I exhale slowly. “I can be appreciated just fine at Sterling,” I insist, still not relaxing.
Then Liam fixes me with a smoldering grin. “I know that,” he says, drawing me closer. “In fact, you can be appreciated right here, too…”
He kisses me, and I close my eyes and sink into him, trying to forget about Jen Hannaford and Verity Lange and everything but the feeling of Liam’s warm, hard body next to mine.
And for a while there, I do.
19
Liam
I’m expecting things to slow down once Verity’s book is finished, but instead the days seem to speed up. As the launch date approaches, my life becomes a blur of conference calls and marketing meetings—and cozy late-night dinners with Eliza. Not that I’m complaining. In fact, events are working out better than I could have imagined. I’ve been able to cut costs at Sterling, things with Eliza are incredible, and with the book shipping out to stores in just a week’s time, I feel confident our creditors won’t fuss too much about extending the repayment terms on our loans. For the first time, I’m able to think past the next payroll cycle, and start wondering about my long-term plans.
If I can stick around here longer. If there might be future for me in NYC, after all.
One morning, I roll over and look at Eliza sleeping in bed. She opens one eye. “Hi there,” she says, looking amused. “Did I drool in my sleep again?”
“Not tonight.” I smile, and push back a lock of her hair. It still floors me that I get to do this—just lay around like this with her. “But I was thinking… I want to talk to you about something.”
“Uh-oh,” she says, sitting up in bed and tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “Sounds serious.”
“No, it’s nothing bad,” I assure her. “At least, I hope not.” I take a deep breath, sitting down on the edge of the mattress beside her. “I think you know that I had always planned to go back to San Francisco once Verity’s book was published.”
Eliza nods slowly. “I figured as much, yes.”
“But lately...” I trail off, gathering my nerve. “I’ve been thinking that maybe New York has more to offer than I initially realized.”
That makes her smile. “Oh you have, huh?” Eliza raises her eyebrows teasingly. “Like what, exactly?”
“Well, you know,” I say, pretending to think about it. “The sights. The culture.” I reach out, trailing a finger over her bare shoulder, nudging the spaghetti strap of her nightgown down her arm. “The company.”
“There it is.” Eliza tilts her face up for a kiss. “I was hoping you’d decide to stay,” she confesses softly, her words a quiet whisper against my mouth. “I didn’t want you to feel like I was putting pressure on you, or trying to rush things between us. But I was always, always hoping you’d decide to stay.”
I can’t help smiling at her words. “I’m all in with you, Eliza.” I admit. “I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t think I’ve ever let myself.”
Eliza nods in understanding. “I spent my whole life reading about this in novels,” she confesses, looking a little bashful. “But I don’t know if I ever really thought it would happen for me.”
She kisses me again then, leaning back into the pillows and tugging me down on top of her, then rolling us over so she’s straddling my hips. I tug her nightgown all the way off her shoulders, hiking it up so it’s pooled around her waist and letting out a low groan when I realize she’s not wearing anything underneath it.
Her body is familiar to me now, but I don’t think I’ll ever be bored, exploring every inch. Eliza laces her fingers through mine as she lowers herself down onto me, rocking her hips until I’m deep inside her. She looks like some kind of goddess in the morning light, her long hair steaming behind her as she arches her back in pleasure. I know I won’t last long watching her like this and I reach down between us, finding her clit with one thumb. Eliza breathes in sharply, her eyes flying open wide in pleasure and surprise. “Like that,” she whispers. “Just like that…”
I keep stroking, thrusting up inside her as she rocks her hips, taking me to heaven and back. When we come, it’s hot and fierce, pleasure spreading up my rib cage and down my limbs as she collapses down onto my chest, burying her face in the crook of my shoulder. We lie like that for a long, quiet moment as our breathing returns to normal. I can feel the curve of Eliza’s smile against my skin.
“So,” she says finally, lifting her face to look at me. Her cheeks are sweetly flushed, her hair tangled like a messy blonde halo. “Does this mean you’re finally going to unpack?”
“I did unpack!” I protest. “It would have been extremely inefficient to be living out a suitcase this whole time. The ironing time alone would have eaten up my entire day.”
“First of all, don’t act for one second like you do your own ironing,” Eliza says with a laugh, “and second of all, that’s not what I mean.” She props herself up on one elbow, trailing a delicate finger down my chest. “This apartment is incredible, but you have to admit it basically looks like a very fancy hotel room. Wouldn’t it be nice to come home at the end of the day to a place with a little bit of personality? Something that feels a little more like you?”
I look around at the walls and rugs and window treatments, which are—now that she mentions it—indeed overwhelmingly taupe. “I guess I could hire an interior designer.”
“You could,” Eliza agrees amiably. “Or once Verity’s book is out and things calm down a little bit, you and I could go shopping together.”
I consider it for a moment. “I like that idea,” I admit with a smile. I’ve never been furniture shopping with a woman before—I’ve never really been furniture shopping, period—but I like imagining the two of us strolling through the showroom hand in hand, making decisions together. Building a life together, bit by bit. “New couch, new table.” I bounce on the mattress, teasing. “New bed?”
“Better test this one again first just to be safe,” Eliza says, and pulls the crisp white sheets over our heads.
When I finally make it into work later that morning, I’m surprised find Celeste waiting in my office. “Celeste, hi,” I say, holding my briefcase up involuntarily, almost as if I’m going to use it like a shield. “I’m sorry, did we have an appointment?”
“No, no.” Celeste smiles, shaking her head. “I’m just barging in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine,” I tell her, then wince. “I mean, not to say you are barging in. Just that it’s fine that I didn’t expect you.” It occurs to me to wonder if Celeste and I will ever be able to manage a conversation that isn’t horribly awkward at its core.
To her credit, my stepmother-ish forges ahead. “You made some changes in here,” she observes, looking around the newly minimalist office.
“I hope that’s all right. It just helped me think, to clear out a bit of the, ah…”