Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(15)

I smile. “Not even then.”

“Just so we’re clear,” he says as he leans down to whisper in my ear. “If you ever beg to be my sexual plaything, I’ll make it happen in record time. More than once, if necessary.”

“So selfless.”

“I really am.” He gives me a sexy smile before stepping back to open the door. I follow him inside, and we climb five flights of stairs to get to his apartment. By the time we get there, my desire for him has been joined by a burning in my lungs.

“You okay?” he asks, and gently touches my shoulder.

“Yep. Just trying to disguise my extreme fitness so I don’t intimidate you.”

“Great job. You have me completely fooled.”

“Right? Maybe I should have been an actress after all.” I take a deep breath and let it out. Goddamn, I’m unfit.

When we make it inside, I realize how much he wasn’t kidding about the size of his apartment. It’s a studio with a tiny kitchenette on one side and what seems to be an equally tiny bathroom on the other. In the middle is a space just big enough for a sofa bed.

“So,” Liam says, “let me give you the tour.” He doesn’t move. “Aaaand we’re done.”

I can tell he’s embarrassed, but he needn’t be. In New York, there are heaps of micro-apartments just like this. In fact, I’ve seen worse.

What sets this one apart is that it’s spotless. The furniture and appliances are dated, but they’re all immaculate. There’s not a single thing out of place. The bed is even made.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Were you expecting to bring someone back here tonight?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s super-clean. And your bed’s made. I have it on good authority from my brother that most men are missing the bed-making gene.”

He leans into me, and I feel his warm breath on my ear. “You don’t know me well enough yet to have realized I’m not most men. But if it makes you more comfortable, we could unmake the bed. Just say the word.”

A shudder of pleasure runs up my spine. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of destroying such perfection. Are those hospital corners?”

“If you find that sexy, then yes.”

I let out a soft groan. “Such a turn-on.” He chuckles, thinking I’m teasing, but I’m really not. I’m a self-confessed neat freak, and knowing he keeps a tidy house makes me all kinds of hot.

“Well, if you’re finished eye-fucking my bed,” he says, “I have something else to show you.”

“If it’s a recently cleaned bathroom, I don’t think my body’s ready.”

He clucks his tongue. “Dammit. I knew I should have scrubbed the tub this morning.” He squeezes past me and heads into the kitchen. Within a few seconds, he’s grabbed a bag of chocolate chip cookies, two glasses, and a half-empty gallon of milk from the fridge. “Come on. If the apartment gets you hot, then you’re going to go nuts over the roof garden.”

He leads me out of the apartment and up two more flights of stairs. Goddammit. No wonder he’s so ripped. If I had to climb all these stairs every day, I’d be able to bounce the Federal Reserve’s entire stash of quarters off my butt.

At the top of the stairs, he flips a switch before opening the door to the roof. When I step out, what I see almost takes my breath away.

It’s like a tropical oasis up here. There are dozens of potted palms of various sizes, and in the middle of them is an intricate wooden pergola wrapped in hundreds of tiny lights.

“Wow. That’s, just . . . wow.” I’m rarely lost for words, but now is one of those times.

“I built the pergola for Mom and Dad’s anniversary last year. They just sold their house to move into an apartment, and had nowhere to put it, so they brought it here.”

“It’s beautiful.” The dark wood has been painstakingly carved with vines and flowers. “I bet they loved it.”

“Yeah, Mom cried. Dad patted me on the shoulder and went quiet for a while, which is his equivalent of crying.”

I smile. “That’s a pretty incredible present to give them. Trying to win the award for world’s best son?”

He looks down, and I don’t miss the subtle change in his posture. “Well, they’ve had a tough time over the past couple of years. I wanted to do something nice.”

I see names carved into the wood at the top of the pergola. “Angus and Eileen. Good Irish names.”

“Yeah.”

I see another name and squint so I can make it out. “Does that say . . . James?”

Liam blinks a few times. “Yeah. My twin brother.”

I just about choke on my tongue. “Twin? As in identical twin?”

Lord, I don’t know if I can cope with two men this perfect existing in this world.

Liam takes in a deep breath. “Yeah. We were identical.”

“Were?”

“He was . . . he’s . . .” He looks at the ground. “He died.”

“Oh. Liam . . .”

“Two years ago.”

My heart breaks for him. Losing a brother would be bad enough, but I’ve heard twins share an especially powerful bond. “God, I’m so sorry.”

The way he shrugs and waves his hand tells me he doesn’t want to talk about it. Before I can say anything else, he urges me forward. “Come on. I didn’t bring you up here to watch me wallow. I can do that by myself.”