Page 77 of Booked for the Holidays
So instead, I’m hiding behind the register, rearranging bookmarks for the hundredth time, while my brain rewindsLiam Hargrove: Greatest Hitson loop. My hands are busy. My mind? Not so much.
I should be focused on the author signing line that’s wrapped halfway around the store, the champagne flutes clinking on every table, the raffle tickets. Instead, I’m hyperaware of him. The way he smiles at Mrs. Bryan, the local librarian, like he’s been a regular here for years. The way he remembers how to refill the drink cooler without asking, or the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
And worst of all?
I can still feel him. Last night’s heat, lingering just beneath my skin, the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he made me come so completely…it’s right there, threatening to unravel me.
Part of me hoped the last few nights with him would be enough. Enough to take the edge off. But it only sharpened it. Made the craving worse. Made me painfully aware of how much I’m holding back.
I think about the version of me last year that asked Liam to be my first and damn it, I was so naïve. I had no idea what it would be like to have that man’s attention and now, I can’t imagine what it would be like not to.
It doesn’t help that he’s across the room right now in a soft black sweater that makes my palms itch. Sleeves pushed up just enough to show off those forearms that has my brain turning to mush.
“We’re out of prosecco.”
I blink away Liam and focus on what Charlotte is telling me.
“You’re kidding.”
She makes a face. “Unfortunately, no. But the good news is the event is a huge success.”
“Yeah, that’s great but we still have an hour left and some people haven’t even used their drink tickets.”
“Want me to run to the store?”
Before I can answer Charlotte, a low rumble of a voice cuts in—his voice.
“I’ve got it covered.”
I swear my heart does a somersault so dramatic it should get a standing ovation.
I look up and find Liam still leaning against the shelf, arms crossed, sleeves shoved up just so, watching me like he knows exactly how scrambled my brain is right now—and exactly why.
“You’ve got what covered?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. Trying not to think about how that stupid vein on his forearm looks when he pours champagne. Or other, dirtier things.
He pushes off the shelf and strolls closer, just enough that I catch a whiff of the sweet vanilla scent drifting from the big tray of sugar cookies on the checkout counter. It mixes with his cologne and does ridiculous things to my focus. “More prosecco. I’ll handle it.”
“You have prosecco just lying around?” Charlotte asks, her brow lifting like she’s clocking something I’m missing.
Liam’s smile is all innocence, which is funny, because there’s not a single innocent thing about that man. He shrugs one shoulder, easy and unbothered. “Let’s just say I know where to find a bottle or two. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be right back.”
“Liam—” I start, because I want to ask. Where? How? But he’s already dropping a quick kiss on my temple—so casual,so unfair—and murmuring just for me, “Focus on your party, Firefly. I’ve got you.”
And just like that, he’s out the door into the cold, leaving me blinking at the bell above the entrance.
Charlotte nudges me with her elbow. “So, he just happens to have prosecco?”
I shove a stack of bookmarks at her to distract her suspicious grin. “Just go pass these out.”
She laughs but lets it drop. Thank god.
I watch through the frosted window as Liam starts down the sidewalk, his broad shoulders disappearing around the corner.
The man drives me insane in the best way possible. And apparently, he’s also my emergency prosecco supplier now.
I press a hand to my still-warm cheek, trying to pull myself together. One crisis averted. One infuriating, irresistible distraction multiplied.
And the worst part?
