Chapter 36 Anna
Anna
Liam’s warm hand engulfs mine. Anticipation lights a match and burns through my belly as he leads me through a doorway labeled ROOFTOP ACCESS.
His flat is the penthouse—the only one on the top floor.
I take each step carefully in my heeled boots. When we reach the top, he pauses with his hand on the doorhandle.
“Ready?” he asks. There’s something vulnerable in his voice that makes my stomach flutter.
Before I can answer, he swings the door open. I drop his hand as mine flies to my mouth.
I take in the rooftop. I don’t know what it looked like before, but I’m willing to bet it didn’t look like this.
The railings are woven with fairy lights that twinkle like dancing fireflies.
The warm glow casts everything in amber light.
Potted plants of various colors are scattered across the space.
In the center, a green and red tartan picnic blanket is spread out, framed with outdoor lanterns.
A woven basket sits beside it, overflowing with cheeses, fruit, and other nibbles, a knitted throw folded neatly alongside.
A bottle of expensive champagne is chilling in a bucket next to the blanket with two empty flutes waiting to be filled. I squint my eyes. It’s Bollinger—the good shit.
I turn to look at Liam, who’s watching me with a nervous twist of his lips. His dimple pops and I’m tempted to trace it with my fingers.
“Say something,” he says, huffing a nervous laugh.
I sweep my eyes over everything one more time. He did this. For me.
“Liam,” I whisper, shaking my head in disbelief. “This is . . .”
“Is it too much?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.
I study him. This big, strong, thoughtful man is reduced to jitters and nerves. He’s flushed.
I did that to him.
It’s boyish and vulnerable and I love it.
“No,” I say, stepping forward. “This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”
And it is. I can’t remember how long it’s been since anyone cared enough to do something like this for me, and my heart is happy.
He palms the back of his neck, dropping his gaze. “I can’t take all the credit, Zoey helped… Is it private enough?”
A smile splits my face knowing he asked Zoey to help him, and I nod.
“Yeah?” His shoulders visibly relax and he grins, that damn dimple deepening even more.
“Yeah.” I step closer to him, lifting up on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck. I’m lost for words, so I drag his lips down to mine instead.
The kiss starts off soft and tender, almost lazy. My tongue teases the seam of his mouth and he parts for me with a low sound that vibrates against my lips. His hands come up to cradle my face and he tilts my head back to plunder me. His tongue sweeps mine, stealing every breath and every thought.
I squeeze my thighs together as we break apart, his fingers pushing my hair back from my face.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
I reach up, finally giving in to the urge to trace that dimple. “It’s perfect.” I lower myself back down. “But you didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.” His thumb and index finger wrap around my wrist, holding my palm flush against his cheek.
There’s a moment.
I don’t know what it is. Or what it means.
It’s as if every molecule around us weaves and shifts, reality bending until the world narrows to just this. Just us. Just now.
His eyes search my face, as if I might hold the answer to what just happened.
He brushes a thumb over my pulse as his voice drops to a whisper. “You take my breath away, Anna.”
“So do you,” I whisper back.
His mouth twitches and he pulls back. “Would you like a champagne?”
“Is a frog’s arse watertight?” I say. “Obviously.”
He laughs, taking my hand and guiding me to the center of the blanket. I sink down onto my knees, tucking my butt back against my heels and fanning my skirt out around me. The cork pops and he pours two flutes, handing me one, clinking his glass against mine.
“Slainte,” he says.
I smile. “Slainte.”
Cool bubbles explode over my tongue but they don’t touch the heat crawling over my skin.
He stretches out beside me, long legs sprawled as he leans back on one arm. “Tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”
My brows shoot up. “Like what?”
“Anything… everything.”
I roll my lips and narrow my eyes as I try to think of something vaguely interesting about myself. “Well, no one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” I say, sweeping my hand around the rooftop.
“No one?”
I shake my head, taking a sip. “Never.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Why is that ridiculous?”
His gaze doesn’t waver as he replies. “Because you deserve to be someone’s first thought in the morning and last thought before they go to sleep. You deserve fairy lights and champagne and someone who wants to sit under the stars with you.”
Oh.
A sound nearly falls out of me. Because I want that someone to be him.
I dip my chin. “Your turn.”
“All right,” he says, setting his glass down beside him. He scratches his head as he thinks. “I watched Batman and broke my arm jumping off the monkey bars at school.”
