Liam and I are two tequila shots into the night, and I'm surprised to realize I'm having a fantastic time. He may not have loosened his tie, but his body, which is usually straight, stiff, and brimming with intensity, has eased into a relaxed position leaning against the bar. And his smile…well, it's the kind of smile that makes women weak in the knees.

But I am not weak in the knees. Or at least, I don't think I am. I haven't moved from this spot since we arrived, so I'm not entirely sure what will happen when I stand up.

"So, we should talk about the bar," I say. For the past hour we've been chatting about our lives. Where he came from. Where I came from. And how we got to where we are now. Liam, as it turns out, is a lot more complex than I gave him credit for. Sure, he's still a stuck-up suit, but maybe he's not as bad as I thought…

"Yes," he says with a smile. "That's why we came out tonight, after all."

"Well, what do you think of this place?" I ask, knowing what he'll say before he speaks the words himself.

He frowns, glancing around. "It's…well, it's a little grim, Carrie. The plaster is falling off the walls, and there's a massive hole in the ceiling. And is that a puddle of chocolate goo in the corner?"

"I don't think that's chocolate." I wrinkle my nose.

"Please tell me this isn't what you want Hell Cat to be like," he says. "I understand you want the place to be authentic and…well, kind of rundown or whatever it is you want. But this is too far."

"I agree," I say with a nod, which causes him to cock his head. Clearly, he thought I brought him here to show him an example of the kind of bar I want Hell Cat to be. "I'll admit, Hell Cat is like this. In a way. But it's so much better. I don't want a rundown place. I just want somewhere that's fun and relaxed so people can let loose on a Friday night. But we do have chips on the walls and leaks in the ceiling. Instead of installing an espresso machine, start there."

"If this isn't what you want, then why did you bring me here?"

"Because there are some very important aspects of this place that I want to show you." I grin. "After another shot, of course."

Liam and I take another shot, and the booze goes straight to my head. I usually don't drink much, as strange as that sounds. As a bartender, I see enough drunk people to know it's not what I want most of the time. It's too easy to lose control, to get overly emotional, to do stupid things you'll regret the next morning.

And that's not me.

At least, it normally isn't.

After we slam the shot glasses down on the bar, I jump off the stool and grab his hand. My eyes widen when I realize what I've done, but I don't pull away and neither does he. His palm is rough and calloused, and his grip is tight around my fingers. With my heart hammering hard in my chest, I lead him away from the bar and into the back room where the dim lighting causes the candlelight to flicker dancing shapes against the grimy walls.

"What's back here?" Liam's voice is low, his mouth pressed against my ear. I shiver, despite myself.

"I wanted to show you something," I say just as quietly. My mind screams for me to run, to get away from whatever it is we're doing. Because things suddenly feel far more serious than they did only moments before. No one else is in this back room. It's just me, Liam, and the darkness surrounding us.

If he decided to press me up against the wall and drag his mouth hungrily across my skin, no one would see us. If he pushed down my pants and slid his hand between my thighs, we'd have enough privacy for me to moan out his name.

I blink, staring into his dark and swirling eyes. What am I doing? Why am I thinking these thoughts? And, more importantly, is he thinking them, too?

"I'm waiting, Carrie," he murmurs.

His gaze flicks down to my chest, and he shifts slightly closer. That's when I feel a large, thick, hard object press into my hip. I gasp, almost stumbling back. Despite my limited experience with men, I know exactly what's digging into my body. And it's not a banana in his pocket.

It's his dick.

"I, ah." I lick my lips, trying to focus on why I decided to lure Liam Landon into the back corner of a bar. I can see why he might have gotten the wrong idea here, and a part of me doesn't want to correct him at all. Because it thrills me to know I've turned him on. "There's a thing back here. A photo booth."

"A photo booth," he repeats. It's clearly a new concept for him, a photo booth at a bar. I guess they have fancier cameras at cocktail bars.

With a step back, I put some distance between us, before gesturing at the white closet-sized object squatting in the corner. "You know, a photo booth. You go in, take pictures with friends, and get a film strip to take home with you."

His face dawns with realization. And dare I say it? Disappointment. Maybe he really did think I was talking about something else. "Right. I see you what you mean now. Should we try it out?"

Well, I hadn't expected that. A dismissive wave of his hand? Sure. A roll of his eyes? Maybe. But he actually seems open to the idea. And more than that, eager to try it out. With a smile, I follow him as he slips behind the red curtain. And suddenly, I realize just how very much alone we are in this squashed space of the photo booth. The outside world falls away, and all that exists is this tiny space I have to share with this hunk of a man.

Shit. Did I just call him a hunk?

I squeeze onto the little seat beside him, the side of his body pressing tight against mine. My skin buzzes where we touch, and I fight the itch to turn his way and read the emotions in his dark and swirling eyes. What's he thinking about? Is he as aware of our closeness as I am?

But I don't need to turn and look at him to find out the answer to my question. When he speaks, the gruff, low growl in his voice tells me everything I need to know about how he feels.

"It's certainly a tight squeeze in here," he says quietly, his breath hot on my face.

"Yes." I swallow hard. "Maybe if you get one of these there will be larger options available."

"I'm not sure I'd want a larger option," he says, shifting even closer. "I don't mind being so close. Do you?"

My heart flails, and my lungs go tight in my chest. Did he just say what I think he said? Everything inside me wants to turn and look at him, but I'm scared. Scared of what might happen if I do. Everything about this moment feels like I'm dancing on the edge of a cliff. If I so much as blink, I might fall into the gaping hole below.

But I want to fall.

I want to feel his arms wrap around me as he catches me, stopping me from crashing down from these dangerous, dizzying heights.

So, I turn to face him. And his lips crash into mine.