Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hailey
The door closes behind Knox, and I hear the crunch of his boots through the snow. Then the thwack of the axe, steady and rhythmic.
I’m still pressed against Liam’s chest, his arms wrapped around me, both of us cocooned in blankets. My shivering has finally
stopped. Warmth seeps back into my fingers, my toes, the tip of my nose that was numb ten minutes ago.
Neither of us moves.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear. That familiar rhythm I used to fall asleep to in cramped hotel rooms and safe houses
across Europe. I’d forgotten how it felt to be held by him. How safe. How known.
“Your hair smells like woodsmoke,” he murmurs against the top of my head.
“Everything smells like woodsmoke. We’ve been living in a chimney for five days.”
His chest vibrates with a quiet laugh. His hand moves up my back, slow, tracing the line of my spine through my shirt. Not
sexual. Just . . . present. Grounding.
“He knew,” Liam says. “Knox. That we needed this.”
“He’s perceptive that way.”
“He’s in love with you.”
I lift my head to look at him. His brown eyes are soft, no jealousy in them. Just observation.
“I know,” I say.
“Are you in love with him?”
The question should feel loaded. It doesn’t. Maybe because we’re past the point where jealousy makes sense. Maybe because the three of us have already crossed every line there was to cross.
“Yes,” I admit. “But that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
Liam’s hand cups my face. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, tracing down to the corner of my mouth. “Five years,” he says quietly.
“You ever going to tell me why?”
I turn my face into his palm, pressing a kiss there. His skin is warm now, no longer frozen.
“I was scared, Liam.” My voice isn’t steady and I don’t try to make it. “I woke up that morning and I could see the rest of
it. Another job, another city, another hotel room. And I loved you too much to watch it turn into something I resented. So
I ran.”
“A note. That’s what I got.”
“I know.”
“You should have talked to me.”
“You would have talked me out of it.”
Silence. Outside, the steady rhythm of Knox splitting wood.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “I would have.”
His other hand comes up, cradling my face between both palms. He looks at me like he’s memorizing every detail. Like I might
disappear if he blinks.
“I never stopped,” he says. “Wanting you. Thinking about you. Every job I took, every city I landed in, I’d see something
and think, ‘Hailey would love this’ or ‘Hailey would hate this’ or just . . . ‘Hailey.’ ”
My throat tightens. “Liam—”
“I looked for you. Eight months. Every alias, every contact, every city you ever mentioned wanting to see. You covered your
tracks too well.” His mouth twists. “I’d taught you too well.”
All this time. All this time I thought he’d read that note and shrugged and moved on to the next job. That I was easy to let
go of.
“I thought you let me go,” I whisper.
“I know you did.” His voice cracks on the words. “I know.”
He takes my chin in his hand, tilts my face up, and nips at my lip. Soft. Almost a question.
“If I told you I’m staying,” he says against my mouth. “That you can’t get rid of me again . . .”
I pull back just enough to see his eyes. The sincerity there makes my chest ache.
“You’d have to mean it,” I say. “Actually mean it. Not just until the job is done or until things get complicated.”
His thumb traces my lower lip. “I mean it.”
“You should hate me,” I say. “For how I did it. Disappearing. You deserved more than that.”
“I did.” He says it flat, no softening. “But you were right about the life. I wouldn’t have stopped. Not for you, not for
anyone. Took me a long time to figure out that I wanted to.”
I push up onto my elbow, looking down at him.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. His hand is still on my hip, but his grip has loosened.
“Liam.”
He looks at me. There’s something in his face I’ve never seen before. Fear, maybe. Or shame.
“The diamond,” he says slowly. “The Kedrov job. There were things I didn’t tell you.”
My stomach drops. “What things?”
“I can’t—” He stops himself, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Not yet. But I will. I promise, Hailey, I’ll tell you everything.
Just . . . not today. Let me figure out how first.”
I should push. Every instinct I have screams to demand answers right now, to force him to tell me whatever he’s been hiding
for five years. But there’s something in his eyes—something desperate and pleading—that makes me hesitate.
We have five more days. Assuming Marlena doesn’t decide to move up her timeline.
“Okay,” I say. “But you’re telling me. Soon.”
“Soon,” he agrees.
“And I’m not running again.”
“You better not be.”
I search his face for any trace of a lie. Find nothing but honesty and relief.
He pulls me down and kisses me. Not soft anymore. There’s heat in it now, five years of longing finally given permission to
exist. His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us. The blankets slip off my shoulders
but I don’t care. His body is warm enough.
His mouth moves to my jaw, my neck, that spot below my ear that he always remembered. I gasp, my fingers fisting in his shirt.
“Liam . . .”
“I’ve got you.” His lips brush my throat. “I’ve always got you.”
We shift on the bed, his body rolling over mine, and the tenderness catches fire. His hands grow bolder, sliding under my
shirt, finding skin. I arch into his touch, my own hands working at his clothes, needing to feel him.
He sits up just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. The sight of his chest—the bullet wound from Prague, the knife
scar from Lisbon, every mark on his skin a story we share—makes my breath catch.
“I know these scars,” I whisper, tracing them with my fingertips. “I know every one.”
“You were there for most of them.”
“I was.”
He bends down, capturing my mouth again. The gentleness hasn’t disappeared—it’s just burning hotter now, transforming into
something else. Something familiar.
He pulls me up, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and carries me toward the kitchen. My legs wrap around his waist. His mouth
never leaves mine.
Then I’m on the table, the cool wood against my thighs, and Liam’s eyes go dark with that familiar want. The one that used
to make my pulse race back when it was just us against the world.
He pulls me in without a word, his mouth crashing against mine, rough and urgent. My arms wrap around his neck, pressing my body to his, feeling the heat of him through what little we’re still wearing. His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips, and a few empty mugs scatter to the floor.
