Page 243 of The Lies We Play

Halston’s thumb brushes my cheek once.

“Tell me what you need,” he says.

The question is too gentle for the way he is looking at me. His eyes are on my mouth, then my face, then lower for half a second before he brings them back up like restraint is a muscle he has trained too well.

I look at him.

The car is dark around us. Private enough to be dangerous, not private enough for what I want. His hand is still on my face, his body angled toward mine, and every inch between us feels negotiated by people who are trying very hard not to become reckless.

“Don’t make me explain tonight.”

His jaw shifts.

Not frustration.

Want.

He nods. “Okay.”

I catch his wrist before he can pull his hand away. I press my mouth to his palm, then hold it there long enough to feel his breath change.

“Just take me home,” I whisper, “and make me feel loved.”

His eyes darken.

The whole car seems to go quieter.

Then he leans in, slow enough that I can stop him, close enough that I forget why I ever would.

“Baby,” he says against my mouth, “that I can do.”

His eyes hold mine.

Then he kisses my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.

The car keeps moving toward home.

For the first time in months, I let myself stop bracing for the part where love disappears when I'm not looking.

It is in the car with me.

It is taking me back home.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Creed

Then . . .

Liv’s mouth is warm, and her skin smells like flowery soap.

Clean and soft and painfully Liv—who I missed so fucking much. She’s almost naked, she is unreal in a way that makes me quiet.

She’s in nothing but her underwear, dark against the soft curve of her hips, and the sight of her knocks the air out of me. Her breasts are full and beautiful, nipples drawn tight in the cool air, her skin flushed in places my mouth hasn’t reached yet. She is all softness and stubbornness and ridiculous competence, standing there like a goddess who would absolutely correct my expense report before letting me worship her.

Her hands come up to the back of my neck the way they always do. That familiar touch nearly breaks me before anything truly begins. She pulls me down, or maybe I go willingly enough that the distinction doesn’t matter. She says come closer, and I do, in the most immediate way I know how, complying.

Her mouth opens under mine.