Page 31 of Persuading Liam

He eyes me as if to make sure I’m telling the truth. He looks relieved to find out I’m honest. “I’m glad you like it. Wine probably would have been more appropriate.”

I make a face. “Ew, no. I don’t care for wine. It’s an instant headache for me.”

“Same,” he answers, pulling the pot with the pasta off the stove and carrying it to the sink where the colander is waiting for him to strain it. A cloud of steam puffs up as he pours the pasta. “It probably won’t come as a surprise, seeing as how I am part owner of a brewery, but I’m pretty much a beer guy all of the time.”

“Makes perfect sense,” I answer, watching him transfer the noodles from one pot to another. “But honestly, for me, it’s all about the sweet stuff. Give me cider, give me a sugary margarita and I am a happy girl.”

The grin he flashes me is sin itself. “Good to know.”

I shiver at the lowered tone of his voice and get the feeling that if I’m very lucky, this won’t be the only set of shivers I get tonight.

My God, I can’t wait for more.

22

LIAM

Ilike to think I have a relatively good hold on my urges. That I can keep myself under control under the direst circumstances. But I’ve never been confronted with Marley’s glorious cleavage before and now I know my weakness.

All I can think about as I finish prepping dinner is burying my face between her breasts, roughing up that silky skin with my beard until she begs for more.

Shit. My cock is already hard and I haven’t even plated the food. In an effort to hide my tented pants, I try to put some space between us, at least while I’m handling hot food and an open flame. “Go ahead and grab a cider, make yourself comfortable,” I tell her, nodding at the table. “This will be ready soon.”

She nods and happily grabs two ciders from the fridge and settles at the table that I have set with the nicest dishes we have. They’re plain and white and well-loved, but it’s all we have on short notice, and I doubt Marley is the type of woman who cares about that.

Once she’s settled in at the table, I can breathe a little easier. I get to work plating the pasta and the grilled chicken breast,arranging the bruschetta artfully on another boring plate, and adding the bright green asparagus to the side.

I take a step back and assess my work. I wipe up the extra dribbles of sauce and deem it nearly good enough for social media—if I had that sort of thing.

I take her plate first, setting it in front of her, while trying not to look down her top. For the record, I fail miserably, but she’s so distracted by the food that she doesn’t notice.

“Liam,” she coos, “This looks amazing.” She peers at me while I go fetch my plate and the bruschetta. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

I lift a shoulder as I join her at the table. “I like to cook. Plus, I thought after all the mess you’ve waded through at work, you could use something nice.”

She bites her lip, and for a moment she looks like she might burst into tears. “That’s so nice of you. Thank you.”

I smile as my stomach, chest, and heart fills with warmth. It feels incredible to have made her happy—more amazing than I expected. “You’re welcome.” I grab my cider and twist the cap off. “To taking a break.”

She clinks her bottle against mine, her cheeks a deep red that I’d love to explore. “To taking a break.”

“So why didyou call it Redpoint?” Marley asks me after we’ve eaten dinner. We’re relaxing on the couch, her on one side, me on the other, both seemingly waiting for the other to make some sort of move.

Believe me, all I want to do is dive at her, but I promised myself I would listen to what she wants, make this about her and not about my very interested cock and how badly I want to tieher wrists to my bedposts. I clear my throat. “Uh, a redpoint is a climbing trail that you failed the first time but finally complete. Everything has a climbing name.” I lift my second bottle of cider to show the label. “Rapple. It was our play on the word rappel.”

She studies me for a moment and for the first time I think I see the journalist come out of her like she’s discovered a story. “Yeah, but why redpoint exactly?”

“Oh,” I blow out a breath as the pain of losing my birthright kicks me right in the stomach. “Because Redpoint Brewery was our redo. My father was the founder and head of Sutton Brewing.”

Her eyes round. Everyone knows Sutton Brewing. My father was an ace at advertising and the brand exploded in the 80s and 90s. “Wow.”

I nod. “My brothers and I were supposed to inherit the entire thing, but my uncle had other plans. He took everything from us.”

“Shit,” Marley bites, taking a swig of her cider. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” I answer honestly. The wound is still raw and I’m afraid it always will be. Just another brick in the wall of shit that is my past. “But my brothers and I decided to follow in Dad’s footsteps and create our own brewery.”

“Your redpoint,” Marely says, shaking her head. “I mean, wow. That’s a hell of a story. And for it to be so successful. That’s truly impressive.”

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