“No, I suppose not.” His hands move to my neck, his thumbs stroking my jawline, his voice lowering. “But what I can do, baby, is take away the hurt you’re feeling right now. Make you forget.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t want to forget this day. Pretending to bury Chad was a nightmare, but he isn’t dead. And I was excited driving here, and even more so to see the Christmas tree. And I want to decorate it and create new traditions with you, Liam.”
His eyes soften, his mouth, too. “Then let’s make more good memories, baby.”
“Yes. Please,” I say, and my words land on his tongue as he kisses me tenderly. His mouth lingers over mine, my body coming alive, and I feel him breathing with me. Sometimes it feels as if he’s the only way I can breathe.
Liam shifts the spell between us to new places, turning me to face the massive four-poster bed that stirs wonderful, intimate memories, and I am most definitely ready to make more. He unzips my skirt and with deft fingers undresses me, removing one of the barriers between us. Slowly. Seductively. Somehow he never touches my skin but I feel him everywhere, my nipples aching, my sex clenched. My skin tingles the way my backside had when he smacked it. I know he’s teasing me, driving me to a place where there is only this man, this room, and me. I feel the energy shift and know that he’s no longer directly behind me, leaving me naked and untouched. The freedom to be vulnerable with this man, which I don’t dare with anyone else, is sexy in a thrilling way.
“Turn around,” he orders, and the rough, aroused quality of his voice tells me I affect him, too. I like that even when he’s in control, there’s a part of him that I set free.
I face him, finding him close, but not close enough. He shrugs out of his jacket and I’m mesmerized by him, his power, his grace. Every move he makes is controlled. Every action calculated. And I realize something I think I’ve known all along: we are the same. Both damaged. Both shattered in some deep way. Both defending ourselves from future wounds with our self-control.
He tugs his tie off and wraps it around his hand, silently promising me that soon I’ll be at his mercy. It’s not the first time he’s tied me up, and each encounter is different in a good way. Yet tonight feels like the first time—as if we really are starting a new chapter.
During our first encounter, he’d said, “Sometimes having a safe place to give it away is the best way to block everything else out. I’m asking you to let me show you that I’m that safe place.”
And Liam is my safe place.
“Amy.”
His voice commands my attention, and I look up to find I’ve missed the delicious moments leading up to him now being gloriously naked. My gaze lands on the “pi” tattoo on his belly, the 3.14 etched above a row of numbers in an upside-down triangle that is all about the infinite possibilities of life. It’s both thrilling and terrifying at times when I consider them with this man.
“Hold out your hands,” he orders, and it speaks volumes that I no longer hesitate to give myself fully to Liam.
He twists his tie around one of my wrists, and I think of the many ways he has helped me escape my past. But what about his past, which is just as etched in heartache as mine? He doesn’t talk about his mother, not since his sole emotional breakdown. Since then, he’s protected me—but who protects him?
He completes the knot binding my hands and pulls me to him. “And now, you’re mine to please and tease.”
“Yes, I am,” I agree. “Am I your safe place, too, Liam?”
His expression tightens and he fixes me in a piercing stare, letting me see the depth of emotion in his eyes. “Baby, you’re the only safe place I’ve ever known.”
“But you never let go of control.”
“That’s not what works for me. Taking control works for me. You work for me.”
“I don’t want everything in your life to be about guarding me. I don’t want that to be all we are. I want to breathe for you when you need me to, the way you breathe for me.”
His unties my bound wrists and drops the tie on the floor, his eyes dark, unreadable. Wordlessly, he scoops me up again, cradling me against his body, and in a few steps he sets me down in the center of the massive bed. Then the weight of him presses me down, his erection pressed intimately between my thighs.
“Sometimes you’re the only reason I do breathe, Amy Bensen. But let’s make a deal. From now on, let’s breathe together.”
His words seep inside, soothing every broken part of me and making me a little more whole. He makes me a little more whole.
“Yes,” I whisper, my arms twining around his neck. “Together.”
He leans in to kiss me, and we’re lost to the world.
PART THREE
Nightmares
I REMEMBER FALLING ASLEEP CURLED UP next to Liam, my hand over the tattoo that is so a part of him. It makes me feel more a part of him as well. I remember Liam talking to me, telling me a story about his first trip to Asia, the soft, masculine caress of his voice like a lullaby, relaxing and still somehow seductive. I remember asking him questions, my voice sounding as relaxed and groggy as I felt. I was sated, happy in that safe place he creates for me where there is only light and no darkness. I’d fought the way my eyelids had fluttered, willing away the sleep overcoming me. And then the nightmare I tried to shove away but failed . . .
Smoke chokes me, filling my lungs, fire licking at my heels.
“Jump!” Chad yells. “Jump!”
My heart is racing and my belly is burning as badly as my lungs, my feet wobbling on the edge of the windowsill. And somehow, I know that this is good-bye. To Chad. To my mother, who was screaming in agony in the other room but has now gone silent. To life as I know it. I don’t want to let go. I don’t . . . want to let go.
“Jump!” Chad yells again, and I just do it. I jump, my stomach flipping with the action, my heart racing, the adrenaline surging through me as I brace for the impact, which will steal what little air I have left. And then . . . and then . . . nothing. No pain. No impact. No . . . nothing. Everything goes black. But that’s not how it happened. That’s not what came next, and on some level I know this because I’m asleep, living one of my many nightmares.
Suddenly, I flash forward several years to when I’d lived in New York, hiding from an unknown enemy. Nervously fidgeting, I stand at my landlord’s door as I prepare to tell him that I’m going to be late on my rent. Again. I’m going to be late again when he told me the last time was it. No more extensions. Inhaling deeply, I steel myself for the grumpy old man’s attitude and knock. And wait. And wait. I knock again, but still there is no answer. Of course not. It’s Christmas Eve. He has family. He has people he loves that he’s spending time with tonight. My gut wrenches as I walk down the hallway and up several flights of stairs to the foyer I share with only one other tenant. I stop dead in my tracks on the final step, staring at the box sitting in front of my door.
My heart begins to race, roaring in my ears. I know without question that my past is visiting me tonight. Forcing myself to breathe, I step forward and kneel down in front of the package, my long winter coat weighing me down like the dread that sits on my shoulders. On the top there is a symbol, a triangle with hieroglyphic writing inside, that tells me this parcel is from my invisible guardian angel. I don’t know if that means it’s good news or bad.
A pebble of hope forms in my chest. Could the running be over? Could this be the moment when I hear that I no longer have to hide? Urgency builds inside of me, and I stand, unlocking my door. Shoving it open, I flip on the lights, using my foot to scoot the box over the threshold of my tiny apartment. Stepping inside, I lock the door behind me, and for a moment I absorb the blow of a living area with a simple navy blue sleeper couch and matching chair, a wooden coffee table, and a closet-sized kitchen to the left being all I have in my sanctuary and hiding place.