I hope Knox doesn’t hear that.
I can feel the cool edge of the table beneath my thighs, but everything else is heat and need. Liam’s fingers tangle in my
hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat, his mouth devouring mine. I can taste the desperation in his kiss, the longing
that mirrors my own. My hands fumble with the button of his jeans, eager to get him free.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. Then his fingers hook into my underwear, dragging it down my
thighs.
The cabin air bites at my bare skin, but Liam’s touch burns it away. He traces a path up my thighs, his calloused hands rough
against my smooth skin. I shiver, anticipation building in my core. This is what I’ve missed—the urgency, the need, the way
Liam makes me feel so alive.
His mouth finds mine again, his tongue sweeping in as his fingers find my center. I gasp into his kiss, my body bowing off
the table. He swallows my moans, his fingers curling inside me, stoking the fire that’s been building since he first touched
me.
I reach for his belt, my fingers clumsy. He helps me, his mouth never leaving mine, his body pressing me back onto the table.
I can feel him, hard and ready, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him to me.
“You fucked another man,” he says, nipping at my lip.
“Yes.”
His hand moves to my throat, squeezing. “And you liked it.”
“Loved it,” I gasp.
His grip tightens, not to hurt, but to claim. I can see it in his eyes—he wants to possess me, to remind me I’m his, even
if I’ve been with someone else. His jealousy, his anger, his lust—it’s all there, swirling together.
His fingers retreat, leaving me gasping and empty. That wicked curve appears on his lips, the one that promises both pleasure and punishment. He leans down, breath hot on my ear. “I fucked him too. And I loved it.”
“I know,” I moan as he thrusts his finger into my pussy as deep as he can.
His finger withdraws, then plunges back in, setting a rhythm that has my hips lifting to meet each thrust. The pressure builds,
the coil of pleasure tightening in my core. Liam’s mouth moves from my ear to my breast, his teeth grazing my nipple. I cry
out, the sensation sending shockwaves through me.
“I told you this body was mine,” he says.
His teeth bear down on my nipple, pain mixing with pleasure, driving me wild. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything
but feel.
His mouth moves back to mine, his kiss bruising, possessive. “I’m taking back what’s mine.”
He flips me around, spanking my ass hard. I grit my teeth, absorbing the sting of his hand on my flesh. The pain spreads into
warmth, mingling with the pleasure. His palm squeezes my ass, fingers digging into my soft skin. His other hand stays between
my legs, fingers pumping in and out, his thumb circling my clit.
I press my forehead against the cool wood, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Liam’s body is pressed against mine, his hard
cock grinding against my hip—when did his jeans come off? His heat, his need, his desperation surrounds me, consumes me.
“Liam,” I moan, his name a plea on my lips. I need more. I need him. I need us, like we used to be. Before the cabin. Before
Knox.
Not instead of Knox. Just . . . before.
He kicks my legs farther apart, his body covering mine. His cock presses at my entrance, hard and insistent. He pushes in,
just an inch, just enough to make me cry out. His hand is still on my ass, fingers digging into my flesh. He thrusts into
me, a brutal, claiming stroke that has me screaming his name.
His body covers mine, chest pressing against my back. He wraps a hand in my hair, pulling my head back, his mouth finding my ear. “Is this what you wanted?” he growls. “You wanted me to fuck you like this? Like we used to?”
I can only nod, my words stolen by the sensation of him filling me, stretching me, completing me. He thrusts again, hips slapping
against my ass. His hand is still in my hair, pulling my head back, his mouth on my neck, my shoulder, his teeth nipping at
my skin.
The table groans beneath us, wood protesting our weight. But Liam doesn’t stop. He fucks me like he’s possessed, like he’s
trying to exorcise his demons. And maybe he is. Maybe we both are.
His pace is relentless, his body demanding more from mine. Sweat slicks my skin, the slickness between us, the primal need
driving us both. His hand leaves my hair, sliding down to grip my shoulder, fingers digging into my flesh for leverage. Each
thrust sends shockwaves through me, the pleasure so intense it burns.
I reach out, grasping the edge of the table, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Liam’s breath is hot
on my back, his chest heaving against me. Our heartbeats pound together, wild and desperate. His hand slides from my shoulder,
down my spine, coming to rest on my hip. He grips me tight, his fingers bruising as he changes the angle, driving deeper.
I cry out, the sound raw and guttural, torn from my throat. The pleasure is too much, too intense. The coil in my core tightens,
pressure building. I’m close. So close.
Liam seems to sense it, his body moving faster, harder. His hand slides from my hip, fingers finding my clit, circling it
in time with his thrusts.
“Come for me,” he demands. “Let me feel you come apart.”
His words are my undoing. The coil snaps, pleasure exploding through me. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him.
He lets out a low groan, his body tensing as he finds his own release. We stay like that for a moment, bodies still joined,
breaths ragged. Then we collapse forward onto the tabletop, Liam’s body covering mine.
He pulls out slowly, then rolls us both off the table. We end up on the floor, lying side by side, our faces inches apart. The tile is cold against my overheated skin. I don’t care.
I can see the sweat on his brow, the flush in his cheeks, the satisfaction in his eyes.
“I never stopped loving you,” Liam says into my hair. “Even after you left. Even when I was sure you were gone for good.”
I close my eyes. Let the words wash over me.
“I know,” I whisper back. “That’s what made it hurt so much.”
We lie there until the axe falls silent. Until footsteps crunch through the cold outside, heading toward the door. Until reality
comes knocking in the form of Knox Bishop, who’s about to walk in on us, naked on the kitchen floor.
I should probably move.
I don’t.