“What? Why did you jump off the monkey bars?!”
He shrugs. “I thought I could fly. Only problem was, no bat-suit.”
I bark out a laugh. “Which Batman movie was it? Val Kilmer or George Clooney?”
“Kilmer, obviously.” His mouth curves into a crooked grin.
“That’s actually really cute.”
“I have the scar and everything,” he says.
“You have to show me!”
He starts rolling up the sleeve of his shirt and my focus almost completely derails at the sight of his forearm flexing under tan skin. The sight alone nearly has me drooling. He points to a long, jagged scar at his elbow. “Right here.”
I curl my fingers around his arm, dipping my head to press a kiss to the raised skin. “Better?” I ask, releasing my hold.
He stares down at me like he can’t quite believe I just did that. His throat works, his voice rough as he mutters, “Yeah. Better.”
“Do you have any other scars?” I ask, taking a sip.
He flashes a roguish smile. “Actually, yeah. On my dick. Can you kiss that one better too?”
I choke on my champagne and smack his arm playfully. “Rude!”
The laugh that escapes him settles into a place I didn’t know was empty, and I want to hear it again.
“Your turn,” he says, picking his glass back up and taking a sip.
“Well, I’m not a complete moron, so I haven’t got any scars from jumping off monkey bars—”
“You little shite.” He smiles.
“But I can play the piano.”
“Really?” he asks, impressed. He cocks a brow. “Do you still play? I don’t remember seeing a piano in your flat.”
I shake my head. “I sold it. Haven’t played in years. I used to love it, though.”
“Then why’d you stop?”
My gaze falls to the floor. The question is so simple but it hangs between us. I never tell people about the piano anymore; even April and Gemma don’t know. And I think it’s been so long since I played that Max has probably forgotten about it too.
I think admitting I used to love it means confronting why I gave it up. But sitting here now, looking at Liam’s curious face, I realize how ridiculous my reason sounds.
How wrong it was to let someone else’s opinion steal something that brought me joy.
“Mason thought the piano took up too much space, so I got rid of it,” I say quietly.
His eyes turn soft. “Do you miss it?”
The question catches me off guard, because in all the years I was married to Mason, he never asked if I missed it—even though I gave it up for him.
I haven’t let myself think about the piano for so long that I’ve almost convinced myself that I don’t love it anymore. That it was just a hobby I outgrew. But I don’t think that’s true.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I really do.”
His shoulder gently nudges mine. “Then play.”
I stare at him, a smile tugging up my cheeks. “I think I might.”
“Good for you,” he says, clinking his glass against mine.
“Your turn,” I whisper.
“Hmm.” He scratches his jaw. “I hate pizza.”
I gasp, my hand flying to my chest. “You hate pizza? Are you insane? Nobody hates pizza.”
He pretends to flick his hair over his shoulder. “I’m different to the rest of them.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “All right, all right,” I say, catching my breath. “Have I told you I have a brother? Max.”
His head jerks up and for the first time since I’ve known him, those sapphire eyes almost widen in fear. “Is he older?”
A laugh bursts out of me because for once, the big, unshakable Liam Murphy looks apprehensive.
“Oh yeah,” I drawl, stirring him up. “He’s forty-three. Built like a tank. Strong as hell. Very protective.”
This time his brows lift. “Should I be afraid?”
I tap my finger against my lip, mock-considering.
“Christ,” he mutters under his breath.
I swat his arm lightly. “Relax. I’m kidding. Max is great. He’s marrying my best friend, Gemma.”
He sits up and pinches my waist, making me squeal. “You’ll pay for that.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Are you close? With Max, I mean,” he asks, settling back on his elbow.
I nod, still smiling. “He’s one of my best friends.
We moved a lot growing up because my dad worked for international hotel chains, so we’d bounce from city to city depending on wherever his job took him.
I spent most of my early childhood in Fiji.
” I shrug, toying with the hem of my dress.
“Because we traveled so much, Max was it. My constant. I never felt lonely.” The corner of my lip tips up. “My parents made it an adventure.”
A shadow passes over Liam’s face. His expression turns distant, and unease prickles my skin.
I draw my finger over the soft felt blanket. “What about you? What was your family like?”
His jaw locks and he looks away, toward the city lights. Panic flares in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I rush. “You don’t have to—”
“No.” He cuts me off, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I just . . .” He exhales hard. “My da was pretty violent when I was a lad.”