Playboy Prince

"'Cause I'm Liam Pierce. It's what I do."

"I'm not going to give you shit, because I know you're going through something."

He stares back at me.

"With Preston. And the wedding. And maybe Bash too. I don't know. I'm here, if you want to talk, but I'm not going to be your babysitter."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Then we're in agreement. I'm going to my apartment to pick up a few things. I'll be back later." Or maybe tomorrow. I don't know. I can't decide if I want to slap him or kiss him.

He's so fucking frustrating.

"Drink your water. Go to bed early. Show up at work tomorrow, rested and ready to hit the week."

"Did you swallow a corporate training book?"

"Would you rather I say 'get your shit together'?"

"Yeah."

"Then get your shit together, Liam. You can talk to me if you want. I'm here." I want to be there. Way too much. "But if you don't talk to me, I don't know how to help you."

"Bri—"

"Whatever it is, it's not getting easier. We have a busy week. A meeting with Simon. Then the party. The wedding. So get your shit together. Okay?"

"You want to talk to me?"

"Not right now."

"You're mad at me?"

"I'm too tired to be mad."

"So if you weren't tired—"

I don't know. I'm confused. Overwhelmed. "It's been a long weekend. I need to touch up my hair and have some time to myself. We'll talk tomorrow."

He nods. "I didn't mean shit with my friend. Just being the guy he expects."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Maybe.

"I wouldn't do that, you know."

"Huh?"

"What Bash did. I wouldn't fuck around."

"Really? All the women you've been with. None of them have been married?"

"I wouldn't fuck around on you."

"We're not really together."

"If we were."

"You don't do relationships."

"You either." He takes a step toward me. Then another. Another. "I wouldn't, Bri. I never have." He wraps his arms around me. "I'll swear on anything." His eyes meet mine. "I'd never hurt you. It would destroy me. And, fuck, Bri… I'm this close to falling apart as it is."

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

"I care about you." He moves closer. Close enough to kiss me, touch me, fuck me. "I do. Whatever you believe, believe that."

"I know."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." And I'm sure I need to go, now, before one of us does something we can't take back. "Good night, Liam."

"It's three o'clock."

"I'll see you in the morning."

My apartment is close, but it's not close enough to save me from melting. It's way too fucking hot. It's only May and it's already way too hot.

My weather app claims gloom and rain in the forecast. It's hard to believe the sky will turn grey and cool, but after years in New York, I'm used to the unpredictable spring weather.

I down a glass of ice water to cool off, then I fix a London Fog and change into an old t-shirt and boxers.

John's boxers.

They're clean and comfortable. What does it matter they belonged to John?

I shouldn't care.

I shouldn't hear the possessive edge to Liam's voice.

Does he really have a possessive side? Is it really directed at me?

I shouldn't like it, but I do.

Whatever. They're just clothes. I have others.

I find something all mine—a black tank top and shorts—then I apply purple die to my hair, stream The Americans, and sip tea as I wait.

After half an episode, my thoughts turn to Liam. The hurt in his eyes. The heat of his body. The taste of his lips.

I strip in the bathroom. Run the water. Rinse my hair. Soap, shampoo, condition.

The shower is still a happy place for me. A place that's mine. Where I don't have to smile or tell Mom it's okay or keep up appearances.

I close my eyes. Soak in the warm water and the smell of citrus.

Then my thoughts return to Liam.

The tattoo above his hips. The strong thighs. The desire in his stare.

I let myself drift back to the pool. The feel of his body in the water. The things we could have done.

My bikini top on the ground.

My bottoms around my ankles.

Liam's hand between my legs. His lips on my neck. His voice in my ears.

I come fast, but it does nothing to sate my craving. Even as I dress, work, dine on takeout Indian food, I think of Liam.

Hurt and lost and unwilling to share his feelings with me.

Liam Pierce is not my boyfriend.

He's not my real fiancé.

He's not the kind of guy I can trust with my heart.

I need to remember that.

Chapter Twenty

Liam

Why is it so fucking bright?

I swallow another sip of water. Close my eyes. Will my head to stop pounding.

No good.

The attention only aggravates my headache.

This annoying throb chanting don't be an idiot, Liam.

You fucked up, Liam.

Don't fuck it up worse, Liam.

At least I didn't kiss her. Not when we were alone, anyway.

And, bam, the second the idea returns to my brain, it takes over.