Chapter 26
Roxy
“Are you sure this is the right place?”
The driver turns and smiles at me. “That’s the address you gave me.”
I look outside, considering whether I want to get out. What does a rich man like Liam Stone do in a rundown, industrial alley?
The brick facades are tired. Ahead of me, a metal door is scarred with old dents and peeling paint. No sign. No valet. No obvious security. Just a quiet stretch of concrete and shadows.
I pay and hesitate, fingers curling around the strap of my bag, considering whether to ask the driver to wait.
Would Liam put me in danger?
No.
The answer is so fast, it steals my breath, my stomach tightening.
He might have betrayed me. He might have seduced me to advance his own interests. But I still trust—I know—he would not threaten my safety.
The car pulls away, and the silence rushes in. I glance around, half-expecting cameras, alarms, some elaborate trap.
Don’t be ridiculous, I scoff at myself. I step toward the door and knock. It swings open almost immediately.
And I forget how to breathe.
The man in front of me is Liam. But this version belongs to a different world entirely. No tailored suits and polished shoes.
His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, skin smudged with grease and faint scratches.
His hair is a mess, curling at the nape of his neck, falling into his eyes like he’s been running his hands through it too many times.
A dark T-shirt clings to his torso, damp at the collar, and worn jeans ride low on his hips.
Jesus Holy Fuck.
He looks… real. Unarmored. Dangerously beautiful.
For a second, neither of us speaks. The air between us hums, thick with oil, metal, and something sharper that sends heat to my core. And under my ribcage as well.
His gaze flicks over me, slow and deliberate, like he’s taking inventory.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough, unused.
Something twists in my chest. Somehow, the calculated, scheming version of him suddenly feels less dangerous.
“Hey,” I rasp, my heart drumming in my chest.
He moves back, letting me in. Stepping over the threshold feels like a monumental step in our relationship.
I look down, as if that could ground me in any useful way. But there is no grounding on quicksand. I step in anyway.
“What is this place?” I ask, but before he answers, I rush forward. “Is she yours?”
I stop short of a navy-blue Bentley, waiting for permission. I know better than to come between a person and their precious vehicle. This beauty is more than a car. It’s a collectible.
“Yes, it’s mine. Did you want to add GTA to my list of wrong decisions?” His voice is stripped of its usual confidence.
I snap my gaze to him, and find a man who is breathtaking and lost. Between this morning and now, something happened that made him… I don’t know… just less, and more at the same time.
“Not all of your decisions are wrong.” I give him a soft smile.
He prowls toward me, and I fight the urge to step back. Not because I don’t want his closeness, but because I’m not sure how long I can still believe his betrayal is unforgivable.
“All the ones that mattered were wrong.” He leans against the gleaming hood, putting his hands into his pockets.
My gaze skims the polished metal, because looking at Liam is painful, in the best and worst way.
“You like her?” A hint of pride finally enters his voice, and it infuses the interaction with our usual ease. Well, not completely, but it’s safe to talk about the car.
We’re doing so well together when we avoid critical conversations, after all.
“I love her, but I don’t understand.” Gently, I brush the shiny surface.
The air is filled with anticipation. Of what? I wish I knew. It excites me.
Like for the first time in my life, control doesn’t matter. What matters is closeness. Companionship. Trust.
I don’t know what this place is. Fuck, I hardly know who this man is. Yet being here with him is comforting.
I have a deeply rooted appreciation for vintage cars, but that’s not the reason why this moment feels important.
“I wanted to show you…” He lets out a long sigh. “To show you what I like to do when the world gets too heavy. When I need to think. When I want to lose myself.”
The confession is awkward. Probably not because of what he’s sharing, but because he is sharing. Period. And suddenly, it is clear why he invited me here.
This is an intimate gesture. A show of trust. Of letting me into his world. For real.
Not the carefully curated version he unleashed on me before, when he was controlling the agenda.
It’s not an empty gesture. And he doesn’t even understand how this particular hobby unravels me. I will have to show him later.
“Being here suits you. More than a boardroom. You look happy here.” I smile at him.
“I feel more myself here. A corporate career has never been my dream.” He tilts his head, studying my reaction.
“But?” I frown. “Why is this only a hobby?”
He shrugs. “I guess I never allowed myself to pursue what I wanted. The revenge plot and all that.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Perhaps now I can rid myself of the corporate shackles.”
