Page 87 of Booked for the Holidays
He nods slowly. “Yeah. If you’ll have me.”
I let out a laugh that’s half a breath away from a sob. “Liam, your whole life is in New York. Jensen Innovations. Jasper. You can’t just stay here and run a wine bar.”
He pushes off the bar, stepping closer until the smell of oak and fresh paint is replaced by the smell of him—soap and winter air and something warm that’s always felt like home.
“I am not giving up the company,” he says, voice low and certain. “Jasper and I have been working it out for months. I’ll work remote for a while, split my time. I don’t need to be in Manhattan every day to keep the numbers clean.”
He tips his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Tech CFOs work from ski resorts in Aspen, Firefly. I can run my spreadsheets from a wine bar next to your bookshop just fine.”
“You planned this.”
“I planned the wine bar. I hoped for you.”
My heart does that stupid, reckless thing where it says yes before my brain can catch up. I’m about to kiss him again when my eye snags on a door at the back. Half hidden behind the bar wall and with a narrow staircase behind it.
I pull back just enough to point at it. “What’s up there?”
He follows my line of sight, then winces. “The apartment.”
I blink. “What apartment?”
He sighs, not even pretending. “Mine. It came with the lease, same as yours. I finished it a couple months ago.”
My jaw drops. “You’ve had a place this whole time? While you were sleeping in my guest room? And then my bedroom because Beck showed up?”
He grins, smug and soft and absolutely unrepentant. “I needed a place to stay.”
I gape at him. “You did not! You had an entire apartment right here.”
He just stands there looking at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him, completely unbothered by the fact that he’s been exposed as a giant, lovesick liar.
“I didn’t want the flat, Firefly.” His voice drops, all soft rumble and warm hands finding my waist. “I wanted you.”
My indignation fizzles the second his mouth brushes my neck—low and hot right under my ear. He knows exactly what that does to me. The traitorous part of my brain is already melting, my hands landing on his chest like I’m about to shove him away but I’m not fooling anyone.
“Liam…”I try to protest, but it comes out like a sigh.
His grin ghosts against my skin. “Mind if I show you how sorry I am?” His teeth graze my jaw, then he’s kissing me like he’s been starving for it. Deep and sweet and a little filthy just as one big hand slides under the hem of my shirt to find bare skin.
I manage a half-hearted glare. “You’re—ugh, you’re impossible.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, then lower. “Say yes.”
I will. Of course, I will.
“Okay,” I mutter, fingers curling in his shirt. “Show me upstairs then.”
His laugh is low and wicked. “Gladly.”
He grabs my hand, tugging me toward the back of the bar, both of us half-stumbling and giggling like teenagers sneaking out past curfew. We push through the door to the stairs—narrow, creaky, definitely not meant for what he clearly has in mind.
Halfway up, he turns and crowds me against the wall, mouth crashing onto mine, hands everywhere. I gasp into him, tuggingat the back of his hair, biting his lower lip just to feel him groan against my throat.
He kisses me harder, pushing my coat off my shoulders one handed while his other arm braces against the wall like he’s holding up the whole building.
When we finally reach the top, he fumbles behind me for the door handle, still kissing me, half-laughing himself now.
Click.The door swings open and the warm air brushes over us. Inside it’s wood floors, soft rugs, the smell of new paint and fresh linens, and him, everywhere.
