Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(69)

Propped up on an elbow, he cups my jaw in his big hand and stares at me with fevered eyes. He whispers, “Could you?”

Oh god. He wants it. He wants me to fall in love with him. He wants me to give him every single thing I’ve got to give, including my fragile heart.

I consider lying to him. I consider making a joke. I consider a hundred different safety nets that could catch me to soften my fall, discarding them all in an instant.

The truth is the only thing that might save me.

My voice shaking, I say, “I’m halfway there already.”

He looks like I’ve just stabbed him in the gut.

His eyelids flutter closed. He exhales slowly, his dark brows drawn together, then gives me a gentle, lingering kiss.

I don’t understand how this man—this powerful and violent man—can also be so incredibly tender. There’s another side of him I glimpse at times like this, a raw, emotional side that wells to the surface, breaking through all his iron self-control. He wanted so badly to stay away from me, yet he kept coming back, inexorable as the moon-pulled tide.

And I kept welcoming his return into my orbit.

The attraction between us feels like that: irresistible as a gravitational force. We’re two planets in motion held together by something much larger than our individual parts. Something fundamental and undeniable.

Something I sense will be incredibly destructive for us both.

But it’s too late to walk it back now. I’m in the wolf’s den, deep under his spell. There will be time soon enough for me to figure out how I got here.

And how I’m going to piece myself back together when he’s gone.



Hours later, I wake alone.

It’s disorienting. Mainly because I don’t like it.

I rise and use the toilet, then put on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Then I wander out of the bedroom and through the dark apartment, looking for Liam.

A seam of light glows under his office door. I head toward it, wondering if it would be a better idea for me to go back to bed and to sleep, but that idea gets tossed out when I hear Liam’s voice coming from inside his office.

The door is cracked, so his voice is muffled, but still discernable.

“I don’t care about the consequences. I want out.”

He sounds agitated.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. No one’s paid a higher price than me.”

Curious, I tip-toe closer to his office door.

His voice rises. “Aye, I know we’re close. You think I’m not aware of what’s at stake?” There’s a pause, then he growls, “Eighteen years is enough. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long!”

I think of the inscription on the front page of the book I found in his library, dated eighteen years ago. The inscription from Julia, to her love.

Eighteen years of what is enough?

My heart thumping, I creep closer and closer. Liam is silent, listening to whomever is talking on the other end of the phone.

Then suddenly he roars, “Because it won’t bring them back!”

I remember describing him as standing on top of a mountain of bones and get chills.

“Hold on a minute.”

Footsteps pound over the floor. Before I can whirl around and run away, Liam yanks open the door and stands there staring at me. He’s barefoot, wearing only his briefs.

I swallow, my pulse flying. “Sorry. Um. I was just coming to find you. I’ll go back to bed.”

Mortified at being caught, I turn to run away, but he catches my arm and pulls me inside. He says something curtly in Gaelic into the phone then hangs up.

Then he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a bear hug.

We stand there like that for several long moments until Liam gets his breathing under control. Every so often, a fine tremor runs through his chest.

With my cheek resting over his hammering heartbeat, I whisper, “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” His voice is gravelly. He exhales, then nuzzles my neck. “Why are you awake?”

“You were gone.”

He stills, then pulls away. His eyes search my face.

I keep my tone light. “You’re not the only light sleeper around here.”

“Come on.”

He releases me from the hug, takes my hand, and leads me back down the hall and into the bedroom. He sets his phone on the nightstand next to the bed, then turns back to me, gently pushing me down onto the mattress.

Within moments, we’re spooning again. Only this time, both of us are wide awake.

After the automatic lights fade and it’s dark again, I say, “You didn’t carry me.”

“You said you didn’t like it.”

I think about that. “No, I said I was capable of walking.”

“So you do like it.”

“Don’t be smug. It’s unflattering.”

He exhales slowly. I feel some of the tension leave his body, but my curiosity is such that I risk him getting worked up again. “Who were you talking to?”

There’s a long, tense pause. “My brother.” Another pause. “There’s a…business situation…that’s causing some problems.”

He told me the less I know the better, but I can’t resist pushing a little bit more. “Is your whole family in business together?”