Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(28)

It rings once before it’s answered with a brusque, “Aye.”

“Liam? It’s Tru.”

Instantly, his tone softens. “Tru. I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon.”

“I just got the flowers. They’re amazing, thank—”

“How are you feeling? Did you sleep well? Are you taking your pills? Drinking enough water? Have you eaten anything yet?”

I laugh, flattered by the worry in his voice. “Good, yes, no, and not yet, I just got up. But I promise I’ll drink more of your pricey French mountain water as soon as possible.”

Feeling shy, I add softly, “And maybe gorge myself on pistachio ice cream. Thank you for that, too. And for all the other stuff. I think there’s more food in this apartment right now than at the grocery store. You’re very generous.”

There’s a pause. When he speaks again, his voice has turned husky. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

My cheeks heat, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “Good. I’d hate to think this insanity was one-sided.”

He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “If you’re going to say something along the lines of, ‘it would be better if it were,’ I’ll hang up on you, so don’t bother.”

Another pause, this one longer. “All right. I won’t say it. Though I have to admit, it’s disturbing that you took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Don’t like being predictable, hmm?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s that it’s never happened before.”

“I hate to tell you, wolfie, but you’re a bit of a broken record when it comes to that particular topic.”

He chuckles. “Not that it’s done any good.”

“Once I make up my mind, I can’t be budged.”

“So I’m learning. I need to see you.”

The sudden gruffness in his voice makes my heart start to thud. “Um…when?”

“Now.” His exhale is aggravated. “Except I can’t get away until later tonight. I’m not sure when.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Come over whenever you can.”

“It might be late. Very late.”

“Okay. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

He groans softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“You should say no to me.”

I wrinkle my forehead and huff out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think those words have ever been spoken by a man before in the whole of human history.”

“It’s for your own good.” His voice turns dark. “Because I’m going to ask you things that you should say no to, Tru. Things you should slap me for and throw me out of your apartment for. Things that are so fucking selfish and wrong they should make you run away screaming no, no, a thousand times no.”

After a moment of stunned silence, I clear my throat. “See, now I’m just more intrigued.”

He demands, “Promise me you’ll consider it.”

I cover my face with my hand and laugh. “This is honestly the strangest conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’m not joking. I want you to give serious consideration to not only saying no to what I’m going to propose, but also to not ever seeing me again. To not letting me into your apartment later tonight. To hanging up on me right now and forgetting you ever met—”

“Liam.”

“Aye, lass.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

He makes a low, aggravated sound in his throat, like an animal’s growl.

“Snarl at me all you want, but you’re being ridiculous. The only way I can judge if what you’re going to say is selfish, wrong, and slap worthy is for you to say it. To my face. Without all the hazard lights flashing and the fire alarms going off. Deal?”

Silence.

Then comes the sound of heavy footsteps. Half a dozen steps, a pause, half a dozen more, another pause. The steps begin again.

“Are you pacing?”

“I keep underestimating you.”

“Thank you. I think. How is that related to your pacing?”

He growls, “I’m frustrated.”

“Because…”

“I don’t misjudge people.”

I make a face. “Then I guess I’m glad to disappoint you?”

Another growl. A low, sexy, masculine sound of discontent that I would happily listen to on replay for the rest of my life.

“Liam, look. I appreciate that you’re trying to keep me safe. I understand that you have a great deal of ambivalence about me, and that you think us, together, is a bad idea. What I don’t understand is why. If you’d tell me the problem—other than an unhelpful ‘I wouldn’t be good for you’—I’d be in a much better position to judge the argument on its merits.”

He mutters, “You’re going to make a very good attorney.”

“Thank you. As I was saying…just spit it out. Tell me the deal. Are you…” I try to think of something that could really put a damper on a relationship. “In the witness protection program?”

His laugh is low and dark. “I wish.”

I know he won’t tell me what that means, so I forge ahead. “Married?”