Chapter 19
Sophie hesitated at the door of Sondra’s boutique, her hands tucked deep into her coat pockets. In the window, three outfits were on display—each effortlessly chic, one as stylish as the next. They certainly made her plain jeans, sneakers, and sweater look downright dingy. Not that Sophie didn’t believe in the value of plain and sensible. There was always a time and place for that. But today was not the time or the place. Today Sophie wanted to sparkle.
She could still hear Liam’s voice in her head, low and warm, telling her she was beautiful. She believed him, of course, but she wanted to be the woman in his painting, the one who radiated confidence, who owned her body and her presence without question. If she was honest, she wanted to show him that woman, too.
The chime of the bell above the door pulled her from her thoughts, and before she could second-guess herself, she was yanked inside.
“If you’re waiting for divine intervention, I hate to break it to you but ta! da! It’s me. Now, in you go!” Sondra’s voice rang out. She enveloped Sophie in a hug then pulled back, eyes twinkling. “Every woman deserves to feel like the best version of herself. And you, my dear, are about to be reminded of just how gorgeous you are.”
Sophie exhaled and gave a self-conscious laugh. “All right. Do your worst.”
Sondra grinned. “Oh, honey, I only do my best.” In an instant, the statuesque blonde was striding across the floor, all long legs and effortless grace, towing Sophie along with her.
With a flick of her wrist, she led Sophie deeper into the boutique, where racks of stunning clothes hung on display. A plush chair sat in the center of the fitting area, and beside it, a tray with a small glass of whiskey and a plate of chocolates.
“Sit,” Sondra commanded, pushing Sophie gently into the chair. “Relax and let me do what I do best.”
Sophie picked up the glass, taking a small sip, then another, then she threw back the whole glass as Sondra pulled pieces with the precision of a woman who understood exactly what would work. She didn’t just see fabric. She saw transformation.
After a few minutes, Sondra returned to find the glass of whiskey and the plate both empty. She smiled in sympathy. “Nervous much? There’s no need, I promise. I’ve got a few choices for you to try on. But,” she added with a smirk, “I already know which one is the winner.”
Sophie arched a brow. “You do?”
“Absolutely. But you’ll see.”
One by one, Sophie tried on the outfits. A sleek black jumpsuit that hugged her in ways she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Not to mention she did not know how on earth she would ever use the bathroom while wearing it. A deep emerald green dress that complimented her complexion. A soft blue number that was elegant but safe.
And then, the last one.
When she stepped in front of the mirror, something inside her stilled. The dress—if it could even be called that—was a vision of deep red silk, draping her body like a whisper, highlighting curves she always tried to hide. The neckline dipped just enough to tease, and the slit along her thigh hinted at a boldness she wasn’t sure she possessed. The color accentuated the deep blue of her eyes, making them seem even more striking, and contrasted beautifully with her overgrown but still effortlessly elegant dark hair.
Sondra stood behind her smiling. “And there she is.”
Sophie swallowed hard, studying her reflection. She’d spent so long feeling undesirable, uncertain, unloved that she had forgotten she could look this way.
Since their reconciliation, she had been wondering if Liam only saw her through the lens of nostalgia. But looking at herself now, she thought maybe she could see what he saw.
Sondra rested a hand on her shoulder. “That man of yours already knows exactly how stunning you are. Now it’s time for you to see it, too. Let me ask you something: What is it you want? Really want?”
“I want…” Sophie ran her hands down her sides as if smoothing the dress. The fabric was utterly divine. “You know, when you walk inside Connor and Darcie’s house? Their love, their connection—you can feel it in the air. Their devotion, their bond is so strong, you can almost touch it. You have that with Simon. Jesus, even Aunt Nan and Shamus have it! I’ve never had it. Never felt that way. Not even when I thought I was so sick in love with my husband. I never felt that with him. I thought that sort of love only existed in stories. And then I come home and find out it’s real. That’s what I want. Only, I just… I don’t think I’m meant for that sort of devotion.”
Wow. Talk about unloading. She hadn’t realized she felt that way until she said it out loud. Sophie let out a breath, giving a small smile. “Darcie told me you have a knack for this sort of thing. She wasn’t kidding.”
Sondra winked and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s a gift.”
Sophie turned to her then, recalling something from the night before. “Sondra, how did you know that woman last night wasn’t Liam’s type?”
Sondra’s expression softened, and she gave Sophie a knowing look. “Because, I saw the way he looked at you.”
Sophie chewed on her lip for a moment. “And how does he look at me?”
Sondra squeezed her hand. “Like you’re the only woman who’s ever mattered. He’s devoted to you.”
Sophie nodded. Yes, he truly was.
“Now, how do you feel about high heels?”
* * *
Sophie had never felt this light, this confident, this utterly radiant. It wasn’t just the sleek dress hugging her curves in all the right places or the expertly applied makeup that made her eyes seem to sparkle more than usual. It was deeper than that.
