I'm Not Charlotte Lucas(59)

This was not real life.

Plummeting back to reality, I had to admit that Liam didn’t commit to me or anything yet. But he wasn’t being a skeezeball either, trying to make out with me and still hook up with his coworkers on the side.

Given the direction of Liam’s gaze, though, he did want to kiss me now. So why wasn’t he?

“Do I have something in my teeth?” I asked, running my tongue over them. “A spare basil leaf?”

He chuckled, and I literally felt the rumble against my knees. It was a good thing I was seated, or I would have collapsed. I was so Jell-O right now.

“No.”

“Then . . .” I couldn’t finish that sentence. None of me had enough gumption to finish that sentence.

“Why am I not kissing you?” he asked. He drew so close I could feel his lips moving against my own, the barest brush as he spoke, and chills swept through my body.

I couldn’t even nod this time, or we would bonk foreheads. I’d never had a rule about not kissing the man first, but now I felt like I should have that rule, and I wasn’t about to break it. Maybe it was my insecurities rearing their ugly heads, but I needed Liam to move first, to show me how he wanted me, not just tell me.

I didn’t know if I’d believe it until I felt it.

And then I felt it.

Liam smiled, and I felt his lips stretch before he closed the distance, pressing them to mine. His fingers moved up into my hair, applying just enough pressure to pull me closer, deeper, like he needed to eliminate every particle of space between us.

And then my body erupted. Liam’s soft, pliable lips against my own were an ignitor that lit the flame within me, and I ran my hands up his arms, feeling every contour in his flexing muscles. I wrapped my hands around his neck, pulling him closer. I needed Liam in a way I’d never needed anyone. My heart blazed in a way I’d never felt before.

He leaned back. I was faintly aware of our breath coming swiftly, and I missed him already.

“Whoa,” he said.

“Whoa,” I repeated.

He grinned. “I mean, I expected some fire, but that was . . . amazing.”

I chuckled, my fingers entwining behind his neck, and leaned forward to do it again.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Dating Liam felt a little like winning the lottery. It was one of those things you always wish would happen to you but also wholeheartedly believe it never will. And then one day you wake up to the lucky lotto ticket and can’t stop pinching yourself to make sure this is real life.

Not that I would know. I’d never won the lottery either. But winning it could only feel like this.

Four days had passed since the countertop kiss, and I’d seen Liam every day since. Granted, every time I saw the man was at his grandmother’s house because he was too afraid to leave her alone during the night—and I didn’t blame him, of course—but we’d spent the last few nights playing Scrabble with Vera or streaming shows.

There was something almost magical about watching a show I loved with a guy I liked and both of us laughing at the same time.

Tonight Vera was asleep, Spike was staying at a friend’s house, and I nestled on the sofa downstairs, my head resting on Liam’s shoulder while his other arm strung over the back of the couch. He was shaking so much from laughter that my head bounced. I sat up, and his arm tightened around my shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not,” I said, snuggling close to his side. I brushed my hair out of my face and sent him a grin. “But you won’t stop shaking.”

He looked torn. “We could change the show.”

“I’m not complaining about the laughter, just the earthquake.”

Liam’s deep-blue eyes fixed on me. He pushed a stubborn lock of hair away from my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. Bending his knuckles, he brushed them against my cheekbone, and I flinched, giggling.

“What?” he asked, sudden concern washing over his face, dropping his hand.

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

I drew in a breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I do not want to insult you or your manliness.”

Liam’s eyebrows drew together, those familiar small lines forming between them. “Okay.”

“Your hairy knuckles tickled me.”

He reared back slightly, then pulled away to examine his fingers. “They aren’t that bad.”

“I didn’t say you were Bigfoot or anything, but yeah, the fuzz got me.”

His smile turned wry. “That’s romantic.”

I adjusted, pulling my feet up under me. “You’re romantic. Even if your hairy knuckles aren’t.”

“True romance over here,” he said, cupping his hand around his mouth as if he was making an announcement—though he kept quiet enough not to wake Vera. “None of this fake, romance-novel stuff.”

I had to kiss him then. I couldn’t help it. I leaned forward, taking his face in both of my hands and laying a kiss on his lips so soft, slow, and sweet, that he seemed to forget my hairy-knuckle blunder. His hands went around my waist, running up and down my back as I kissed him, and I began to lose all sense of time and place.

A car honked outside, and I jumped, breaking contact.

“It’s not for us,” he murmured, as if he knew exactly who honked and why they did so.