Chapter 15
Roxy
“He doesn’t know what he is missing. You’re more of an asset than many men I know.”
Liam’s words land right in my chest, spreading warmth I don’t want to feel. All evening, he’s been throwing me off my game.
With his invitation to celebrate.
With his conviction about my value.
With his praise.
Oh, his praise. I thought I had built up some immunity against this stupid attraction, and he undid it all with a few words. My underwear is ruined.
Though as much as I don’t want to notice, his reaction to me shedding the jacket was satisfying. In another time, another world, the two of us could… Don’t go there, Roxy.
I swallow. It’s not that I wish my father saw me as an asset. I don’t want his approval anymore.
But yet again, Liam fucking Stone is on my side, and I don’t know what to do with that.
“You said I’m shit at celebrating. This evening got too serious too quickly.” I pick up my glass of wine and raise it. “No more talking about families.”
He studies me, his gaze penetrating as his jaw works. Like he’s deciding something, or plotting something. I’m about to lower my glass when he finally raises his.
“No more family talk.” He takes a sip.
I wet my lips. This is one of my favorite wines, but today it tastes weird. Maybe it’s not a good year. A good thing, probably, because I need to be sharp around this man.
It’s getting harder and harder to keep my distance. I’ve been horny since my night with Romeo, and having this man in my life day in and day out is challenging for my sanity. And my body.
“Let’s celebrate that I deserve to be a partner because I’m Roxy fucking Moretti.” I smile at him and lick my lips before I lower the glass.
“I’ll drink to that anytime.” He takes another sip. “But you’re not drinking and not eating.” He points to my plate.
My stomach has been suffering from the stress, and as delicious as that steak might be, I can’t imagine eating it.
I look down at the neatly cut slices on my plate. While we talked, I busied myself with the knife but not so much with tasting.
“I’m not that hungry.” I spear my fork through a baby potato and take a nibble. “Hypothetically, if you don’t become a Merged partner, what will be your next adventure?”
One corner of his lips pulls up. Not a smile. Not kindness. That smirk he wears when he knows he’s the shark and someone else is bleeding in the water.
It shouldn’t do anything to me. It absolutely does. Heat twists low in my belly. I cross my legs under the table on instinct.
“I have never needed a plan B in my life,” he says, his voice all velvet and arrogance.
I snort. “Cocky much?”
He shrugs. “What is your plan B?”
“The partnership is my plan B.” I sound defensive, and I hate it.
“I’m sure you’ll land on your feet just fine.”
“You’re very good for my self-confidence.” And for my libido. Which is unfortunate, because I can’t sleep with the enemy. I lost control once. I’m not repeating that mistake.
Though when he’s looking at me like I’m his dinner, it’s hard to remember why it was a mistake.
My thighs press together under the table. Reflex. Instinct. Treachery.
“What is your plan A then? It doesn’t seem you’re happy with your current role.”
For a moment, I want to tell him. To share that the alternative would be returning to my family and fulfilling my duty to them. A duty I so desperately want to escape.
My father might have indulged my freedom for the past few years, but the clock is ticking.
All of that goes through my head, while I admire the napkin as if the most fascinating verses were written on it.
But as much as I would like to share, I can’t trust this man. I look up. “We said no talking about families.” With that, I probably shared more than I should have. “Where do you disappear twice a year?”
He chuckles. It’s a rumbling sound, rough enough to raise goose bumps along my arms. But it carries more bitterness than jest.
“I should be flattered you researched me.” Raising his hand, he calls the server.
“As if you didn’t research…” I peter out.
Cold slides down my spine. Why didn’t I think of that before? Of course he researched me.
I tried to dig out everything about him because of our competition. Why wouldn’t he? And if he did… does he know who my father is?
If he knows, he keeps the information to himself. Nobody at Merged knows. They never thought of finding out.
But Liam? I can’t believe he didn’t find out. All his questions about my family earlier?
Fuck. If he knows and keeps the information to himself, he must believe he can use it at some point. I would. I think.
“You can clear this.” He gestures to my cold, uneaten steak. “Could you make us a plate with all your desserts?”
The server picks up our plates. “Of course, sir.”
“I don’t need to research you, Roxy, the competition is about our business acumen and abilities. As much as you think I play dirty, I think we both proved ourselves already. Now it’s down to Corm to decide who he wants at the table.”
I’m not sure I can believe he didn’t research me, but I relax a bit. “They seem to enjoy the competition a bit too much.”
“Assholes.”
I laugh. “They really are.”
