Page 29 of Liam (The Valeur Billionaires #4)

Chapter Seventeen

ALERIA

I jolt awake, my heart racing as if I’ve just run a marathon. The silk sheets beneath me are unfamiliar. Where am I?

My eyes dart around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline bathed in the soft glow of evening light.

This isn’t my cramped apartment. This is Liam’s penthouse.

The events of the past twenty-four hours come crashing back—the acrid smell of smoke, Liam's arms around me as he carried me to safety, the endless hours at the hospital, and then finally arriving here well past midnight. And then the kiss. That hot, scorching kiss. My cheeks flush hot at the memory, my lips tingling as if the ghost of Liam’s mouth still lingers there .

Liam. The project investor. The man I’ve been trying and failing not to fall for since college. The man I never got over.

The bedside clock reads 7:30 PM. I’ve slept most of the day away, my body clearly needing the rest after the trauma it endured.

I take a deep breath, relieved to find that my lungs no longer burn with every inhale.

The doctors warned me about potential lingering effects from the smoke inhalation, but right now, I feel okay.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The guest room I’m in is spacious, decorated in soothing shades of blue and gray. It’s beautiful but impersonal.

My clothes stink of smoke, so I gather up a silk robe that’s draped over a nearby chair and strip down to my underwear and bra.

As I wrap the robe around myself, I catch a whiff of Liam’s cologne clinging to the fabric.

My stomach does a little flip at the scent, memories of our kiss flooding back with vivid clarity.

A soft clatter from somewhere beyond the bedroom door breaks through my reverie. Liam must be out there, probably in the kitchen. My heart rate picks up again, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through me at the thought of facing him.

What do I say? How do I act? Last night, in the fire's aftermath and facing my mortality, everything seemed so clear. But now, in the harsh light of day, well, evening, doubts creep in. Was the kiss just adrenaline and relief? Does Liam regret it? Do I?

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. There’s only one way to find out. I pad toward the door, my hand hesitating on the knob for just a moment before I gather my courage and step out into the unknown.

The hallway stretches before me, shadows dancing on the walls from the muted light.

A clatter of pots and pans echoes from deeper in the penthouse, accompanied by the rich aroma of coffee and something sweet.

With each step I take toward the kitchen, my heart beats a little faster.

I’m about to face Liam, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

I pause, taking in the scene before me. Liam stands at the stove, his back to me as he flips what looks like pancakes. He’s wearing a soft-looking t-shirt and gray sweatpants, a far cry from his usual impeccable suits. It’s domestic.

“Um, hi,” I say, cringing at how awkward I sound.

Liam whirls around, spatula in hand. “Aleria! You’re up. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I say, stepping into the kitchen. “Thanks to you.”

A moment of charged silence stretches between us. I fidget with the sleeve of the robe, hyper-aware of Liam’s gaze on me.

“I, uh, hope you don’t mind,” I gesture to the robe. “My clothes...”

“Of course not,” Liam says. “I put it there for you. It looks good on you.”

We both freeze, his words hanging in the air between us. Liam clears his throat, turning back to the stove. “I brewed some tea for you, and there’s honey to help soothe your throat. I’m making pancakes. Thought you would like something sweet. Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” I admit, moving closer to peer at the pan. “I didn’t know you could cook. ”

Liam chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dr. James.”

I laugh, the tension easing. “Touché, Mr. Valeur.”

I reach for the teapot, the rich aroma filling the air. He passes me a mug, and our fingers collide. A spark ignites where our skin meets, and the mug wobbles in my grasp.

Liam’s hand lingers, suspended in the space between us. His eyes lock onto mine, pupils dilating. The kitchen shrinks around us, the air growing thick and heavy. Liam’s chest rises and falls, matching the frantic rhythm of my breathing.

His tongue darts out, leaving a glistening trail across his lower lip. My gaze tracks the movement, memories of last night’s kiss flashing through my mind. The softness of his mouth, the taste of him.

The moment stretches, an invisible thread pulling taut between us. I stir in some of the offered honey and raise the mug to my lips, a desperate attempt to occupy myself before I give in to the urge to close the distance. The tea burns my tongue, but the sensation barely registers.

“So,” I say, trying to keep my voice light as I cut into a fluffy pancake, “do you always make meals for your employees after saving their lives?”

Liam’s gaze snaps up to meet mine, his blue eyes darkening to stormy gray. “Aleria,” he says, my name somehow both a warning and a caress, “you’re not just an employee.”

“What am I then?”

He holds my gaze for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable flickering across his face. Then he glances down at his plate. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

I take a bite, surprised by the burst of flavor. “These are actually good,” I blurt out, then wince at how that sounds. “I mean, not that I expected them to be bad, but...”

