Page 49 of Forbidden Mistress

As I settle in, my eyes wander over to the wooden chair. It doesn’t look the least bit comfortable. But I don’t dwell on that thought for very long because it takes me less than five minutes—before he’s even returned from depositing the garbage—to fall fast asleep.

There’s early light peeking through the window when I’m lured awake by the sound of people talking in low tones. I’m enveloped in Liam’s smell. It’s a musky scent that strangely reminds me of Hart. It’s sagey and masculine somehow and makes me feel safe. I shift and realize that Liam’s jacket is draped over me. He must have given it to me at some point.

Sitting up, I wince and grab my shoulder. A deep ache radiates down my arm. I must have slept on it weird. Taking Liam’s jacket off me, I toss it over the back of his chair. The faster I get out from under his smell, the better. I can already feel the fire in my veins reigniting. I hate that he has that effect on my body.

Thankfully, Liam isn’t in the room, but I can hear him just outside, in the hallway, talking to someone.

With a yawn, I stand up and walk over to Lori’s bed. She’s still unconscious, and I grab her cool hand. Liam walks back into the room, and I notice a lightness in the way he’s walking. The slight shift is probably just apparent to me, but I’ve known him for so long that I know all his tells.

“Good news?” I ask.

He flashes me that devastating smile. “Her scans all came back normal. They’re going to start weaning her off the sedatives. She may be awake by this time tomorrow.”

Oh, thank God.

A wave of relief floods me, and the tears start falling. I’m not even fully aware of them until Liam walks over and pulls me against his chest. In a moment of weakness, I sink into him and let the tears come. Every anxious and frenzied thought I’ve dammed up for the past forty-eight hours comes draining out like a flood I can’t stop, and for a few minutes, I don’t even try.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says in that deep baritone, and I don’t know, I guess it snaps me out of my daze.

Stiffening, I bring my hands up to press on his chest, separating us. I take a step back and wipe the tears from my eyes. I can’t believe I allowed him to comfort me—the man that stole everything from me. I live in poverty because of him. Well, at least until Hart came along.

I suck in a steadying breath. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

Liam takes a step back, but I can tell it takes everything in him to do it. He doesn’t want to let me go, and that realization is so fucking confusing. There’s always been a lingering something between us, especially as teenagers. Maybe all this nostalgia has brought back a hint of that? I shake my head, unwilling to process what any of that means.

We’re practically strangers now.

The next day, I’m done with my one class that day when it’s still mid-morning. Liam urged me to go, and frankly, the tension between us has been growing so thick, you could hack it with a chainsaw. But I’m unwilling to let it chase me away from Lori’s side for long. So it’s just been something we’ve been dealing with without dealing. The proverbial elephant in the room.

Andrew drops me straight from class to the hospital, and I’m there by 10:30 a.m. When I get up to Lori’s room, it’s filled with the doctor and three nurses.

The doctor turns to say something to Liam, who comes toward me, quietly ushering me from the room and ducking just outside, in the hallway.

He looks hopeful, but I can sense his tension.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Mom’s waking up.”

Chapter 21

Grownups

The doctors have asked us to go to the waiting room while they monitor the procedure for waking Lori up. Instead, I opt to head down to the hospital cafeteria in the basement. Maddeningly, Liam follows me down.

Before we enter to find a booth, however, I hang back to pull out my phone and send a quick text off to Hart. I’ve been filling him in once a day on what’s going on. He usually doesn’t get back to me until later in the evenings.

When I look up from my screen, I see that Liam has stopped and is standing near the end of the food line with his arms folded over his chest, staring at me.

I heave a sigh.

“What was that?” he asks when I catch up to him and pull out a tray for myself.

I walk past him, scooting my tray along the rails and taking in the selections while rolling my eyes at my stepbrother. “I was texting a friend.”

“The same friend you’ve been texting constantly from the hospital room?” The suspicion and innuendo in his tone immediately piss me off. He gets zero say in who I text, or when.

“Yeah,” I say, very obviously annoyed. I reach out and grab a wrapped tuna salad sandwich.

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