14. That’s Dangerous
THAT’S DANGEROUS
DEEPIKA
I was annoyed. No, I was furious.
Not because Liam had grabbed my ass in front of fifty cameras and a crowd of LA’s elite, and not because he whispered something obscene while kissing my forehead like we were in a romance novel.
I was annoyed because I liked it. And wanted him to do it again in private.
I could still feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of my dress and the solid weight of him pressed against me with his hot breath on my temple. The way my body had responded immediately, melting into him before my brain could override it.
I had to yell at him because the alternative was pulling him closer, and that was absolutely not happening.
I stalked away from him, putting distance between us, and tried to focus on literally anything else.
The pool party was obscene in the way only LA could pull off.
The Beverly Hilton’s rooftop had been transformed into something out of a lifestyle magazine.
It had white cabanas with billowing curtains, low tables covered in orchids, servers in crisp uniforms circulating with champagne and tiny geometric food that probably cost more per bite than my fifteen-dollar dress.
The pool itself was massive, infinity edge, and the water so blue it looked photoshopped. People were already in it, Olympic bodies cutting through the water or lounging on inflatable swans that definitely cost more than my car.
The scent of chlorine mixed with expensive perfume and something grilled from the catering station. Sunscreen and citrus were in the air as the warm California sun beat down, making everything hazy and golden.
I grabbed a champagne flute from a passing server and downed half of it.
“Easy there, Sharma,” Liam said, appearing at my elbow, looking completely at ease in his perfectly tailored suit. “We haven’t even made it to the hard liquor yet.”
“I’m pacing myself.”
“Uh-huh.”
I was wearing a black bikini under my dress, which I purchased specifically for this event after Liam had mentioned multiple times that pool parties involved pools, and I should probably be prepared in case someone pushed me in.
He would. I knew he would.
So, I came prepared.
We made our way through the crowd with Liam’s hand finding my lower back again. Higher this time, but I still felt every point of contact like a brand.
A couple approached, and I knew they were Olympic rowers, but suddenly we were surrounded. Questions were flying, with people pressing in, and everyone wanting to know about the viral proposal.
“How did you two get together?” someone asked with a grin.
We both started talking.
“Well, we reconnected at the engagement party—” I said.
“It was actually years ago at a—” Liam said.
We stopped and glared at each other.
The crowd waited expectantly.
Liam recovered first, his effortless charm sliding into place. “She spilled a drink on me, and I realized I wanted her to spill into my life.”
The crowd awed at us as if we were puppies, while I nearly choked on my champagne at the cringe line.
I recovered, forcing a smile. “And I realized this annoying jerk who always tugged on my hair, almost drowned m—uh, I mean, he had become... less annoying.”
Liam’s eye twitched as laughter rippled through the group. Someone said we were adorable and meant to be.
An hour later, the party was in full swing. Half the guests were in the pool, splashing and laughing, and Liam was being called over by a group of swimmers I recognized from the Olympics.
He glanced at me. “You okay if I…?”
I was surprised he even asked me and was considerate. My ex would have ditched me ages ago.
“Go ahead.” I said, waving him off. “I’ll survive.”
“You could join.” He hesitated. “I could grab you a swimsuit from the—”
“I’m wearing a bikini underneath,” I said.
His eyes went dark with pupils dilating as his gaze dropped, traveling over my dress as if he could see through it.
Heat flooded my body as a delicious shiver ran down my spine.
“Okay,” he said, voice rougher. “You can go change. I’ll wait for you.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and escaped to one of the private changing rooms.
The bikini I donned was simple, with high-waisted bottoms, a triangle top, and nothing scandalous. I had worn more revealing things to the beach.
So why do I feel naked walking back out to find Liam?
He was waiting by the pool, shirtless now, wearing navy swim trunks that sat low on his hips.
His chest was ridiculously defined in a way that came from years of training, the kind of body that existed in movies and billboards but apparently also in real life, attached to someone who drove me insane.
I had seen him shirtless before at the hotel. But that had been dark, frantic, and blurred by the champagne.
