Page 28 of Aim Assist

Someone nearby wolf-whistles, reminding me that we're still in the lobby. In public. Making out like horny teenagers.

I break the kiss with a gasp, then laugh when I see him flipping the random whistler the bird.

Liam's hand engulfs mine as he pulls me through the throng of people crowding the bar entrance. My heels slip on the polished floor, struggling to match his longer stride. But his steps remain slow, measured, letting me keep pace.

Our fingers lace together like puzzle pieces snapping into place. Like they were made to fit together. His hand is warm, slightly calloused. Working hands. Capable hands.

He leads us to a table tucked away in the corner, the crowd parting before him like they can sense his quiet authority.

"I had them reserve this earlier," he says, releasing my hand to pull out a chair, waiting for me to sit. It's a simple gesture, but it makes my heart flip. "I wanted to make sure we'd have a quiet spot to ourselves."

My heart won't stop fluttering at the thought he put into this. The entire time, I thought about sex. He was thinking about… this. Romance. A date.

My knee brushes against his as he takes the seat beside me, and somehow sitting next to each other is so much better than sitting across.

I feel like an infatuated teenager.

That's when I notice the vase in the center of the table. A single rose stands tall, its crimson petals gilded in gold. There's a subtle shimmer to it under the dim lighting of the bar. I can't tell if it's real.

"Oh wow," I breathe, reaching out to touch one of the delicate petals. I expect to feel the velvety softness, but instead I'm met with cool, hard edges. Glass. Or ceramic, maybe. Not a real rose at all, but a stunningly crafted imitation.

Liam's watching me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He takes my hand again, his thumb rubbing circles over my knuckles. "Do you like it?"

I meet his gaze, his blue eyes dark and intent. "It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"It made me think of you," he says, his voice low and intimate despite the dull roar of conversation around us. "Unique. Captivating. A golden rose among the ordinary."

Heat rushes to my cheeks at the compliment. No one's ever said anything like that to me before. I've been called hot, sexy, fuckable. But never captivating. Never golden.

"Thank you," I manage, my voice coming out breathy and thin. "That's... really sweet of you to say."

His smile widens, a flash of white teeth. "Just being honest, angel."

Amy

It's hard to concentrate.

I have whiskey and coke.

He has a margarita, and yes, I tease him about it. But he shares it, and it's delicious.

Our feet collide every so often beneath the table until eventually my feet rest between his. It's cozy. Cute.

Except I'm pulsing with desire for the entire hour and a half that we're sitting there. It's like delicious torture every time his eyes drop to my lips, or he reaches for my hand across the table, brushing his thumb over my knuckles.

We laugh. We banter. There's a lot of teasing. I don't remember any of it.

I only remember how much I want to beg him to take me upstairs and get his fucking hands on me.

The crowd around us grows, and someone sitting behind me keeps bumping into me with her chair. After the third time, Liam stands to grab my chair and set it on the other side of his, our backs now to the wall.

Now his thigh brushes against mine, a searing heat that has me wanting more.

I take another sip of Liam's margarita, savoring the sweetness. He chuckles, a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

"You know, I'm going to have to start charging you for that."

Heat coils in my belly, desire making me bold. I shoot him a look over the rim of the glass, one eyebrow arched. "Oh? And what's the price for each mouthful?"

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