TWELVE
TACTICAL RETREAT
When Liam opens the door, he takes one look at me and frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” I walk unsteadily past him, and dump my bag on the couch. I thought the walk over here would sober me up, but I actually feel more drunk. “Ready to work?”
“Liss, have you been drinking?”
I flip through the script and frown when nothing makes sense. Then I realize I’m holding it upside down. “A bit. There was champagne. It forced itself on me.” I’m trying not to slur but my tongue isn’t cooperating. The room spins, and I lean against the couch for support. “Why is your apartment moving?”
He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, then comes back, takes my hand, and leads me to the couch. I don’t want to sit, but he eases me down. When I try to close my eyes, he touches my face and makes me look at him instead. “What happened with Angel?”
Even out of focus he’s handsome. “I love your face,” I say, and touch my fingers clumsily to his lips. “I shouldn’t, but I do. So beautiful.”
He grabs my hand and holds it in both of his. “You’re beautiful, too. But right now, I want to hear about you and Angel.”
I shrug. “Angel was fantastic. You’re engaged to a sweetheart, Liam. You’re going to lose it when you see her in her dress. I picked a good one.”
“You picked her wedding dress?”
I nod. “I was gonna make her wear the frog, because I’m a bitch. But I couldn’t. She’s so nice. And she trusts me. But she shouldn’t, because I’m not a good person. God, the Secret Garden was hideous. Oh, and also? There’s no way in hell I’m going to your wedding. No matter how much she wants me there.”
“Liss, what are you talking about?”
“Did you know she likes it when other women lust after you? It’s true. She wanted me to admit I thought you were hot, and I didn’t want to, but she made me. And then when I started, I couldn’t stop. I said all these things. Really wrong things. True things, but stuff I shouldn’t say out loud. And then I started yelling about how much I want to fuck you, and they recorded it all. Everything. All my dumb words. I’m such an idiot.”
“Wait, what?”
“And then, just when I thought everything was okay, Angel made me try on a dress. And it was beautiful, and I looked beautiful in it, and . . . and then nothing was okay.” I close my eyes. The memory of it makes my throat tighten and my chest hurt. I feel sick.
He gently grabs my arms and turns me to face him. I open my eyes to his handsome, concerned face. “Liss, what happened?”
I shake my head, and take in a shallow breath. “I’d never thought about it before, you know? Not the dress or the ever after, or any of it. Never had reason to. But then tonight . . .”
“Tonight?”
I look up at him, and I know he sees how wet my eyes are, but I can’t help it. “Tonight, I saw myself in that dress, and it hit me. You’re getting married. You. To someone else.” I swallow and look at his chest. “I mean, I knew you were, but I didn’t know, you know? And now I do, and it sucks.”
“Liss . . .”
I shake my head as tears slide down my cheeks. “And I feel so stupid because there’s no reason for me to get so upset about this. I have no right. You’re not mine. You’ve never been mine. We had one night together a million years ago, and I should be over it by now.”
“Liss, come on. We were never just about one night. You know that.”
“No, I don’t. Because I only got you for that tiny amount of time and now she gets you forever. And there’s no way that’s fair. It’s just not.”
“Jesus, sweetheart.” Then his hands are on me. Pulling me. Wrapping around me. And I’m pressed into his chest and surrounded by his smell, and I beg the tears to stop but they don’t listen.
Goddammit.
I hate this.
Love.
Longing.
Attraction.
Need.
Everything he brings out in me.
I’m so tired of wanting what I can’t have. Wanting him. I can’t do it anymore.
I can’t.
I fist his shirt and close my eyes. His hands stroke my back. His lips press against my forehead. Warmth and comfort surround me, and even though I know they’re not mine to keep, maybe for tonight, I can pretend they are.
My head is pounding. I try to ignore it because I’m warm and comfortable, but it beats a sick, insistent rhythm behind my eyes.
Ugh. Stoppit. I’m awake already.
I rub my hand over my forehead and groan. I haven’t had a hangover this bad in years. Curse you, Champagne, and your evil, delicious bubbles.
I crack open my eyes and frown. Where the hell am I?
Warm, muscled arms tighten around me, and I stop breathing.
Liam? Why the hell am I in bed with Liam?
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think. Wedding dresses. Champagne. Liam answering the door. Tears.
I take long, measured breaths. The details are fuzzy, but the squirming in my stomach reminds me how far I went. How I broke down and blurted out all my messy, unrequited feelings. After the tears, however, I’m at a loss as to what happened.
Please God, tell me we didn’t have sex. If there was one way to make this entire situation exponentially worse, that would be it.
When I look down, I breathe a sigh of relief: I’m in my underwear. A glance over my shoulder, however, reveals Liam’s naked chest and shoulders.