Her heels clicked against the floor of his art studio as she stepped inside, the scent of paint and turpentine thick in the air. Liam stood at a large canvas, brush in hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. Even distracted, he was devastatingly handsome—shirt sleeves rolled up, forearm muscles flexing as he worked, a streak of cobalt blue smeared across his cheek. Sophie felt a bolt of heat lance through her.
When he noticed her, his brush stilled. His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, darkening as it lingered. “Sophie, you look…” His voice was rough, like he was trying to find the right words and failing. He shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Incredible.”
A thrill raced down her spine. “You like?”
His lips curled at the corner. “I more than like.”
Sophie crossed the room, trailing a fingertip along the edge of a nearby table cluttered with paint tubes and brushes. “You know, I used to love watching Bob Ross on TV,” she mused, glancing at his work. “He reminded me of you a little—so patient. His painting technique was effortless, like yours. I always thought about getting a canvas out and painting along with him, but I never did. I just watched.”
Liam cocked his head, interest sparking in his expression. “Oh, yeah? I can fix that.”
Before she could protest, he was shifting an easel in front of her, setting up a blank canvas. He grabbed a paint-stained smock and moved behind her, wrapping it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck as he fastened it. The heat of his body was so close, his breath warm against her skin.
“We don’t want to ruin this beautiful dress of yours,” he murmured. Then, in a tone so low and suggestive it sent a shiver straight to her core, he added, “And you may want to take off those shoes.”
Somehow, he made that sound erotic.
Sophie stepped out of her heels and, feeling playful, tossed them over her shoulder.
He handed her a palette and brush. “All right, paint.”
Sophie blinked at him. “Paint what?”
Liam shrugged, leaning in, his voice a warm whisper in her ear. “Anything you like, love. Just choose a color, place it on the canvas, and see what happens.” He moved closer, his arms bracketing hers as he guided her hand toward the canvas, his body pressing lightly against her back. “It’s about feeling, not thinking,” he murmured. “Let it be messy, imperfect—just like life.”
Her heart pounded as she dipped the brush into a shade the color of evergreens and streaked it across the canvas. The sensation was oddly freeing, exhilarating even. Liam hummed in approval, his touch lingering, his breath fanning the sensitive spot behind her ear.
“Good,” he murmured. “See? You’re already an artist.”
Sophie laughed. “My trees look like tornadoes.”
“Art is all about perspective,” Liam’s lips were barely an inch from her skin. “And from where I’m standing, this is beautiful.”
His words sent a slow, melting warmth through her, and when she turned her head to look at him, their faces were impossibly close. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and the air between them crackled.
Sophie swallowed hard. “Are you talking about the painting?”
Liam’s smirk was devastating. “Not even a little.”
And then his mouth was on hers—urgent and claiming. The paint brush slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor as she twisted in his arms. He lifted her onto the nearby worktable, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, the cool wood pressing against the backs of her thighs. His hands roamed her body with the confidence of a man who had already memorized every inch of her—who knew exactly where to touch, where to press, to make her fall apart.
There was no hesitation. Just a seamless return to something that had always been theirs.
He swept everything aside and laid her back, his gaze locked onto hers—dark, intense, full of promises only he could keep. His voice was a low rasp, thick with need.
“I’ve missed my Sophie.”
She traced her fingers down the line of his chest, tugging at the hem of his shirt, her smile slow and knowing. “Show me how much.”
A wicked smile tugged at his lips before he bent to kiss her again—hotter now, deeper. His hands found the edge of her dress and pulled it down, baring her skin to the cool air and his warm mouth. She arched into him with a gasp as his lips closed around her black lace covered nipple, teasing and insistent, his hands firm on her hips as if anchoring her in place.
This— this —was what she’d come for. To remind him. To remind herself. That what they had was still there. Still strong. Still unshakable.
His hands slid beneath her skirt, dragging her lace panties down her thighs and tossing them aside. She guided him where she needed him most, the rough press of his jeans against her bare skin sending a jolt through her. There was no teasing, no patience left.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathed against her throat, his fingers sliding between her legs with practiced ease, drawing a cry from her lips.
“You,” she gasped, clinging to him. “Now.”
He fumbled with his belt, then finally freed himself, the thick weight of him hot against her. She reached between them, guiding him to her, and he pushed into her in one slow, perfect thrust that stole the breath from her lungs.
He groaned her name, forehead pressed to hers, as they moved together with a rhythm that felt like muscle memory—like coming home. Each stroke was deep, desperate, full of everything they still felt.
Their movements turned frantic, messy, greedy. Her hands scrambled over his back, nails digging in as heat coiled tight inside her. Every gasp, every moan, every thrust only pulled her deeper into the fire of him.
And when they shattered—together—it wasn’t just release. It was a reclaiming.
As they stilled, her heart thundered against his chest, and he kissed her again—gentler now, reverent.
Liam had always been her safe place. Her greatest love.
And now, tangled up in the heat of him, Sophie knew with absolute certainty that she was never letting him go again.