This was broad daylight.
His eyes found me across the deck and stopped.
He drank me in slowly, starting at my bare feet and traveling up, lingering on my hips, my waist, the curve of my breasts in the bikini top, before finally meeting my eyes.
“Fuck you,” he said accusingly.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He closed the distance in two strides and pulled me close. He wasn’t touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
“Why the fuck do you have to look so hot all the time?”
My face felt hot, and I slapped his chest. His very solid and warm chest. “Shut up.”
He grinned, clearly delighted at making me flustered, and reached up to tug gently at one curl framing my face. “You’re blushing, Sharma.”
“I’m sunburned.”
“We just got here.”
“Shut. Up.”
He grabbed the sunscreen from a nearby table, his grin softening into something almost... sweet.
“Turn around.”
I turned and immediately regretted it.
His hands on my shoulders were warm and confident. He squeezed the sunscreen into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and then—
Oh god.
He started at my shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscle, working the sunscreen in with soft circles. Down my shoulder blades, following the line of my spine, his thumbs dragged down the center of my back in a way that made my breath catch.
“Relax,” he murmured, close enough that I felt it reverberate.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re tense as hell.”
His hands spread across my lower back, fingers dipping just under the band of my bikini bottoms, not crossing any lines, but toeing them expertly, and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.
It was supposed to be innocent because he was just applying sunscreen on me. Except his hands were magic, and I was remembering what else those hands could do, and that was absolutely not innocent.
“Done,” he said finally, stepping back.
I turned, grabbed the sunscreen from him, and pointed. “Your turn.”
He turned without arguing, and I tried not to think about how his back muscles moved under my hands, how his skin was warm and smooth and I wanted to put my mouth on it.
Focus, Deepika.
I finished his back and capped the bottle.
He caught my wrists before I could step away, turning around and placing my hands flat on his chest.
“You missed some spots,” he said, his voice low.
“Did I?”
“Mhmm,” he hummed. His eyes were dark and heated. “My chest, stomach, and abs. They’re very easy to burn.”
I bit my lip, squeezed more sunscreen into my hands, and started on his chest. His pecs were unfairly defined, and I could feel his heartbeat under my palms. It was fast. Faster than it should be if he were as unaffected as he looked.
Down his sternum, over his abs, each ridge was distinct under my fingers. Lower, to where the muscle dipped into his swim trunks.
I flicked my eyes up to see him through my lashes, and his breath hitched.
“Liam! Get in the pool, man!” someone shouted.
We both jerked back as if we had been electrocuted.
Liam cleared his throat. “Thanks. Uh, for the sunscreen… yeah.”
“Uh-huh, no problem.”
He dove into the pool, and it was a perfect dive.
Then he surfaced, swam to the edge where I was standing, and held out his hand instead of swimming to his friends.
“Join me.”
I stared at his hands. The water dripping from his soft, golden hair as droplets on his shoulders caught the light.
Maybe I should have just hung around the girlfriends and wives of the medalists, but I took his hand instead.
Because I wanted to swim with him without drowning him.
His fingers closed around mine, and it was warm and perfect. The way our hands touched and the smile that reached his eyes.
We played ridiculous and competitive games that involved teams and inflatable balls, and a lot of shouting. I had forgotten how fun it was to just play and to laugh until my stomach hurt.
Liam piggy-backed me during one game, his hands secure under my thighs, and we won the game against two Olympic rowers and their partners.
“We’re unstoppable!” I shouted, still on his back.
“Told you we make a good team,” he said, grinning up at me.
And I looked down at him with water droplets on his face, gray eyes soft and warm in the sunlight, smiling at me like I had won gold, and I felt something shift.
I was accepting his presence without feeling the urge to drown him.
That’s dangerous.
After stepping out of the pool, I wasn’t surprised when Liam pressed close to me, wrapping me in a towel and said, “Come on, I’ll help you dry off.”
I stayed silent when he dragged me to a room. “You know I don’t need your help to dry—mmfgh!”
He had closed the door shut, his mouth pressed against me as he trapped me against the door and him.