Please, no.
I lift the duvet and look down. He’s wearing boxers. They’re doing nothing to disguise his morning wood.
Okay, so I’m assuming we didn’t have sex. Also, if Liam had been inside me, there’s no way I wouldn’t be feeling it this morning. He’s kind of huge.
Reluctantly, I ease myself out of Liam’s arms. When he moans my name, I freeze and hold my breath, but after a few seconds he turns over and goes still again. Moving as quietly as possible, I climb out of bed and look around.
Even in the early morning gloom I can tell his bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment.
I tiptoe around until I find my clothes folded neatly on a leather chair, then quickly pull them on, along with my shoes and socks. My pounding head reminds me I need pain relief, so I make my way into the giant ensuite and gently close the door before flicking on the light.
“Jesus, fuck!” I whisper, and squeeze my eyes shut as the world’s brightest bathroom lights pierce my brain. “Dammit, Liam. Do you perform surgery in here? Who the hell needs lights this bright?” I fumble with the dimmer until they reach a less blinding level, then carefully open the mirrored cabinet in the hope of scoring some Tylenol.
I scan the shelves. Shaving cream. Razor. Aftershave. I pick up the bottle and sniff it.
God. Yes. Liam scent.
The shudder that runs through me makes me curse at myself. One thing I remember about last night is swearing to be done with Liam. Pretty sure sniffing his cologne like a creeper is several hundred steps in the wrong direction.
After replacing the aftershave, I spy some Tylenol on the top shelf and down two with water from the tap. Thank you, Jesus.
I take a deep breath as I assess myself in the mirror. I make a plan to sneak out, grab a few hours of sleep at home, and face him later when I’m in better shape to have the conversation I know we need to have.
Okay. Let’s go. Stay quiet. Avoid head exploding.
I turn out the light and crack the door open, and that’s when I freeze. There’s a shadowy figure crossing the bedroom, and it’s not Liam-shaped. I’m about to scream blue murder when I hear Angel say, “Hey, sleepyhead. Good morning.” She’s wearing workout gear and trainers. When she sits on the bed next to Liam, he moans and wraps his arms around her. She laughs and whispers, “Okay, steady, tiger. Come work out with me. I drank a crapload of champagne last night and have a severe case of the bloats. Not to mention a killer headache. I need some endorphins to clear the fog.”
“What are you talking about?” Liam mumbles as he grabs for her again. “You hate exercise, remember? Fitness protection program. Stay here. Snuggle.”
Angel frowns. “Liam? Are you even awake right now?” She shakes him. “Come into the real world, please. You’re not making sense.”
Liam sits up with a start. “Angel?”
“Uh, yeah. Expecting someone else in your bedroom, stud?”
I hold my breath behind the door as Liam looks around the room. “What? No. Just—” He looks around again, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. Just a dream.”
“Okaaay,” Angel says, dubiously. “So, I have about a thousand alcohol calories that need shifting. Are you coming to work out with me or not?”
Liam pulls the sheet up. “Uh, not. Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.”
Angel climbs off the bed and sighs. “Fine. Abandon me in my hour of need. See if I care. But if I don’t fit into the kick-ass wedding dress Elissa helped me choose last night, I’m blaming you.”
“Uh-huh.”
Angel puts her hands on her hips. “You’re not even going to ask me about the dress? This is your wedding, too, you know.”
Liam scrubs his hand over his face. “God, sorry. Not really awake yet. You found something you liked?”
“Heaps, but Elissa helped me narrow it down to the perfect choice. God, that chick is amazing. I swear, I’m going to kidnap her when we leave New York. You’d be cool with her living with us when we’re hitched, right? We could be the first out and proud polyamorous trio in Hollywood.” Liam looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. Angel bursts into laughter. “Kidding! Sort of. But if I was into chicks, I’d definitely make a move. She shouldn’t be single. Don’t you know any hot actor friends you can set her up with?”
“Uh . . . no. Anyway, she doesn’t date actors.”
“How do you know that?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “She . . . uh . . . told me years ago. Every bad relationship she’s had has been with an actor.”
Angel shakes her head. “Yeah, well, no wonder. We’re a bunch of assholes. Still, I’m sure I can find some hottie for her if I really try. You try to think of people, too. That girl deserves some man to worship her, and I aim to make it happen.” She bends down and kisses his cheek. “Okay, I’m outta here, fatty. See you at rehearsals later.”
“Yep. See you, then.”
Angel leaves, and when Liam hears the apartment door close behind her, he releases a sigh of relief and flops back on the bed. “Jesus Christ.”
I pull open the bathroom door and step out. As soon as he sees me, he leaps out of bed and comes over.
“Liss. Hey.” He blinks at me. “I thought you’d left.”
