Page 35 of The Pucking Player

The innkeeper beams at us, her hands clasped together. “You two must be famished after that ordeal. I’ve got a pot of stew on the stove if you’d like some dinner.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” I start, “but we’ve actually just come from a party, so we’re?—”

“Stuffed to the gills,” Liam finishes for me, patting his stomach. “Though it smells delicious.”

Martha nods understandingly. “Well, aren’t you lucky then! We’ve got one room left available. It’ll be just perfect for a young couple like yourselves.”

My eyes widen, and I open my mouth to protest, but before I can say anything, Liam’s hand is on the small of my back, and he’s beaming at Martha like she just offered us the keys to a castle.

“That sounds perfect for me and my fiancée,” he says smoothly. “Right, sweetheart?”

Fiancée? Sweetheart? What in the world?

I catch the look in Liam’s eyes, a mix of mischief and pleading, and decide to play along.

“Right,” I manage, trying to sound convincingly in love and not at all like I’m having an internal panic attack. “It’s...exactly what we need.”

Martha claps her hands together, looking delighted. “Oh, how wonderful! Young love is such a beautiful thing. George, show them to the Rose Room, won’t you?”

As George leads us up a creaky staircase, I sneak a glance at Liam. He looks far too pleased with himself. I narrow my eyes at him, mouthing, “Fiancée?”

He just shrugs, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

George stops in front of a door at the end of the hallway. “Here we are, folks. The Rose Room. Our most romantic suite.” He winks at us as he hands Liam the key. “You two have a good night now. Let us know if you need anything.”

As George’s footsteps fade away, I turn to Liam, my arms crossed. “Alright, O’Connor. What was that?”

Liam just grins, unlocking the door. “It’s an older couple, Sophie. We wouldn’t want to impose on them more than necessary. Besides, it’s not like we have many options right now.”

I scoff, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach at his casual use of “we.” “Fine, but you’re sleeping on the floor. Because we are definitely not engaged.”

Liam’s lips curve into that infuriating smirk of his. “Not yet, anyway,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

Before I can process what’s happening, he’s moving toward me. My brain is screaming at me to step back, to protest, to do something. But my body has other ideas.

Liam’s thumb brushes over my lower lip, swiping every coherent thought out of my brain. “What are you scared of, angel?” he asks as his lips meet mine in a gentle caress.

All thoughts of resistance melt away. His kiss is soft atfirst, almost questioning, but it quickly deepens into a blaze that makes my toes curl in my heels.

This is a bad idea.

I barely know this man. He’s got a reputation. My dad would have a conniption if he found out.

His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and I find my hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair. It’s just as soft as I’d imagined.

Not that I’ve been imagining it.

As the kiss intensifies, my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Excitement battles with apprehension, desire with caution. I know I should stop this, but I can’t bring myself to pull away. It just feels so right.

When we finally break apart, both breathless, I look up into Liam’s eyes. They’re dark with desire.

“Angel,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine. “Let me make you feel good.”

12

HOW TO (NOT) LOSE YOUR V-CARD IN A B&B

SOPHIE

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