“It’s nice when we agree on something.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
“And here I thought we could get along.” He holds my gaze, steady and unblinking, as if he’s trying to read every line I haven’t said out loud. “Forget research. Let’s try to get to know each other.”
“You want to get to know me? Why?” I lean forward, and his eyes drop again to my cleavage.
“Come on, Thunder, we’re sharing dessert. We can share more.” Is it just me, or is there a lot of suggestion behind his more?
“Okay, what do you want me to share?”
“What do you do in your spare time?”
I laugh. “What spare time?”
The expression grows serious. “It’s none of my business, but you work too hard.”
“Isn’t that the only way to get ahead?”
“You won’t get too far if you collapse halfway through.”
“It would eliminate your competition.”
He studies me, his jaw ticking. He flexes his fingers a few times, and the tendons on the back of his hand shift, sharp under his skin. “At what price, though?”
“Are you upset?”
“Pissed.”
“Because I work too hard?”
He opens his mouth and closes it. He opens his palm and clenches it. He shakes his head.
“Your desserts.” The server interrupts whatever Liam was stopping himself from saying. She places a tray with at least a dozen cakes and pastries between us.
“I didn’t think you had a sweet tooth.” I desperately want to move away from our current duel.
The man is driving me crazy. What is he pissed about? Me working hard? Doesn’t he realize that where he just walks in and claims, women have to prove themselves?
“It’s for you, Thunder.” He leans forward and plops a chocolate-covered strawberry into his mouth.
The action is uncharacteristically playful. The room gets hot.
“I don’t want… What are you doing?”
Liam stands up and moves his chair to sit beside me. Effortlessly, he pivots my chair, bracketing it between his muscular legs.
His thighs cage mine, burning. Branding. Debilitating.
“Liam,” I warn, not sure if I should kick him or lean closer.
Sometime during his maneuvering, my hands landed on his thighs. The awareness sends a jolt of current through me. Based on the bulge between his legs, I’m not the only one affected.
“Liam?” This time, my warning is more of a breathy whisper.
“Thunder,” he mirrors.
With a fork, he scoops a cheesecake and brings it to my mouth.
My breath stutters. His expression slides into hungry amusement, like I’ve just offered myself up as dessert.
“Open up.” It’s a honey-covered command, and my ovaries believe he’s talking to my legs.
I stifle a whimper and obey.
The mango hits my tongue. It’s bright, cold, indecently smooth. A moan slips out before I can stop it.
Liam’s gaze darkens.
I’m marginally aware we’re in a public place, but all the chatter and clutter fall away as the man I try to avoid feeds me small morsels like I’m a child.
But there is nothing childish about the heat consuming us. This game is all molten lava and danger. A taste of pecans.
My body’s reactions are heat and concern. A taste of meringue.
It’s all wrong, and yet so fucking inevitable. A taste of caramel.
A crumb sticks to the corner of my lip, and I try to swipe it with my tongue.
Liam reaches to wipe it, and the tip of my tongue grazes the pad of his finger. The contact is a lightning strike straight to my core.
My heart hammers in my chest. He must smell my arousal. I certainly see his.
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
“I’m making sure you don’t collapse in the middle of the competition.” He puts a chocolate truffle into my mouth, and I close my lips around his fingers.
He swallows. His heated gaze slides to my mouth.
I dig my nails into his thigh. To find purchase. Sanity. A way out.
A pointless endeavor.
“If it was up to me, Thunder”—he runs his thumb across my lower lip, smearing the truffle filling—“we would be paying the bill and going over to my room.”
Yes, please. “That’s a terrible idea.” My pulse kicks, hard enough that I feel it in my throat.
I lick the sweetness from my lips, enjoying how his breath stutters on a soft groan.
“The worst,” he murmurs, his eyes still on my mouth. I want his lips there. Goddammit.
“Your room…” Don’t finish that sentence. “No way I would risk someone seeing us.”
Am I really planning the where? Am I past the if already?
“I’m sure there is a broom closet we can find here.”
The casual suggestion shouldn’t excite me. It really shouldn’t. But when it comes to should and this man, I don’t recognize myself.
“Charming,” I scoff. “As you said, it’s the worst idea.” My protest is already irrelevant, and we both know it.
He runs his hand up my thigh, small explosions detonating throughout my core. “Maybe we can pretend we are someone else, Thunder.”
The idea should awaken my last shred of responsibility or propriety. It does the opposite. “Just for tonight?”
He nods. “Just for tonight.”