It took everything I had not to place my hands on that small waist and pull her closer. To not lean into her scent and inhale it like it was my only source of oxygen. I stayed put, letting her eyes wander over my bare arms while I watched the transparency on her face.
She wanted to ask questions. That was obvious by the way her eyes would stop on one particular design. Her mouth would open then shut really fast before she moved on to another.
She wanted to touch my skin. Every now and then, her hand would twitch, and instead of running her fingers up my forearm, she would pull them back and run them through her hair.
She wanted to lick me too. Okay, maybe that was just my interpretation of what was going on in Chelsea Banks’s beautiful brain, but I would have encouraged her to lick me if that was what pleased her. It certainly would have pleased me.
“Fuck it.” I said the words aloud, but I didn’t think she heard. I placed my hands on her hips and pulled her forward just an inch. “Don’t be shy, Chelsea Banks. Tell me what you think. Love ’em, hate ’em?”
She blew out a breath. It hit my shoulder and skated down my arm. “I don’t hate any of it. It’s all beautiful, Liam.” She wasn’t fucking with me. She wasn’t trying to impress me. I’d gotten to know Chelsea enough to know her goal was never to bullshit.
“You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes snapped to mine, then she drew in a quick breath as her eyes slipped to my lips. Fuck. I wanted to take her right there, dart my tongue into her mouth and pick her up by her bum so I could fuck her into tomorrow like I’d been dreaming of doing since the second we met.
She was breathing so heavily, and I wondered how long it had been for her. When had she broken up with the bloke who’d just left her place after an all-too-desperate attempt to win her affection back?
Which brought me to another strong suit about Chelsea Banks. She didn’t fuck around with men. When she was done, she was done, and no amount of groveling would win her back. I respected the fuck out of that. It also kind of shook me to my core. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for the fact that I’d broken three hearts on national television. Something told me that Chelsea would look at me a whole lot differently if she knew my true reasons for being here.
Her touch drew me from my thoughts. She was following the outline of a tattoo on my left shoulder. “Can you tell me about this one?”
I looked down, but I already knew which one she was referencing. “That’s the bridge my brother and I used to sword fight on when we were kids. That’s his name spelled out with rocks from the creek. See it?”
“Yes,” she whispered when her gaze fell on the shape of the letters.
I loved her reaction, how her pink lips parted slightly, and she sucked in another surprised breath.
“Are these swallows?”
She traced the birds that flew above the bridge, and I had to control my next breath. Chelsea wasn’t the first woman to ever touch my tattoos. I loved it when women touched them, even the women who feigned interest as an excuse to touch me. But Chelsea was most definitely the first woman to peruse not just the designs but the intricacies of their lines and every shade of color. She was also questioning the meaning behind each design so intensely it was starting to make my chest rattle.
“They are,” I answered, nearly forgetting the question. But at the sound of my raspy voice—a traitor to my emotions—I cleared my throat to try again. My hands were still on her waist as she touched me, and suddenly I wished I was wearing something other than sweatpants.
“The swallow that’s flying apart from the flock, that’s my brother, free from the grief that I held on to for way too long. And that one is me.” I pointed to the bird behind him, leading the rest of the flock. “When I finally let him go and chose to celebrate his life rather than tarnish his memory with my own fuckups.”
Her eyes flickered to mine then back down to a set of rings. “For your time in the Olympics.”
I grinned. “The glory days.”
“Why’d you quit?”
Swallowing, I debated what I should tell her and just how much. Then I realized it didn’t really matter. Chelsea was safe. She was a stranger who I would know for a short time in my life then probably never see again. “For a while, I kept swimming for my brother, for his memory, in his honor. I beat the crap out of myself trying to outperform my own records, time and time again. Even my trainer tried to get me to slow down, but I couldn’t. If I wasn’t swimming, I was drowning in thoughts of Blake. I was pushing too hard, but even when my body started showing signs of wear and tear, I didn’t quit. That led to one injury after another after another until I was cut from the team and forced to reevaluate my life.”
“And did you?” She dropped her hands from my arm but didn’t make a move to step away. “Did you reevaluate your life?”
I shrugged, something inside me hardening at the thought of telling her more. “Not right away, no. I became quite the fuckup actually. I went from star Olympic athlete to the man who lived in his parents’ basement until his late twenties. I wasted a lot of years.”
“You’re not a fuckup.” The seriousness in her tone caught me off guard. She had my full attention. “You went through something no one should ever have to go through, and you were handling it the best way you knew how. We’re not supposed to have all our shit figured out, Liam. Anyone who pretends they do is lying. What matters is that you’re here today and that you’re doing good things with the time you’re given.” She inched forward, making my heart leap to life at her proximity. “So, what are you doing with your time, Liam Colborn?”
A flurry of emotions swirled in my chest, a complex mixture of fear and hope and excitement. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to push her away. I wanted to throw her onto the couch and fuck her into tomorrow. Why did Chelsea test me, and my thoughts, in a way I’d never let another get remotely close to? And why did it thrill me and terrify me in equal measure?
“I guess I’m figuring that out,” I finally said, releasing my hands from her waist. My words were truer than she could understand, and our conversation only poured cold water on a moment that could have ended much differently.
As if she could read my thoughts, she took a step back then another, though a smile slowly appeared on her face. “Well, that makes two of us.”
10
Chelsea
We ate our pizza on opposite ends of the couch while watching Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!—his pick, not mine—laughing at all the ridiculous lines and putting some physical and emotional space between us. After our conversation in the kitchen earlier, I felt like we both needed it.
It was strange, but I got the feeling that Liam could use a friend right then, attraction aside. It was nice to have him around to break up what could be a mundane week just brainstorming ideas for my next book and watering succulents. He was funny and nice to look at, and clearly I needed someone around to save me from myself on the regular. Not only that, but I felt stimulated just from his presence, like being around him made me feel more comfortable in my own skin. He made me feel bold, confident, safe. Probably because I knew he would be gone soon, back to London and to whatever life he’d needed to get away from.