“Hey,” I say, my heart still pounding from our close encounter of the Angel kind. Also, dealing with him in just his boxers isn’t easy, especially in my current state. “So, Angel has a key to your apartment, huh?”
He looks at the front door, then back to me. “Uh, yeah. But she never uses it. She must have knocked, and only come in when I didn’t answer. You okay? You get some painkillers?”
“Yep. Thanks.” I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Sorry about the whole . . . well, everything, last night. I didn’t mean to crash.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m happy you passed out here rather than on the subway.”
I nod. “So, you undressed me?”
He stands up straight. “Uh . . . yeah. I thought you’d be more comfortable. I was going to sleep on the couch, but you grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I meant to just stay until you were unconscious, but I guess I fell asleep.” He puts his hands on his hips and assesses me. “You feel up to some breakfast? I have bacon and eggs in the fridge. Might settle your stomach.”
After what just happened, the thought of food makes me shudder. “No, thanks. I’d better get going.”
I squeeze past him and head out into the living room to find my bag. It’s under the coffee table, and I thank God Angel didn’t spot it.
“Hey, wait a second.” He catches up to me and grabs my arm. “You don’t have to leave so soon.”
I turn to face him. “I really do.” I take a deep breath. I didn’t want to do this now, but I guess I have no choice. “Liam, I can’t come here anymore. From now on, Josh will run your lines with you. You can trust him with your secret. He’ll be very discreet.”
It takes Liam a few moments to process what I’ve just said, but when he does, his whole face drops. “Wait. What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand. Is this about last night? Are you embarrassed about what you said?”
“It’s not about last night. It’s about the past six years. And it’s also about the fact that your fiancée very nearly walked in and found us in bed together.”
“Liss—”
“No, Liam. This isn’t fair to her. Also, if Marco and Ava were to find out I’m visiting your apartment every night in secret, my career would be over. They’d fire me on the spot.”
“They couldn’t. You’re here in a professional capacity.”
“No, I’m not. That’s the problem. Sobbing into your arms about my pathetic infatuation with you isn’t professional. And you being aroused by me isn’t, either. And for the record—me waking up half-naked in bed with you? Absolutely not professional.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “Nothing happened. You know I’d never take advantage of you like that.”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not something happened. You’re an engaged man. I shouldn’t be alone in your apartment, let alone in your bed. Can you imagine if the press got a hold of this? Former lovers spending every night together right under the nose of America’s sweetheart? They’d have a field day, and Angel would be devastated. She considers me her friend.”
He rubs his forehead, and his voice is tinged with frustration. “Christ, Liss, we haven’t done anything wrong. We’ve been running lines. That’s it. I’m not fucking you. I haven’t even kissed you. In fact, I’ve done everything in my power to make sure I didn’t cross the line, even though every time you walk through that door, all I can think about is dragging you into my bedroom and making love to you until you can’t see straight.”
As soon as he says it, the air snaps with tension. Part of me is thrilled by the declaration, but there’s another, bigger part that wants to scream at him that if he’d chosen me in the first place, he could have had all that and more. My love. My body. All of it. Instead of denying this clawing, desperate need we both feel, we could have spent the last six years being slaves to it.
I almost laugh. What am I saying? I have been a slave to it. I still am. This man has completely owned me from the moment we met, and it can’t continue.
Liam reads my face. Whatever he sees there makes his expression drop. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“No, it was honest. And that’s why I have to go. I don’t know if this reaction to me is just your version of cold feet with all this wedding talk, but you need to concentrate on your fiancée, and the show. That’s it. And I need to stop wanting a man I know very well I’ll never have.”
I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder. When I get to the door, I turn to him. His hands are on his head. Shoulders slumped.
“Liam?” He looks up at me, and I hate the fragile hope in his expression. He thinks I’ve changed my mind. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.” He walks forward, but I stop him with my hand.
“Last night, I said some really . . . inappropriate things about you while I was with Angel. Is there any way you could make sure that footage disappears? If anyone sees it, my professional reputation will be ruined. I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”
“I’ll take care of it.” His words are clipped. Eyes downcast.
“Thank you.” I take a breath and adjust my bag. “And Liam?” He looks up at me. “I still want us to be friends, if that’s possible. I mean, we still have to do this show together, and I don’t want things to be uncomfortable. We just can’t see each other after hours, okay?”
He gives me a resigned smile. “Sure. I understand. Friendly. Nothing more. No problem.”
“I’ll see you later at rehearsals, okay?”
“Yep. See you then.”
I let myself out, and close the door gently behind me. As soon as it clicks, I exhale and lean back against it as adrenaline pounds through every vein. It takes me a few long breaths before I find my legs again, and as I walk away, I’m sure I hear Liam swear before something shatters against the wood.