Chapter Sixteen
Maggie
I don’t know if it’s the heat from the fireplace or the wine slowly humming through my veins, but Liam looks impossibly golden in the firelight.
It’s unfair, really, how someone can sit so comfortably in their own skin—like the universe designed the room to revolve around him.
His dark hair is a little tousled, his jawline unfairly sharp, and those eyes—melted chocolate and mischief—keep locking onto mine like I’m the only person who matters.
I shift on the couch, suddenly feeling too warm in my sweater and a little too aware of the space—or lack thereof—between us. “You’re staring at me,” I point out, my voice far steadier than I feel.
“You’re staring at me,” Liam counters, his lips curling into that lopsided grin, the kind that could disarm even the most guarded heart with its easy charm.
“I’m not.” I blink, turning my head just enough to pretend to focus on the flames flickering in the fireplace. “I’m… thinking.”
“Oh yeah?” He leans back against the couch, his arm stretching across the back, not quite touching me but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. “What are you thinking about, Maggie?”
I swallow, unwilling to admit the truth—that I’m thinking about how his voice seems to wrap around me like a favorite scarf, or how his grin makes me forget that getting involved with him would be the worst idea of my career.
Instead, I go for the safer option. “I’m thinking about how your life must look to someone on the outside. ”
Liam raises an eyebrow. “How so?”
I gesture vaguely toward him, like he’s a walking, talking picture-perfect ad for snowboarding. “The competitions. The travel. The sponsors. To most people, it probably looks like this glamorous, exciting dream.”
“And what about you?” he asks, his tone softening. “What do you think it looks like?”
I turn to face him again, meeting his gaze head-on. “Honestly? I think it looks exhausting.”
Liam laughs, a low, rumbling sound that feels warmer than the fire. “You’re not wrong. But when you love something—really love it—it’s worth the exhaustion.”
His words hit me harder than I expect, striking a nerve I didn’t realize was exposed. I look away, trying to find something to say, anything to break the growing tension swirling between us. But Liam doesn’t let me off the hook that easily.
“What about you, Maggie?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, coaxing. “Do you love what you do? Is it worth the exhaustion?”
I force a small smile, masking the way his question unsettles me. “You ask a lot of questions for a snowboarder.”
He grins. “And you dodge them like it’s your job.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s hard to fight the smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe it is my job.”
“I’ll get the answers eventually,” Liam says confidently, the sound a mix of charm and challenge that makes my pulse quicken.
I shake my head, laughing softly as I sip my wine, trying to ignore the way his words seem to wrap themselves around me, leaving me tangled up in something I didn’t ask for and definitely don’t know how to fight.
Because the truth is, Liam Thompson makes me feel things I have no business feeling—warm and golden, like the firelight he’s sitting in. And that? That’s dangerous.
I clear my throat, trying to regain my bearings.
There’s something about Liam—something magnetic.
He carries himself with this unshakable confidence, a kind of quiet assurance that makes it impossible not to look at him, not to be drawn into his orbit.
I’ve never met anyone like him before, and honestly?
I didn’t think people like him even existed.
But then, just as I’m ready to write him off as some cocky athlete who’s larger than life, he surprises me.
There’s a depth to him—a kind of warmth that’s hard to fake.
He’s got family and friends who clearly adore him, a job that he’s passionate about, and this way of making everyone around him feel like they matter. It’s disarming, really.
“Who are you, Liam Thompson?” I whisper, more to myself than to him, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His grin softens into something that feels more real, more intimate, and for a moment, the weight of his gaze makes it feel like the rest of the room has melted away.
“That’s a loaded question,” he replies, gentle, as if he’s letting me in on some private joke. “What do you want to know?”
I blink, startled by the directness of his answer. “I mean… who are you really? The guy on the slopes? The rebel snowboarder who pushes limits? The charming bad boy with a hundred stories of dislocating arms and ankles while still walking away with a date?”
“Maybe I’m all of those things,” he says, leaning in just enough to blur the space between us. “Or maybe I’m something else entirely. What do you think?”
“I think,” I say carefully, matching his intensity even though my pulse is racing, “you’re a lot harder to figure out than you let on.”
Liam chuckles, low and smooth, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “And here I thought you were the one doing the figuring-out, reporter.”
The way he says it—soft and teasing, with just a hint of challenge—makes my chest tighten. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something I know I shouldn’t fall into but can’t seem to walk away from, either.
