I don’t think his plan to stay away from me is working out well.
Looking at my ruddy cheeks, he says, “People tend to do what I ask.”
“I’ve noticed that. What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
I lift my brows. “Which is?”
His eyes burn in that way they do, all fire and dark intensity. “That I needed it. May I open the door now?”
I don’t understand anything at all. Time to give up trying. My poor brain needs a vacation. “Yes. Thank you.”
He finally releases my wrist and removes a key from a pocket inside his coat. With a swift turn of the lock, he opens the door and steps inside, holding the door open and extending his hand out like he owns the place and I’m the one visiting.
I walk in, setting the book on the rickety console table in the foyer that Ellie and I bought from a flea market the week we moved in. As soon as the door swings shut behind me, Liam takes off my coat and drapes it over his arm.
We stand there staring at each other until I’m squirming and swallowing, all out of breath.
“You’re thirsty,” he says solemnly. “I’ll get you some water.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to your regular schedule of roaming the nighttime city streets, thwarting assaults, and intimidating authority figures.” I gesture toward the door
He stares at me for a beat, then turns and disappears soundlessly into the kitchen.
His footsteps make only the barest whisper against the floor. It’s impressive that a man so large can move so quietly. Must be all that practice creeping stealthily around in the woods on padded paws.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator door opens with a whoosh. Whatever he’s looking for in there he won’t find, unless it’s leftovers from Chinese takeout or condiments in various states of decay.
I survive mostly on protein bars and canned soup, and Ellie lives on ramen and frozen burger patties. We’ve got plenty of ice cream and wine—we’re not uncivilized, just broke—but that’s about it.
So imagine my surprise when Liam returns to the foyer with a bottle of water in his hand.
I frown at it. “Where did that come from?”
“An artesian spring in the French Alps.”
And he says I have a smart mouth. “I don’t mean originally. I mean how did it get into my apartment?”
“I carried it here.” He twists off the metal cap and presses the bottle into my hand. It’s glass, a ridiculous extravagance. “Drink. You need to stay hydrated.”
I consider the bottle for a moment, also considering how he seems to enjoy carrying things places. Me and these ounces of designer French water have a lot in common.
He sees the wheels spinning in my brain. “Don’t make it more complicated than it is, Tru. Just drink.”
“Are you going to stand there and watch me?”
He inclines his head.
“What if I can’t, though?”
“Does your throat hurt?”
“No, because of stage fright.”
He stares at me.
I crinkle my nose. “Performance anxiety is a thing for me. I get nervous.”
Eyes burning, he takes a step toward me. I take a step back. He takes another step and I nervously move back again, until my butt hits the console table and I can’t retreat any farther. He leans close to me, and my heart pretends it’s a racehorse and starts to gallop.
Into my ear, he says softly, “Truvy. Beautiful girl. Stubborn little queen bee. I want you to drink because water will help you heal, not because I’m trying to control you. Don’t defy me just to prove to yourself that you can.”
His voice is devastatingly sexy. I’m afraid I might need to grab on to his suit lapels to stop myself from sliding to the floor.
He steps back before that becomes necessary and fixes me with his piercing gaze.
I take a nice, long swallow from the fancy glass bottle, trying to keep my hand steady and my heart from bursting under the stress.
When I’m finished, he murmurs, “Thank you. Now let’s get you into bed.”
He takes my hand and leads me from the foyer across the living room, then down the hall toward my bedroom, not asking the way because he so clearly knows.
The light is on in Ellie’s room, beaming from under her closed bedroom door. I hear low voices coming from inside as we pass, and hope she’s watching something less depressing than A Dog’s Purpose this time.
When we get to my room, Liam flicks on the light, standing aside to let me enter.
Everything is the same as I left it. I don’t know why, but it feels as if there should be some evidence of what happened to me in the alley behind the restaurant. Some telling clue that my life has changed in the period between when I left and now. A visible difference.
I mean other than the wolf tracking my every movement with hungry predator’s eyes.
He stands perfectly still, watching me as I set the half-empty water bottle on my dresser and run a hand through my messy hair.
“I, um…” I clear my throat. “I want to take a shower before bed.”
I didn’t mean it as a provocation, but damn if his eyes don’t flash with desire. He looks at the bed, his lashes lowering, then back at me.
“Of course,” he says, his voice husky. “I’ll let myself out. I left your coat on a chair in the kitchen. Your meds are on the counter in a small white bag.”
I’d almost forgotten about my medication. He must’ve brought it at the same time he came to pick up fresh clothes. Or was that later, or a task he assigned to his surly driver?
So many questions that will have to remain unanswered.
“And Ellie’s key?”
He wordlessly removes it from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and hands it to me.
Then we stand there looking at each other. The awkwardness is crushing.
“Thank you again for what you did,” I say quietly. “In the alley. And at the hospital. And for the book. Just…for everything. I know I won’t see you again, but I won’t ever forget you.”
He glances at my mouth. He clenches his jaw. He hesitates for a moment, looking as if words are on the tip of his tongue, but then he exhales and presses his lips together, thinking better of it.
As if to himself, he says, “Maybe in another life.”
Then he turns abruptly and leaves.
I listen to the sound of his footsteps fading and the faint squeak of the hinges on the front door. Then everything is quiet except the dull thud of my pulse and the sound of traffic drifting up from the street outside.
With Liam gone and my adrenaline waning, exhaustion takes over.
I get undressed and take a hot shower, wincing when the spray hits my cut lip. All the various parts of my body are either sore, stinging, or dead tired. My ribcage aches, and my stomach is tender. The IV drugs are wearing off, too, leaving me feeling as beat up as I look. All I want to do is crawl under the covers and go to sleep for a year.
But when I emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, that plan is shot.
Liam sits on the end of my bed, waiting for me.
8
Tru
I stop short, eyes widening. My pulse starts to pound all over again.