Page 76 of The Girlfriend Clause
I felt myself drift—just the beginning of it.
Then—
Knock, knock, knock.
Crap. Had Eliza forgotten her key again? Why didn’t she just grab the spare from the meter cupboard?
Another knock. Harder this time.
I sat up, heart thudding. The dress slipped slightly off my shoulders.
I got up and walked into the hallway. It was dark and silent, the air heavier, like the night had thickened while I lay there.
I opened the front door a crack.
Not Eliza.
What the hell is he doinghere?
Liam Roth, outside my flat. Oddly out of place in his smart black jacket against the front door’s peeling paint and the frayed brown mat. The gall of the man. Howdarehe just show up uninvited?
For a second, I thought about slamming the door in his face. Instead, I stared at him. He didn’t speak, just stood there filling the doorframe, his hands braced against it like he owned the place. His dark eyes dragged over my body, taking in the half-undone dress and far too much skin. Why hadn’t I grabbed my dressing gown on the way to the door? But it was too late.
“What are you doing here?” I folded my arms across my chest, heat creeping up my spine. Without my shoes on, he seemed taller than ever, more self-assured than I remembered, if that were even possible.
He stepped forward, and I backed up instinctively, which he appeared to take as an invitation. Of course he did. Men like him were used to getting whatever they wanted.
Without looking, he shut the door behind him, his presence consuming the room and me.
The arrogantprick.
“Are you really going to pretend you don’t want me here, Andrea?” His voice was heavy with meaning. I felt a shiver run from my hips up my waist and under my breasts. He dropped his gaze to my chest, and I felt my nipples tighten as if he was actually touching them.
Fuck.
I clenched my fists at my sides. “I’m not pretending. I don’t want you here. You can leave.”
Liam took another step, but I held my ground. There was barely an inch between us now. He reached up and brushed his fingers along my collarbone, the touch featherlight, then gently wrapped his right hand around the side of my neck, pulling me forward and whispering into my ear.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m—”
“You’re what?” I could hear the amusement in his tone.
Enraged and turned on at the same time? Damn thisguy.
His hand left my neck, and his fingers trailed down my front, grazing over my left breast before cupping it from the side.
Why does he seem so different tonight? This isn’t how I remembered him. Was this who he’d really been allalong?
I wanted to shout that I wasn’t lying, to push him away, but my voice box was paralyzed, and my arms wouldn’t move. Instead, I stood there, trembling slightly, his thumb not quite touching my nipple. I could feel its warmth pressing against my skin. I arched my back without meaning to, but the slight movement didn’t escape him, and he laughed softly, like he’d expected it.
“I know you hate me, Andrea.” His lips were a breath from my ear, the air hot against the lobe. I felt his other hand cover my stomach, the full palm against the thin silk of my dress, moving lower until it floated over my thigh and circled round and under my bum.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I do hate you.”
He laughed again and squeezed me, his left hand still beneath my bum, before sliding it upward along the back of my dress to the zipper.