“You’re not an easy story, Liam,” I admit, much quieter now, almost an afterthought.
“I guess you’ll just have to keep digging,” he replies, his grin returning, that same lopsided charm that could undo me if I let it.
I look away, needing a moment to catch my breath. He’s too much—too intense, too sure of himself, too everything. And yet, the worst part? I can’t seem to pull away.
My eyes drop to his mouth, and it’s a mistake—a big one. His lips, soft and inviting, curve into a hint of a smile, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I swallow hard, feeling the heat bloom in my chest and crawl up my neck.
Liam shifts closer, closing the already narrow space between us, his leg brushing against mine in a way that feels far too intimate.
The contact sends a spark straight through me, lighting me up from the inside out.
My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he can hear it, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
Everything about him—his scent, his nearness, the way his gaze drops to my lips and lingers—has my head spinning. I should stand up. I should put some space between us, regain control of myself. But I don’t. I can’t.
Before I know what I’m doing, my hand lifts. My fingertips, trembling but determined, brush against his forehead, pushing a stray lock of hair back into place. The movement is slow, deliberate, and it feels like the air thickens with every inch of distance I close.
Liam stills, his breath catching as my fingers linger, trailing along his temple and down the line of his jaw. The sharp edge of it is softened by the faintest scruff, and I let my hand hover there, his skin warm and impossibly smooth beneath my touch.
He exhales sharply, his eyes locking onto mine, darker now, molten and intense. “Maggie…”
The way he says my name is a low rasp, part plea, part warning, and it wrecks me. My pulse thunders in my ears, and my skin feels too tight, too sensitive, like it can’t possibly contain everything I’m feeling.
“You’re…” My voice barely comes out, breathy and unsteady as my thumb grazes the corner of his mouth. “You’re very handsome.”
Liam’s lips part, and his hand comes up to cradle my face, his palm warm against my cheek. I lean into it without thinking, my eyes fluttering closed for the briefest second. When I open them again, he’s watching me like I’m the only thing that exists in the world.
“Say that again,” he murmurs, low and rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.
“You’re—”
But I don’t get to finish. Liam’s mouth crashes into mine, silencing the words, stealing my breath, and setting fire to every nerve in my body.
The kiss is explosive, hungry, like we’ve both been holding back. His hand slips to the back of my neck, angling my face to deepen the kiss, and I melt into him, my fingers curling into his shirt, desperate to hold on to something, anything, as the world tilts beneath me.
Liam kisses me like he means it, like he’s wanted to do this since the moment I dumped coffee all over him, and maybe he has.
Maybe I have, too. All I know is that this—this—is crossing every line I swore I wouldn’t.
But right now, I don’t care. I don’t care about the lines, or the rules, or the story I’m supposed to be writing.
All I care about is Liam and the way he makes me feel like… like I’m on fire.
Liam’s tongue slips into my mouth, and the sensation sends a rush of heat through my entire body.
His kiss is intoxicating, every stroke deliberate, every movement pushing me closer to the edge.
My hands, traitorous as they are, slide up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt.
I try to hold back the soft moan threatening to escape, but it slips out anyway, muffled against his mouth. His grip on me tightens, his fingers threading through my hair, and I feel myself melting, losing every shred of reason I’d promised to cling to.
It’s the alcohol, I tell myself. That’s the only explanation. If I were sober—if my head were clear—I definitely wouldn’t be kissing Liam Thompson like this, letting him unravel me piece by piece with his lips and tongue and the way his body presses so close to mine.
But even as the excuses run through my mind, I know they’re hollow. This is me giving in. This is me wanting him more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. And that scares me.
I don’t know how long the kiss lasts—seconds, minutes, an eternity—but eventually, the small voice in the back of my head breaks through the haze. The one that reminds me who I am, what I’m here for, and how dangerous this could be.
With every ounce of strength I can muster, I press my hands against his chest and pull back, breaking the kiss. My breath is ragged, my lips tingling, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes because I know what I’ll see there.
“I…” My voice is shaky as I pull back, putting distance between us. “I need to go.”
Liam’s expression shifts, his brows furrowing, his lips parting like he’s about to argue. But he doesn’t. He stays silent, watching me with those dark, smoldering eyes that make it so damn hard to walk away.
“Goodnight, Liam,” I say.
Then, before I lose the last shred of self-control I have left, I grab my coat and walk away, my heart pounding in my chest with every step.