infect our minds,” Liam told her.
Grace wanted to believe him. “I’ll try not to.”
“Promise me, Grace,” Liam said, his
expression growing serious. “Promise me that no matter what, you’ll always believe that we deserve
to be together.”
She hesitated. “I want to believe,” she said. “But I guess what worries me most is
you, Liam.”
“Me?” he asked, looking shocked.
“I don’t know if you really believe it as
much as you say. Maybe you just
want to believe.”
Liam’s expression grew defiant. “I’ll never believe that people should
be judged based on the amount of money some distant relative earned or the fact
that they were able to attend a prestigious school because someone bought a new
wing for a library in their name.”
“I know that you think that,” she told
him, considering her words carefully. “But there’s a difference between what you think, intellectually, and
all of the things you’ve been taught and internalized from your life
experiences.”
The candle flames wavered as she and Liam
stared across the table at one another.
Grace was once again struck by Liam’s
pure handsomeness; his pale but nearly flawless complexion, the beauty of his
eyes, the devil-may-care grin he wore so easily.
But that grin was nowhere to be seen for
the moment. Liam was thinking about
what she’d just said, and it was obvious that her words didn’t sit well with
him. “It’s my life experiences that
tell me I’m no different, no better than you or anybody else.” He stood up. “I mean, do you honestly feel that I’m
secretly sure that I’m better than you, Grace?”
She stood up too. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
She could tell that her comments had
gotten deeply under his skin and now she regretted pushing the issue. Liam had come over, made himself
vulnerable, cooked this amazing meal—and all she’d done was find ways to
cut him down for it.
Liam turned away from her and stared at
the floor. “You did mean it,
Grace. You were telling me the
truth. And you feel like I’m a
fraud, and that deep down I’m some kind of closeted elitist.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Grace
said, approaching him from behind.
He turned around and looked at her with
his gaze burning. “It means that I’m
just like Mother,” he said, his words bitter, like acid.
“Your mother wasn’t a bad person,” Grace
whispered.
“Are you sure about that?” he said. “You didn’t know her.”
“You’re right. But anyone who’s related to you can’t be
all bad.”
Liam smirked. “Stop trying to placate me. I’m not fragile. I’m not going to break apart.”
“Are you trying to convince me or
yourself?”
His eyes twitched. “I don’t know, to be honest.” He reached out and touched her
face. “I just know that I can’t
stop thinking about you. Even when
I’m staring at the body of my deceased parent, even when I’m planning a funeral
and listening to the sobs of my siblings. All I want to do is find you, be with you, feel you against my skin. To slide inside you and fill you up,
crawl inside you until we blend together,” he murmured, moving closer and
closer until his lips were mere inches away from hers.
Grace tried to catch her breath, but she
was falling again—falling deeply into him, into his eyes, as his lips
touched hers and ignited the flame once more.
His lips were like nothing Grace had ever
felt before, and it seemed as though each time they kissed, her feelings for
Liam Houston only grew in intensity.
Their passion wasn’t diminished at all by
the events of the past few days.
If anything, it was more fervent, the
flame turning into an inferno that threatened to engulf everything in its path.
Even Grace was frightened by what was
happening between them. She was
powerless before him, powerless to resist what she felt, and knowing that