To Have It All(66)

“This sounds insane, Max,” I argued, my voice rising with emotion. Bending down, he yanked the bag up and jabbed one arm inside as he dug around it. When he found what he was looking for, he let the bag drop.

“This,” he held the photo out to me, “is me.”

Taking it, I examined it, letting my eyes slowly review every detail. The photo was of the man, Liam, I’d just saw in the hospital, though he looked a million times better in the picture than he did in his current state. Liam was handsome and rugged. His hair was long and shaggy, and he had a short beard. His teeth filled his smile and even with his facial scruff his dimples poked through as he grinned at the camera standing next to a motorcycle. His eyes were brown, rich and dark, like mine. His arms were decorated with vibrant tattoos; some of which I recognized from seeing his body in the hospital. As I studied it, as I let my eyes memorize every detail, something washed over me; a feeling of familiarity. When I felt Max move behind me, I tensed, the closeness making my breath hitch. Gingerly, he placed his hands on my hips, pressing his chest to my back before grazing his lips softly across my bare shoulder.

“That’s me, Waverly,” he said in a hushed, gravelly voice. “Look at that picture and feel me,” he whispered as his hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, his thumb grazing my soft skin. The intimate contact made my back arch as it sent that familiar shiver down my spine. I knew I should tell him to stop, but somewhere between my heart and my mind, in that place where reason always seems to vanish, the words got lost, and all I could get out were moans and whimpers. Instead of fighting him, I found myself leaning into him, letting my body melt against his.

“I know I’m asking you to believe the impossible,” he went on, his lips brushing the skin of my neck as if it were as delicate as a flower petal as he spoke. I moved to turn and face him, but his hands seized my waist, slamming me back against him, preventing me. “No,” he said firmly. “If you look at me, you’ll only see him. You’ll only see Max Porter, the man that hurt you.”

“But—”

“No,” he interrupted my protest. “Look at that picture,” he ordered as he gathered my hair and pulled it aside so he could rest his chin on my shoulder, his cheek touching my cheek. “Look into your heart. If you look there, really look, you won’t see Max.”

Closing my eyes my breath shuttered as he whispered, “I need, more than anything in this world, for you to see me,” against my neck. I fixed my gaze on the photo, staring into the dark eyes of the man Max claimed he was as he kissed my neck and whispered words of pleading.

“Please. Please see me,” he begged over and over as his mouth scorched my neck with need and desire. His fingers grazed up until they were threaded in my hair where he gently fisted it. I’d never been touched this way; worshiped this way. My breaths escaped me in small pants as he pulled me closer, our bodies attempting to fuse together.

There was no doubt the man he’d been the past week was not the man I once knew. It was like night and day, but there were perfectly logical explanations to why that was—and a body swap was not one of them. There were explanations such as he was messing with me, lying, or mentally ill. My voice of reason strongly advocated that these were valid conclusions, but that heart—my heart—that place he told me to look . . . it saw something else.

“I’m so scared,” I gasped as he gently bit my shoulder. I hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, but once I had, he stopped. Reaching his hand around he gently slid his hand up my throat until he was cupping my chin. Pressing his face next to mine, he said, “I know.”

His next words hit me right in the chest. “I’m scared, too.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. He held me, his hand firm as it kept our cheeks pressed together, our breaths erratic.

“We’re pulling the plug day after tomorrow. I have no idea what will happen then. I may die.” His chin rested on my shoulder, the words hard for him to say. “I know what I’m asking, Waverly, but can you give me one day? After tomorrow you can walk away and never think about me again if that’s what you want. I may only have one more day in this world, and I know I don’t want to spend it with anyone but you.”

My eyes burned with tears as my throat tightened. His words were devastatingly beautiful; the words every woman wants to hear. This is insane, I told myself as I tilted my head toward his, letting it rest. You can’t get sucked into this. But damn—the way it felt when he touched me. My heart knew. This was not Max. It knew because it had yearned for Max to want me, need me like this.

Raising my hand and placing it over his where it still held me, I sucked in a ragged breath. “Okay, Liam,” I whispered. “Okay.”





I’d texted Helen after Waverly was in bed, asking if she could come over early because I had something I needed to do. As soon as she arrived, I filled her in on the events of the previous night and told her to answer any questions Waverly might have.

Once she arrived, I handed her a sleepy Pim who had just started drinking her sippy cup of milk, and headed out. New York was always bustling, the sidewalks packed with herds of people maneuvering their way around one another, but in the early morning, there was a calm that allowed one to slow down and marvel at the city. As I walked, I took note of the buildings, the lights, and even the few people that were out and about like me. This was my city. This was my home. These sidewalks and these looming buildings had been my shelter for a time when I had nothing. That wasn’t exactly true. Maybe I hadn’t had a home or possessions, but I’d had something of more value. I’d had a conscience. I knew with whatever happened tomorrow, whether I lived or died, I’d done my best. When morals came to call, testing my decency as a human, I’d answered when I saved Max’s life. No matter what my lot in life may have been, I never lost my soul.