Page 6 of Liam

“Sorry,” I say, finally remembering where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. “I didn’t mean to intrude and take up your time.” I start to stand up from the chair, but he reaches over to stop me, his hand coming so tantalizingly close to mine that I can’t take my eyes off it for a moment.

“Wait,” his fingers lightly brush against my wrist before he takes his hand away again. “Please. I’m in no hurry.” He pauses, then quickly follows up with, “Unless I’m keeping you from your work? I don’t want to be a nuisance or—”

“No,” I smile at the thought that he could ever possibly be a nuisance. “You aren’t.”

“Not a nuisance or not keeping you from your work?”

I laugh and ease back in my seat as a half-grin spreads across his lips. “Neither. You’re perfect.”

My throat starts to close up as I realize what I’ve just said. Lord, I seriously need to stop being so overly honest. I know it’s wildly inappropriate, but I can’t seem to help myself. My filter just disappears every time I’m around him.

“Far from perfect.” He shakes his head. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

“Sorry,” I sigh, still silently berating myself for turning a fun, lighthearted moment awkward—something that seems to be my superpower lately. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t—well, Ididmean it, but it’s still not something I should have said out loud.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Rachel.” His hand twitches like he wants to reach out again, but he doesn’t. “Not about anything. Not ever. But especially not when you’re speaking from your heart. The way you feel is… it’s the way you feel. It’s not something to be sorry about.”

“How is it that you’re so wonderful?” I ask, almost awestruck by his sincerity. “You’re not like I expected.” Again, I realize I’ve been way too overly honest. “I mean—well, I do mean that, but I don’t mean it in a bad way.”

This time he really does reach across and take my hand. “I understand what you meant. At least I think I do. And I didn’t take it as anything rude or improper. Your openness and honesty are refreshing in a world where so many people only tell me the things they think I want to hear.” His smile grows wider as he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “That honesty of yours is a rare quality. One of us is extraordinary and wonderful here, but it isn’t me.”

His touch has already made a thousand butterflies spring to life in my stomach. But his touch combined with the super sweet things he’s saying? Yeah, those butterflies are also doing back flips.

“Thank you for your kind words,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper because I’m afraid I’m going to ruin this moment with him. “But I’m really not very extraordinary. I’m just a normal girl who has probably spent too much time cooped up in this big house with nobody my own age to talk to. My parents like to say I’m an old soul, but I’m pretty sure that’s just a polite way of saying I have more in common with them than I do with my own friends.”

“The house I grew up in is four hundred years old,” he says as the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. “My mother, the dowager viscountess, has been telling people I’m an old soul ever since I learned to speak. So maybe that’s why you and I have this connection.” He shrugs. “Maybe we just understand each other better than most of the people around us.”

I exhale a breath I don’t even realize I’ve been holding in. As if I needed any confirmation that he’s absolutely wonderful. And maybe he’s right—or at least maybe he has a point. If there’s anyone in the world who can understand what my childhood was like growing up in this house, it’s someone whose house is even older and grander.

And even though I’d really like to sit and compare all the ways our lives have been molded by our families and the houses we’ve lived in, I know I need to get out of his room before I say anything too revealing.

Anythingelsethat’s too revealing, since I’ve already definitely said too much.

“I’d like to think we understand each other,” I say, choosing my words carefully for the first time since he’s arrived. “It’s strange to think we might be kindred spirits, but I have to admit the thought makes me happy.” This time when I start to stand up, he doesn’t stop me. Probably for the best, even if I secretly sort of wish he would. “I should probably take a look at that towel rack now, though.”

“No,” he makes a dismissive gesture. “I can take care of the towel rack. I’m the one who broke it, after all. You’ve been kind enough to keep me company for a little while this evening and for that I thank you.” He stands up to usher me to the door, his hand finding that place at the small of my back that makes my knees want to buckle every time he touches it. “I’ll bring the screwdriver back downstairs first thing in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly feeling conflicted. I could happily stay here all night talking to him, but I know it’s a bad idea. It’s a bad idea because of how badly I want it. How badly I wanthim. “I’d hate to think you’ve been inconvenienced even a little during your stay here. It really will only take me a few minutes to fix the rack.”

“Quite sure,” he nods as he opens the door and I step out into the hallway. “But I look forward to seeing you again in the morning, Rachel. Thank you for coming up here tonight.” With a slight nod, he adds, “Good night, beautiful.”

“Good night.” The words are barely out of my mouth before the door closes again.

Beautiful.

That really happened, right? He really called me beautiful?Me? Beautiful?

I lean against the door frame for a moment, taking it in, wondering what it means or if it means anything at all. Sure, maybe he’s just this nice to everyone he meets. Maybe he calls women beautiful all the time and doesn’t intend for it to sound as sexy as it does.

But all my quiet hoping and wishful thinking aside, it’s starting to feel like more than just good manners. More than just obligatory polite conversation.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m falling for Liam, but now? Now it feels like he might be falling for me, too.

5

LIAM

The moment I opened my eyes this morning, I saw the screwdriver that I left sitting on my bedside table. It’s a good reminder—as if I needed one—of the plans I’ve made for today.

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