He had pictures all over his house of himself shaking hands with famous, rich, and important people.
This is always going to be my home.
And none of that flashy jazz comes with the territory.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I tell him shakily.
He frowns. “Well, that’s not the answer I was hoping for, especially since I’ve already done it. I’ve been here for over a month. Closer to two.”
I roll my eyes, keeping some very precious distance between us so that I don’t tackle him to the ground and say to hell with it.
“Liam,” I groan, “you’re the kind of guy who forgets he has a girlfriend. And I’m the kind of girl who will get your name tattooed on my right boob within a matter of weeks.”
His smile spreads. “Why the right one specifically?”
And there’s that charm I love so much. He’s always just rolled with my crazy like he couldn’t get enough of it.
“Because it’s a little bigger than my left one, so it’s my favorite.”
He smiles even broader.
“Prove it,” Hale says from behind me, and I flip him off as Liam casts a glare in his direction.
“Can you two give us a minute?” Liam asks them.
“You’re in our cabin,” Killian points out, grinning outright at us.
“Benson has been quiet for an awfully long time,” I remind them.
Both their eyes widen in panic, when suddenly there’s an answer to that. “I’m just hiding back here and listening. Don’t mind me,” Benson pipes in.
The Vincent boys relax, and I walk over, grabbing Liam’s hand, trying to ignore how that one innocent touch sends a pang of longing throughout my entire body.
I drag him outside, which isn’t hard, since he comes willingly. As soon as we’re near the lake, I spin around to talk to him and get to the bottom of this.
And…
He kisses me.
His lips are on mine, his hands are dragging me in, and he’s kissing me stupid. I open my mouth to gasp, and his tongue sweeps in, reminding me how damn talented he is with that thing.
My hands go up, fingers tangling in his hair, and his hands slide down to my waist, tugging me up against him.
I moan instead of pushing him away, and he takes that as an invitation to push me back against a tree. He lifts my leg to his hip, and my dress hikes up as he grinds against me.
He was a man with limited mobility and strength the last time I was with him. Now he’s a strong man with no restrictions, and my mind is in a fog as he tries to take what he wants.
Which is apparently me.
The kiss is a mix of desperate and angry, and I grind against him again as our lips break apart, both of us panting as he starts kissing his way down my neck. My eyes roll shut, as I grip onto his shoulders.
“I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he says against my neck.
My eyes pop open, and I shove at his chest. He’s half dazed when I jerk my leg down, trying to remember where we are and who we are.
“Can’t fish on Sunday,” I groan.
“What?” he asks, confused.
I narrow my eyes and point my finger. “You can’t just kiss me until I’m too stupid to realize why this can’t work. It’s like fishing on Sunday. You always want to fish on Sunday, but you’re not supposed to.”
“Why can’t it work?” he asks, that lazy smile of his doing incredible things to my angry vagina, as he completely bypasses the fish on Sunday remark.
My vagina is angry because I’m denying it right now, by the way.
And…fish and my vagina shall never again be in the same sentence.
“Because you live in—”
“Tomahawk,” he interrupts, smirking as his eyes sparkle with humor. “Sold my place in LA. The only home I own is back that way,” he says, gesturing behind me with his head.
“But you’re going to—”
“Stay in Tomahawk, land of the mostly beardless ex beards and Wild Ones,” he says, interrupting me again.
I’m flushed and flustered and…what’s another f-word? No, not that f-word.
Because I’m not that. Well, I guess I could be that, in a different sense than the fun version.
“You’re telling me you came all the way to Tomahawk because I sucked your dick? It couldn’t have been that good,” I say, trying to come up with anything to lighten this moment.
His grin spreads. “Yeah. I left my life in LA, bought a home in the craziest town in the U.S., just because you give excellent head.”
A loud yelp pierces the air, and we both whirl around as Hale Vincent lifts off the ground, hovering on his hands and knees as a pained sound escapes him.
“I’m good,” he says through strain.