Chapter 7
After we finish our cobbler, we migrate to Liam’s office, falling into the easy rhythm we’ve built without even thinking about it.
Even though it’s Saturday, there’s always work to be done on the ranch, which means I’m clocking a full day whether I like it or not.
That’s the deal when your life is tangled up in Stonewater Rodeo Stock.
I grab my tablet from his desk and log in, settling into the worn leather chair opposite his.
“Okay,” I say, skimming through the task list. “We’ve already talked about the fence issue. I’ll email Sam and Phern, let them know when we’re heading out of town.”
Liam nods, lounging back in his chair, watching me.
I keep scrolling. “Eddie’s ready for ten straws from Bullet, and he already paid the deposit.”
Liam whistles low. “Ten? Damn, honey. You’re gonna get a bonus for that one.”
A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it. Pride flutters in my chest. Each straw of semen from Bullet sells for ten thousand dollars. He’s one of our top sires, the kind of legend ranchers dream about having in their bloodlines. So, yeah, securing that sale was no small thing.
“I accept payment in Louis Vuitton bags,” I tease, pretending to check my watch like I’m very busy and important.
Liam chuckles, the sound low and rich. “I was thinking more along the lines of a trip to Norway. See the Northern Lights.”
I blink, surprised by the softness of the offer. Because I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights from Norway. Sure, I’ve seen them here, on the ranch, but I feel like there would be something even more magical seeing them from a cabin in the middle of the woods with a glass ceiling.
My voice comes out quieter. “Oh. That works too.”
We share a smile. One of those slow, lingering ones that feels dangerous if I look at it too closely.
Liam clears his throat, shifting like he’s trying to reset the room.
“So, I’ve been thinking about this dinner,” he says.
“Oh?”
He taps a pen against his thigh, casual but focused. “Maybe we should have Teddy and his wife come out here instead of meeting them somewhere else. Keep it on our turf. We’ll be more comfortable. Easier to sell the story. And fair, since he wants us to come to his place for two weeks.”
I narrow my eyes at him, already suspicious. “Let me guess. You want me to cook.”
He lifts his hands innocently. “Hey, I’m just saying. I’d never say no to your meatloaf, honey. You know it’s my favorite.”
I snort. “Fine. But I’m charging you overtime.”
“Deal.” He grins, wide and boyish. “Worth every penny.”
I shake my head, pretending to refocus on my tablet.
But inside? It’s getting harder and harder to pretend this is just about business.
Because the way he looks at me when I’m not watching…
the way he says home and us and comfortable like it’s second nature?
Feels a lot less like a job. And a lot more like a life I’m scared to admit I want.
“I’ll need to run into town and grab a few things,” I say, adding mental notes to my growing list of meatloaf ingredients, salad fixings, and maybe some wine.
Liam leans back in his chair, lazy and pleased. “It’s a date.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “How romantic of you.”
He grins like I just set a ball on a tee for him. “Speaking of dates…” His tone shifts, a little too casual, a little too deliberate. “I’ve been thinking.”
I narrow my eyes. “Uh oh.”
“Teddy’s gonna expect to see some PDA between us.”
“What?” My voice cracks slightly.
“PDA.” He enunciates it slowly, like I’m the one struggling. “Public displays of affection.”
“I know what it means, Liam.”
His grin sharpens, wicked and amused. “Good.” He rises from his chair in one slow, easy movement. “Should we practice?”
Every synapse in my body fries at once. I can’t think of a single intelligent response. My mouth opens and nothing comes out.
He steps around the desk, closing the distance between us. Calm. Confident. Like he already knows the answer.
“I promise you’ll like it,” he says, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous.
And that’s the problem.
I’m afraid I’ll like it too much. Because if he kisses me now, there’ll be no salvaging this fake-relationship charade. At least not for me.
But he’s right. We’re supposed to sell this. We have to make it believable.
I stand, too, forcing my legs to work, even though my heart is punching itself against my ribs.
“Okay,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes are warm, predatory and soft at once. And when he steps closer, I realize this isn’t practice. This is the beginning of something neither of us is going to be able to undo.
Liam closes the last few inches between us, slow enough that I could move away if I wanted to. I couldn’t if I tried.
