The Ending I Want(65)

Trophies fill the shelves lining the walls. Framed certificates and photos hang on the walls and sit on the chest of drawers.

“Bathroom is there.” Liam points to a closed door at the far side of the room. “And your bag is over there with mine.”

I see our bags sitting side by side near a huge oak closet. I go over and put my handbag with our bags.

Then, I walk over to the window, staring out at the view. “It’s beautiful here. Thank you for bringing me.”

I turn from the view to face Liam, leaning my ass against the windowsill. He’s standing in the middle of the room, watching me, his hands in his pockets. The view before me now is so much more appealing than anything the outside has to offer.

Liam is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like him in my life.

I meet his stare. The look in his eyes makes my body heat and my spine shiver.

I curl my fingers around the edge of the windowsill. “Your grandpa is really awesome.”

“He is. And he likes you a lot.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“How old is your grandpa?” I push off the windowsill and take a step toward him.

His eyes darken with interest, sweeping down my body and back up to my face. “Seventy-seven,” he answers with a distinct rasp in his voice that I’m getting used to hearing. It’s the rasp he gets when his cock is getting hard for me.

I’m tempted to look down, but I force my eyes to stay on his.

“Wow,” I say. “He looks good for seventy-seven.”

Liam pulls his hands from his pockets and takes a large step toward me, making the gap between us significantly smaller.

“I know you like older men, Boston, but a fifty-five-year age gap is pushing it a bit.”

The smile teasing the corners of his lips affects me in all the right ways and all the right places.

So, I decide to tease back, knowing I’ll get the result I want, which is me beneath him. Or me on top of him. Either way, I don’t mind.

I just want him.

Screw the echoey hallways. I’ll just have to bite my lip to keep quiet.

I scrape my teeth over my lower lip, loving the way his eyes follow the movement, getting that lusty, drugged look he gets when he’s turned on.

“I don’t know, Hunter. Fifty-five years screams experience to me.”

His brow lifts. The look in his eyes turns predatory. “I’ll f*cking show you experience,” he growls.

Then, he lunges for me, making me squeal. He picks me up and throws me down on his bed, climbing on top of me.

And Liam spends the next few hours showing me just how awesome that experience of his truly is.





Bernie has taken us out for dinner to this really fancy restaurant called Belmond Le Manoir aux Quat’saisons. See? Even the name is fancy.

Thank God I had the foresight to bring a dress with me just in case we went out. It’s a fitted black dress, which flares out at the knee. The capped sleeves and back are lace. It’s pretty but sexy.

I’m wearing my silver ballet flats with it. Heels would have been preferable, but I forgot to pack the one pair I had brought to England with me. But the flats look just as nice.

Bernie drove us here in his Range Rover, as Liam’s car only has two seats.

We’re seated in private dining, which is a whole new thing to me.

The service is absolutely amazing. The food is French. Thankfully, I know a little of what to expect because of the French restaurant that Liam took me to the other day.

Bernie insisted that we all have the seven-course meal.

I know, right? Seven courses? They might have to roll me out of here.

But Bernie assures me that each course is small, so I’ll be fine.

We’re waiting for the first course to come out, which is wild garlic soup. Thank God Liam is eating the same thing, or I wouldn’t be kissing him later.

“So, what do you do back home in Boston?” Bernie asks me.

“I recently graduated.” Six months ago, and then I was coasting, unsure of what to do—until I got sick, and then I knew what to do.

“What did you graduate in?”

“English literature.” I pick my wine glass up and take a sip.

“Book lover?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Liam, did you show Taylor the library?”

“I did.”

“And I’ve got my eye on moving in there,” I joke.

“Well, you’d be more than welcome. You’re a much prettier sight than Archie,” Bernie says, making us all laugh. He takes a drink of his wine and puts his glass down. “What about your parents, Taylor? What do your parents do?”

I freeze in the middle of lowering my glass to the table. The temperature in the room drops a thousand degrees.

I know Liam is tense beside me. But I can’t look at him.

Then, I feel his hand cover mine, the one I am clenching into a fist in my lap.

The moment Liam’s hand touches mine, I feel grounded. His touch brings me back to the now.

My eyes go to his. The look in them washes over me like a safety net, catching and holding me carefully in place.

I release the breath I was holding. I put my glass the rest of the way down and moisten my dry lips before speaking, “My parents passed away.”