15. Marley

15

MARLEY

“ O h my God,” I gasp when I walk in the door Saturday after working all morning to find Liam washing blood off his hands.

He holds his hand up and shows me that an entire section of skin on his left index finger has pulled away. “It’s just a flapper,” he comments. “I was being stupid on my climb today. Went too fast.”

“Climb?” I ask. I can feel the confusion crumple my face, not helped by my continuing inability to sleep. “Flapper?”

He chuckles and runs his hand under the cold water again. “Rock climbing. Elliot and I climbed the Westport Face this morning.”

I drop my computer bag to the floor and try to process why a human would do such a thing when there is absolutely no reason to do so. “You climbed a sheer cliff this morning? On purpose.’

He flashes a grin that stills my racing mind and takes me right back to the moment his hands landed on my hips. He looks tan and windswept and impossibly more delicious than he usually does, which should be illegal, seeing how he’s already magazine-cover-worthy. “On purpose,” he confirms. "My dad got my brothers and me into climbing as children. We've been doing it ever since.”

I shake my head as I imagine how he must look scaling a cliff face, his muscles straining, the sun shining off the golden highlights in his hair… It makes my lady bits tingle. “How did your mom feel about that.”

He laughs as he shuts the water off and pats the skin dry with a paper towel. “I’m pretty sure she hated it. She said she aged ten years every time we went off for a climb.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I comment, my heart stuttering at the thought of something horrible happening to Liam.

His eyes wander down to the bag at my feet. “Did you work this morning?”

Glad for a subject change, I scoop my bag off the floor. “Yeah. Finola starts on Monday, and I wanted to make sure she had a functional space. Her desk didn’t arrive until yesterday, so I went in and got her station set up as best I could. It’s still a mess, but she should be able to do something—whatever that may be.”

“That was nice of you,” he comments, grabbing a tiny scissor.

“Well, it’s not her fault everything is a crazy mess.” I watch him fail to cut the loose skin for a few seconds before I drop my bag again and approach him. “Let me try.”

He eyes me for a moment but gives in and hands me the scissors. “I disinfected them,” is all he says.

“I have no doubt,” I say, taking his injured hand in mine. The second our skin touches, my breath leaves my body. His skin is warm and calloused, but still somehow smooth from years of climbing. It’s all I can do to keep my mind on the task and not think about how his fingers might feel on my body, pinching my nipples, drawing trail maps on my thighs.

Biting my lip and holding my breath, I lift the scissors to the wound and carefully remove the excess skin so all that’s left is an angry red patch below the pad of his finger. Tossing that, I reach for the bandage and apply it firmly around his finger.

When I finish, I make the mistake of looking up to find him watching me with a steady gaze, brows furrowed, something a lot like hunger in his eyes and for a moment, time comes to a complete stop. I can feel my body communicate with his as if making plans I’m not in on. “All done,” I whisper, my voice a shadow of what it was a moment ago. But I don’t let go of his hand. Not yet, and definitely not when his strong fingers turn in mine and twine around them.

“Thank you, Marley,” he breathes, a huskiness to his voice I’ve not heard before. For the record, it’s my new favorite sound.

My eyes fall to his lips. They’re soft and perfectly formed and I bet they’d feel magical against mine. “You’re welcome,” I answer, more to his mouth than to him.

“Marley,” He says after we still haven’t parted.

I lift my eyes to his.

“You said I could kiss you the other night.”

I nod and inhale as his other hand snakes around my waist and draws me closer.

“Does that offer still stand?”

It shouldn’t, I remind myself but I know the truth—it most certainly does. I nod. “Yes.” The word comes out breathy, almost a whisper, but it seems to be enough.

Liam’s fingers tighten around mine, the hand at my waist trails up my side slowly, leaving heated tracks as it skims the skin of my neck and finally cups my face. His thumb brushes my cheek as he gazes at me, making me feel—cherished.

His eyes flash with need as he tilts my head back and I get a sense that if I let him, he could completely unravel me. Just the thought fills my body with liquid heat, and I can feel myself falling further every moment I’m in his hands.

When his lips finally meet mine, the entire world seems to come to a stop, and I can comprehend nothing but the way his firm lips take control of mine. My body ignites like rocket fuel and before I know what’s happening, we deepen the kiss. His tongue tangles with mine, tasting, drinking, and dancing, until I can hardly breathe. Until I’m dizzy and euphoric and gripping his shirt like it’s a lifeline.

I sway a little when he pulls away from me and I already know that this one single kiss has changed me.

He smiles at me—a smile I haven’t seen before—a smile I think I’ll always crave. It’s private and honest, and God , all I want is more.

Finally, he lets out a breath and looks down at his dirty clothes. “I should shower.”

My mind immediately invites myself to go with him but luckily, it doesn’t come out of my mouth. Instead, I nod and step back, immediately missing the warmth of his solid body. “I think I’ll take a nap,” I say, which hadn’t been on my radar and after that kiss, would probably be damn near impossible.

His eyes linger on me for a second longer before he seems to decide something. With a nod, he slips by me and heads toward the bathroom.

All I can do is stand there for a moment torn between the thrill of his kiss and the dread that I’ll never feel another.