Liam quirks an eyebrow, a hint of his usual swagger returning. “Did you think billionaires couldn’t cook, Dr. James?”

My cheeks heat. “Well, I assumed you had people for that. You know, personal chefs, pancake artisans...”

“Pancake artisans?” Liam chuckles, the sound warming me more than the tea. “Is that a real job? Because if so, I may have chosen the wrong career path.”

I grin. “Oh yes, very prestigious. They study for years to achieve the perfect golden-to-fluffiness ratio.”

“And here I’ve been wasting my time with law and engineering,” Liam sighs. “Clearly, I should have pursued the noble pancake arts.”

We share a laugh, and for a moment, it’s like old times. Before the fire, before the kiss, before everything got so complicated. But as the laughter fades, the weight of unspoken words settles back over us.

“Liam, about last night...” I start, then falter. How do I even address everything that happened?

“The smoke was pretty intense,” Liam says. “I’m just glad I got to you in time.”

I study his profile, wondering if he's deliberately misunderstanding. “Me too. Thank you for saving me. But I meant…” I pause, gathering my courage. “After.”

His fork stills against his plate. The kitchen feels suddenly too warm, too small.

“Aleria…” Liam's voice is rough as he finally meets my gaze.

He leans forward, his movement as slow and deliberate as a gravitational pull.

I mirror him without thinking, drawn in by a force as inexorable as the tide.

The kitchen around us fades, my world narrowing to the diminishing space between us, the blue storm in his eyes, the slight part of his lips.

My pulse quickens, each beat a staccato rhythm of anticipation and doubt. Is this happening? Are we really going to?

A piercing ring shatters the silence. We jerk apart as if burned, the moment fracturing like glass. The real world comes rushing back in, harsh and demanding. Liam’s phone continues its shrill cry, an unwelcome intruder in our fragile bubble.

Liam answers the call, his voice clipped, and professional as he speaks to someone from work. I use the opportunity to gather our plates, needing something to do with my hands.

When he hangs up, Liam runs a hand through his hair, looking troubled. “Aleria, we need to talk.”

My stomach drops. Here it comes. The inevitable retreat, the careful distancing. I swallow hard, willing my voice not to betray me. “Okay.”

“If we pursue this,” Liam begins, each word measured, “there will be complications. I’d need to assign someone else to supervise your project. We couldn’t work together anymore.”

I blink, my mind struggling to process his words. This isn’t the rejection I’d braced for. “You...want to pursue this?”

Liam’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression a mix of surprise and something that looks almost like hurt. “You don’t?”

“I didn’t say that,” I blurt out, the words tumbling over each other in their haste.

Liam takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Aleria, I’ve been fighting this for weeks.

I know I hurt you before, and I’m so sorry for that.

But I can’t stop thinking about you. I made a huge mistake back then.

A mistake I can’t erase, but I hoping you’ll be able to give me a second chance? ”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with hope and possibility. My heart races, a battle between caution and desire raging within me. “You did hurt me,” I admit. “But I want us to try and explore what we might have.”

Liam’s face lights up with a smile that takes my breath away. Then he sobers, launching into a detailed explanation of all the changes we’ll need to make, all the potential pitfalls we might face.

Liam’s words wash over me, a torrent of practicalities and precautions. I try to focus, to be the responsible adult he’s expecting. But my gaze keeps drifting to his lips, remembering their softness, their insistence. The silk robe—his robe—whispers against my skin with each breath.

Of all the times for him to be responsible...

“Liam,” I interrupt, my voice husky, “shut up.”

Before he can react, I grasp the lapels of the robe and pull. The silk slides off my shoulders, pooling at my waist.

Liam’s eyes widen, his words dying mid-sentence as he takes in the sight of me.

“We can figure out all the details later,” I say, my hands coming to rest on his chest. “Right now, I just want you to kiss me again.”

For an agonizing moment, Liam doesn’t move. Have I misread everything? But then his hands are on my bare waist, pulling me flush against him. His lips crash into mine with an urgency that steals my breath.

This kiss is nothing like our first. Where that was tentative and exploratory, this is all-consuming fire. Years of longing, of missed chances and unspoken desires, pour out as we cling to each other.

Liam’s hands roam my back, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

My fingers tangle in his hair, marveling at its softness.

He walks me backward until I hit the kitchen counter, then lifts me onto it without breaking the kiss.

I wrap my legs around his waist, eliminating any remaining space between us.

When we part, gasping for air, Liam rests his forehead against mine. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice rough and strained.

In response, I pull him in for another searing kiss. Because for once in my life, I’m certain about something. And that something is Liam Valeur.