Page 15 of All the Gossip from Paris
Ryan had made vague mention of the way the Royals were, that they didn’t have much of a grasp of the true cost of things. They lived in a different world. A world inhabited by the super-rich.
I wonder how long Ryan is going to last in that world.
If anyone knew about love and how it could shine brightly one minute, then flame out like a shooting star the next, it was Liam.
Sophie motioned toward the drinks cabinet. “Come and choose a drink. Then we can settle on the couch and see what’s on TV.”
Liam followed her over to where an impressive selection of bottles and matching glasses were set out. He’d seen cocktail cabinets before. His childhood memories included the chestnut veneer unit his grandparents had kept in their living room all those years ago. His grandmother loved nothing more than mixing her favorite cocktail, a Moscow Mule, and pouring it into a fancy highball glass.
But the contents of this cabinet were nothing like the one in Newark, New Jersey; here they were all top shelf liquors. Fancy bottles of wine. It even had an inbuilt fridge stocked full with bottles of champagne. These people really did live in a different world.
“I’ll just have another glass of wine. I’d like to keep a clear head,” he said. Liam wasn’t taking any chances. Strong booze was the natural enemy of a stellar bedroom performance. He never wanted to leave a woman disappointed.
Sophie brushed a hand over his, and smiled. “You can have whatever you want, Liam. You only have to ask.”
She’d been as obvious as she was going to be—now it was time to back off. Playing this game was dangerous. If Liam wasn’t interested in getting to know her better, any further attempts on her part might come across as desperate. And if there was one thing Sophie had sworn that she’d never do again, it was beg for a man’s attention.
Now it was up to Liam to take the lead. To show her what he wanted. If it was just a drink and a chat, then fine. The second after he said goodnight, she’d be in the bathroom and running a hot bath.
I wonder if the concierge team stocks a selection of adult toys.
Knowing the Royal Resorts team, and their attention to guest comfort, she’d bet they dealt with those sorts of requests on a regular basis.
Her senses shifted to high alert as Liam moved closer. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured. “I can have whatever I want. And not just from the drink’s cabinet?”
He reached past her and picked up the already opened bottle of wine, but in doing so, his arm brushed against one of her hardened nipples. Sophie shivered in response. Liam had to have known what he was doing.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured.
Sophie let out a shaky breath. “That’s ok. I don’t mind.”
He set the bottle back down. “Would you let me do it again, but without your shirt on?”
Sophie nodded.
His hands settled either side of her waist. She held her breath as Liam lifted the hem of her t-shirt and drew it over her head. The cool air kissed her naked flesh. Her nipples had already been hard but now they pebbled into rocks. He brushed a hand over one of them and she swallowed, deep.
“May I?” he asked.
She didn’t need to ask what he meant by that. She merely nodded once more.
Liam bent his head and took her peaked bud into his mouth. Closing her eyes, Sophie let out a sigh. When he drew back hard, the pulse between her legs quickened.
Settling a hand on his head, she slid her fingers into his hair. The more he teased her flesh, the tighter she held him.
Utter perfection. None of this messing around. There was no little kisses. No gentle brushes. Liam went straight for the kill. And she loved it.
She eventually released her hold and whispered. “I want to see you with your shirt off. I want to see all of your ink.”
He righted himself. In one quick move he’d dragged the hoodie over his head, and dropped it on the floor.
“Oh my god. You are covered in tattoos,” she whispered, in awe.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked.
She hadn’t ever been with a guy who had that much ink before. A few years back she’d had a boyfriend who’d sported a couple of small ones on his upper arms. Until a year ago she’d been with Patrice, who would never consider lowering himself to getting his perfect skin marked with a tattoo.
Liam Collins was a wonder of art. Sophie brushed her finger over the image of a black and gold tiger which adorned his chest, tracing the outlines of the work.