His hand comes up, brushing a loose piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger at the curve of my jaw, warm and calloused, and I swear I feel the touch all the way down to my toes.
My breath catches.
“This okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
I nod, afraid that if I speak, I’ll beg. He smiles, just a little. Not his cocky grin, not the teasing smirk I’m used to. Something softer. Something that feels like it belongs only to me.
Then, slowly, he leans in.
His forehead brushes mine first, a soft, grounding touch that nearly buckles my knees. His nose skims mine, his breath feathering over my lips, and I can feel the tension radiating off him, sharp and electric.
He’s holding back. Giving me a chance to stop this.
I don’t.
I tilt my face up, and that’s all the permission he needs.
His mouth finds mine soft at first. And God, it’s perfect. The kind of kiss that melts years of longing in a heartbeat. The kind of kiss you don't practice. You just fall into.
I reach up without thinking, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, anchoring myself. His free hand slips to my lower back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us, until I can feel every inch of his strong body against mine.
The kiss deepens, slow and devastating, a gradual burn that starts in my chest and spreads outward, setting everything inside me alight.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his thumb stroking a lazy line along my jaw. The air between us hums, electric and fragile.
I swallow hard, willing my heart to slow down, willing myself to say something before I completely shatter.
So I do what I always do. I reach for humor.
I lick my lips, find a wobbly smile, and whisper, “Practice makes perfect.”
Liam’s eyes darken. His grip on my waist tightens. And for a heartbeat, the whole world holds its breath. Then he kisses me again. No hesitation this time. No softness. This kiss is want. It’s possession. It’s ours.
He presses me back against the edge of the desk, hands framing my hips like he’s daring me to pretend this isn’t exactly where I belong. His mouth moves over mine with a kind of reverence laced with hunger, stealing the breath from my lungs and setting every nerve ending on fire.
I kiss him back just as desperately, fisting his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s nothing left between us but heat and the pounding of two hearts finally giving up the fight.
His tongue sweeps against mine and I make a soft, involuntary whimper that betrays just how far gone I am.
Liam groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my mouth, against my ribs, against every part of me that has been starving for him.
When we finally break apart, it’s only because we have to.
We’re both breathing hard, hands still tangled up in each other. Neither of us speaks. Because there are no words big enough for whatever just cracked wide open between us.
“You’re a good student, honey,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with something dangerous. “But I think we can do better.”
His words are barely out before I rise to the challenge.
I crash into him the same moment his mouth claims mine. It’s hungry, wild, and unstoppable. Our tongues collide, not soft and tentative like before, but desperate, like we’re fighting a battle we both know we’re about to lose.
His hands grip my waist, pulling me into him like he can't stand even an inch of distance. My fingers tangle in the damp fabric of his shirt, clutching him closer, needing everything.
I gasp into his mouth when his hand slides under the hem of my shirt, calloused fingers skimming up the soft, sensitive skin of my side.
His thumb brushes the fleshy curve just above my hip, slow and deliberate, sending a hot shiver tearing through me.
I feel the roughness of his palm, the warmth of his skin against mine, and it’s like being set on fire from the inside out.
He groans softly, the sound rumbling against my chest, and deepens the kiss, tilting my head, molding my mouth to his, taking what he wants like he's been starving for it. I meet him with everything I have. All the years of wanting, all the nights of pretending, all the aching, bone-deep hope that maybe this isn't one-sided. His other hand slides up my back, finding the base of my neck, cradling me there as if I’m something precious even while he’s devouring me whole.
And God help me I never want him to stop.
“Knock, knock,” Charlie’s voice floats down the hallway, bright and cheerful. “Liam? Olive? You guys here?”
We tear apart so fast that the desk shudders and papers flutter to the ground like startled birds. I stumble back, hand flying to my mouth. My lips feel swollen and are tingling, and God, I never want to forget the way his mouth felt on mine.
Liam’s chest is rising and falling like he just ran a sprint, his eyes still dark with everything we didn’t get to finish. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it further, then shoots me a wicked grin.
“Fucking bad timing,” he mutters under his breath, tossing me a wink that does nothing to cool the fire he started.