Page 43 of Taming Liberty

I walk back to Angel and give a tiny, concerned smile. “Aren’t you cold too?”

He tilts his head and studies me for a moment before standing.

“Freezing.” He turns me and guides me toward the living room. I expect Sawyer to throw some comment at my back, but he doesn’t.

Angel’s hands slide to my hips as we take the stairs, and I hurry like I can’t wait to get to the master bedroom. Once we’re there, we slip into the bathroom and as soon as the door is shut, I lean back against the sink, biting my bottom lip.

He comes to stand in front of me, and I think for sure he’s going to attack, but he takes his time trailing his gaze over my body.

“We should probably start the shower so it has a chance to warm up,” I say, nodding behind Angel. He doesn’t turn around.

He takes a step toward me and sighs as he looks down and cups my hip, rubbing my bone with his thumb. A shudder ripples through me when he traces my waistline with his fingertips.

I inhale a sharp breath and thrust my hips out toward him.

“I want you,” I say, a little surprised at how husky my voice sounds as I take the waistband of his shorts and pull him toward me.

This is an act, Lib. Just an act.

I reach my hand into his boxers and grip his large shaft, hot in my hand compared to the rest of our bodies. I stroke him and go to push his shorts and boxers down, but he places a hand over mine to stop me.

I try to meet his eyes, but he leans into me and puts his mouth close to my ear.

“I like this,” he whispers as he takes my hand gripping his cock and gently glides it over him, arching his hips toward me. “You’re so damn sexy, and every part of me wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you right now. So please, don’t take this the wrong way…”

“Don’t take what the wrong way?” I pull back so he’ll meet my eyes. When he does, he studies me.

“What are you doing?”

I open and close my mouth, looking away for a second while I try to interpret his words. “What do you mean?”

He scratches his jaw as I pull my hand from his pants. The tension in the room twists around until it’s a mixture of desire and suspicion.

“We weren’t on good terms when I left, and I know you couldn’t possibly have forgiven me or gotten over everything that’s happened. Not this soon.”

Fuck.

He knows.

“I don’t want to accuse you of anything.” He fingers a lock of my hair, using his other hand to glide his fingertips across my stomach. The gesture’s intimate but a subtle threatening undertone hovers beneath it.

“But I have to ask,” he continues. “Is there something you’re wanting?”

I suck my lip into my mouth and look down at his abdomen. Perfectly carved muscle wasted on such a beautifully evil man. Would I still be having these mixed emotions if he was ugly? Would he still be a hybrid of good and bad, or would I only feel repulsion?

Do I really have to ask?

“Yes,” I admit, my eyes stinging. “But you’re not going to give it to me.”

His hand caressing my skin pauses, resting on my hip.

I peer up at him and swallow. His eyes look concerned, sympathetic, and if they had a mouth and mind of their own, they’d be whispering, “tell me your secrets.”

“I want my freedom, Angel,” I say, my throat clogging. I swallow again.

That part was the truth. Real emotion, real sorrow. Now it’s time to lie.

“But if I’m not going to get it, then I want to at least try to be happy. I don’t want to fight with you anymore, and I’m tired of being angry.” My eyes drop to his chest, and I reach my hand out to trace the curve of his pec. “I just want to pretend that this isn’t what it is. I want to act like I told you yes that day when you asked if I’d meet you, and this is us running away together.”

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