“And polish a vintage car?” I grin, trying to bring some levity.
He reaches for my hand and pulls me to him. I collapse against his solid chest while he steadies me between his legs. “Yes, Thunder, and polish cars.” He grins back.
“Okay.” I chuckle, wrapping my arms around his neck. “So not just this Bentley?”
He kisses my lips, but it’s a chaste kiss, and I stifle a moan when he removes his lips way too quickly.
“She knows her cars.” He humors me, but there is a sense of respect behind the jab. “I polish them, right after I strip them into parts, down to bare metal, cleaning them by hand.” He kisses my neck, and I tilt my head to give him access, his mouth already sending minor explosions down my spine.
“Occasionally, I replace components.” He continues kissing my skin down the clavicle, his hands heavy on my hips. “Only when absolutely necessary. I respect original craft too much for that.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me. Say you tune the engine by the sound of it, and you can have your way with me,” I tease.
He stops kissing me, and before I understand what’s happening, he lifts me, pivots us, and plants my ass on the hood. He whips out his phone, swipes a few times, and shows me a photo.
“This is how she looked when I got her.”
I stare at a picture of a banged-up almost-wreckage. Suddenly, the scars, the calluses, the smudges on his hands tell a story. A story I can relate to, because my grandfather used to collect vintage cars.
The scar on his hand… oh my, how was I so oblivious? Romeo had his hand bandaged.
Sometimes, I like to get my hands dirty. When he said it at the sex club, I thought it was playful banter. He was telling me the truth. Not giving details, but not deceiving either.
Are all the parts of him I got to know true? Is it just his motivations at the beginning that were insincere? I want to believe that.
Liam studies me intently as I stare at the picture, lost in my thoughts. When the photo comes back into focus, I gasp.
“Oh my God, let me down. I don’t want to damage her.”
I try to slide down, but he steps between my legs. Returning his phone to his pocket, he cages me with his hands on each side of me. “You, Little Thunder, belong right here.”
He’s talking about the car—which is significant by itself. I know how sacred they are to people who care.
But that’s secondary. Liam is also talking about my belonging to his world. To his space. To his life.
He doesn’t need to spell it out for me to understand. It’s the set jaw, the intense gaze, the flexed fingers beside me.
It’s his entire being radiating with something that isn’t just the plain heat we’ve been feeling until now.
I don’t know what to do with his trust. I’m not ready to forget and just believe that this version of him is honest. My instincts betrayed me before.
Part of me questions his motivations. Is this about our child? Or is he still hoping to get closer to my father and get the intel he’s been seeking?
I don’t want to believe that, but I’m too scared to explore what that would mean. So instead of responding, I seize his lips.
He kisses me back, but it’s with a restraint. Perhaps due to my lack of response. Can’t we just avoid talking for a bit longer?
“So, Corm called you,” he says, his hands running up and down my thighs.
“Oh, yes, that.” I reluctantly let go and drop my hands behind me, not really leaning on them because I don’t want to dent the hood. “You gave up the partnership.”
“It was never mine to begin with.” He unbuttons my shirt.
“So you begged them to give it to me?”
His fingers trail between my breasts, down my now-exposed stomach. I sigh with pleasure.
“I didn’t need to beg them, and you know it.” He kisses the swell of my breast, and I arch my back to get more of him.
“Thank you.” I practically whimper as his tongue grazes dangerously close to my nipple.
He straightens up. “You have nothing to thank me for.” He drops to his knees in front of me. “I’m sorry I delayed the process. You should have been a partner already.”
I stare down at him, and it hits me. This man has always treated me as his equal. Even when we competed, when we worked together, even when he was domineering me in the bedroom.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Stand up, Liam.”
“I need you to understand how sorry I am about it all.”
I close my eyes for a brief, steadying moment. “I think I believe that. But I’m not sure I can believe you won’t do it again.”
“Fair enough. I only ask your forgiveness for the crimes I committed. I will work on earning your trust, Thunder.”
Jesus, this man will be the death of me.
I brought the formidable Liam Stone to his knees, but the image is still wrong. “Get up.” I scowl.
He pushes to stand in front of me and disarms me with his cocky smirk. “I was hoping to lift your skirt.”
“The angle is wrong,” I tease, grateful we can escape the realness of the moment. “Besides, we’re not having sex on this car.”
“I disagree.” He slides his hands up my thighs.
“You just restored her.”