Chapter 27 Liam
TWENTY-SEVEN
LIAM
Juniper’s curled against me, all warm skin and sleepy sighs.
Her hair a messy halo on my chest. I drag the tip of my finger along her spine, tracing lazy circles, just looking at her.
This woman has been under my skin since the second she kissed me last Christmas, and now she’s under my skin in every possible way.
I can still feel her. The way she’d clung to me, breathless and brave, her mouth whispering my name when I finally pushed inside her.
I’d never experienced anything like it. Never where every heartbeat felt like a promise, like I was giving something up just to gain something bigger. Us. That’s what we are now.
I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in. God, she’s wrecked me. And she doesn’t even know how deep I’m in yet. I’ve got plans—things I want to give her, things I’m still holding close to my chest because the surprise of it is half the fun.
She shifts, half-awake, blinking up at me with that soft, hazy look that knocks every thought right out of my head.
“What?” she murmurs, voice sleepy and sweet.
“Nothing.” I grin and drag my thumb across her lower lip. “Just looking.”
She hums, tucking her face under my chin like she’s trying to crawl inside my chest and live there.
And maybe that’s what she’s done. Hell, she’s always been there. I just finally stopped pretending she wasn’t.
She goes quiet again, breath evening out. But me? I’m wide awake, fingers on her back, brain already working out exactly how to make sure she never has to wonder if I’m staying.
And then she pushes herself up just enough to lean over the side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She doesn’t respond. But when she leans back, she’s got a small box in her hand. When she drops it on my chest, my heart actually stumbles.
It’s the same box that I found in her living room earlier this week when I was helping her assemble the blind-date-with-a-book packages.
I grin. “Don’t tell me you’re making me unwrap something else tonight, Firefly. I’m not sure I’ll survive.”
She rolls her eyes but her mouth curves into that soft, secret smile I’m starting to think is reserved just for me. She presses the box into my hand. “Just open it.”
I pop it open. The watch glints in the stray strip of streetlight—sleek, old-school, the brushed steel case worn smooth in places. The face is classic, but the back is what does me in—the tiny engraving near the lugs: Tempus fugit. A detail only another watch nerd would care about.
She’d already told me about the watch at the hospital. Admitting she’d saw it at a vintage store and thought of me. But seeing it and the engraving, and knowing it’s for me from her, hits harder than I expected.
“I love it.”
“Yeah?” Her voice is soft. “I love that you love it.”
And damn, there's an awful lot of love circling this thing for two people who haven’t said it yet.
I run my thumb over the inscription. Tempus fugit. Time flies. God, that hits somewhere deep.
“So let me get this straight.” I tilt her chin up with my knuckle, smirking. “You carried this around all year, staring at it, and thinking about me?”
“Shut up.” She shoves my shoulder but she’s laughing, cheeks warm and flushed. “I wasn’t pining,” she lies. Badly.
“No?” I press another kiss to the corner of her mouth, slow and sweet. “So this was just, what? Casual, thoughtful hoarding?”
She swats my chest, but I catch her wrist, holding it there so she feels my heartbeat under her palm.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” she says, breathless.
“Yeah?” I kiss her again, deeper now. “Well, you’re the one giving sentimental vintage watches to a guy you claim you didn’t miss. Makes you look a little attached, Firefly.”
She tries to glare but she’s smiling, soft and exasperated. “So what now?”
I flip the box shut and set it on her nightstand, then roll her beneath me in the tangle of blankets.
“Now,” I say, my mouth a breath from hers, “you keep giving me your time.” I nip her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. “And tomorrow, you’ll see I’m giving you mine, too.”