Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(17)

Silent but crackling with sexual tension.

I stare straight ahead, willing myself not to think of that elevator scene from Fifty Shades of Grey where Christian slams Ana against the wall, pins her arms overhead, and makes a meal of her. But it’s a given that the harder you try not to think of something, the more you do, until you’re obsessing and hating yourself for it, helpless to stop.

I imagine him hitting the emergency button and whirling on me to tear off my clothes and shove his throbbing erection inside me, growling against my neck and biting me as I cry out and scratch my fingernails down his back.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, I’m red-faced and sweating.

“What’s wrong?” asks Liam sharply.

Of course he’d notice. He notices everything, him and his damn wolf’s eyes.

I say, “Nothing.”

My voice is so high it’s like I’ve been sucking on helium.

Clutching the copy of In Search of Lost Time, I step out, avoiding Liam’s eyes. He follows right on my heels. It isn’t until I’m standing in front of my apartment door that I realize my purse is still at Buddy’s, which means I don’t have my keys.

Which means I’m going to have to wake up Ellie.

Sighing heavily, I lift my hand to ring the bell. Before I can, Liam catches me by the wrist.

The feel of his strong fingers wrapped around my wrist brings to mind the elevator scene again, and I blush. Deeply.

Gazing at me, he murmurs, “I have a key.”

I’m sure my glowing face has raised the temperature at least ten degrees in the hallway, but we both pretend not to notice.

“How do you have a key?”

“Your roommate gave me her spare.”

I blink in surprise. “Ellie gave you her spare key?”

“Aye.”

“That’s…strange.”

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“Sweet? I’ve heard her described as abrasive, intimidating, and freakishly smart, but never sweet. I’m not sure we’re talking about the same person.”

He lowers his arm to his side, taking mine with it, but doesn’t let go of my wrist. His big hand encircling it feels both comforting and distinctly possessive.

I don’t think his plan to stay away from me is working out well.

Looking at my ruddy cheeks, he says, “People tend to do what I ask.”

“I’ve noticed that. What did you tell her?”

“The truth.”

I lift my brows. “Which is?”

His eyes burn in that way they do, all fire and dark intensity. “That I needed it. May I open the door now?”

I don’t understand anything at all. Time to give up trying. My poor brain needs a vacation. “Yes. Thank you.”

He finally releases my wrist and removes a key from a pocket inside his coat. With a swift turn of the lock, he opens the door and steps inside, holding the door open and extending his hand out like he owns the place and I’m the one visiting.

I walk in, setting the book on the rickety console table in the foyer that Ellie and I bought from a flea market the week we moved in. As soon as the door swings shut behind me, Liam takes off my coat and drapes it over his arm.

We stand there staring at each other until I’m squirming and swallowing, all out of breath.

“You’re thirsty,” he says solemnly. “I’ll get you some water.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to your regular schedule of roaming the nighttime city streets, thwarting assaults, and intimidating authority figures.” I gesture toward the door

He stares at me for a beat, then turns and disappears soundlessly into the kitchen.

His footsteps make only the barest whisper against the floor. It’s impressive that a man so large can move so quietly. Must be all that practice creeping stealthily around in the woods on padded paws.

In the kitchen, the refrigerator door opens with a whoosh. Whatever he’s looking for in there he won’t find, unless it’s leftovers from Chinese takeout or condiments in various states of decay.

I survive mostly on protein bars and canned soup, and Ellie lives on ramen and frozen burger patties. We’ve got plenty of ice cream and wine—we’re not uncivilized, just broke—but that’s about it.

So imagine my surprise when Liam returns to the foyer with a bottle of water in his hand.

I frown at it. “Where did that come from?”

“An artesian spring in the French Alps.”

And he says I have a smart mouth. “I don’t mean originally. I mean how did it get into my apartment?”

“I carried it here.” He twists off the metal cap and presses the bottle into my hand. It’s glass, a ridiculous extravagance. “Drink. You need to stay hydrated.”

I consider the bottle for a moment, also considering how he seems to enjoy carrying things places. Me and these ounces of designer French water have a lot in common.

He sees the wheels spinning in my brain. “Don’t make it more complicated than it is, Tru. Just drink.”

“Are you going to stand there and watch me?”

He inclines his head.

“What if I can’t, though?”

“Does your throat hurt?”