please, Liam—just more.”

His smile is small, but there’s nothing sweet in it. His mouth lingers against mine for another beat before he pulls back, just far enough that I feel the absence of him in my bones. His hands stay where they are—one tangled in my hair, the other braced at the base of my spine—holding me in place without needing to tighten his grip.

“Breathe for me,” he says, the tone low enough to slide right under my skin. “In. Now hold it. And let it out slowly.”

I try, but it’s shaky and uneven. My chest still feels tight.

“That’s fine,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “Again.”

He leans in closer, his forehead resting against mine. “You want to know why she doesn’t matter?” he asks, his tone coaxing, like he’s pulling threads out of me one by one.

My throat feels tight. “Why?”

“Because I’m the one who decides what you carry,” he says with slow certainty, each word pressing into me like a brand. “Not her, not anyone else. Only me. And right now, I’m telling you to carry me. Just me.”

It should sound twisted. It should sound wrong. But the way he says it—like it’s a lifeline and not a chain—makes my chest loosen just enough to let him in. He takes my hand and places it on his chest, over his heart. “That’s where you live. Right here. Feel how it’s beating?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“That’s all that’s real right now,” he says, his voice so calm it’s impossible not to match it. “Not her voice, not her touch. Just me—my hands, my voice, and my fucking shirt on your skin.”

My breathing evens out without me meaning for it to, my forehead tipping forward until it touches his shoulder. “You smell like me. You taste like me. You’re in my clothes. She doesn’t get to reach you here, and she never will.”

His hand is still moving at that same steady pace on my skin. “Better?” he asks, tilting my chin up until I’m looking at him again.

I nod once. “Better.”

His mouth curves into a small smile, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “Good. That’s where I want you to stay.”

I sit up a little on his lap, still holding onto the fabric of his shirt. “Liam… was she telling the truth?”

“Yes,” he says simply, not denying it. “I reached out. I wanted to see the type of person she is. And I was right.”

My stomach twists. “So… you’re the reason she’s here.”

“She didn’t need much convincing, Nate.” His tone is clipped, but not defensive—he’s not hiding this. “I suspect she already knew who I was before I contacted her. I needed to know what I’m up against.”

A hard exhale slips out of me, but it’s not anger that tightens my jaw. It’s the way everything feels heavier now, more real than I wanted it to be.

Liam presses a hand to the back of my neck, pulling me forward until our foreheads almost touch. “I didn’t expect herto do this. I didn’t give her your name, I used mine. That was enough.” His tone dips lower. “But now I know she’s been watching. She knew the moment you let yourself start choosing something just for you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, but I think I already know.