In front of the Peninsula, Liam glanced up at the tall building, then strode inside with long, purposeful steps.
Up in the top-floor suite, Nick laid Cecilia flat on the bed, panting as he straightened up and sucked in a deep breath.
What the hell had he done? Babysitting a drunk socialite like some errand boy.
Ding dong.
The doorbell rang sharply.
"Well, that was fast," Nick muttered, glancing at the man outside--the same cold, expressionless face as always, like it had been ironed flat and left to cool.
"Where is she?" Liam brushed past him, his gaze immediately locking onto the figure sprawled across the silk sheets.
On the bed, Cecilia stirred lazily, mumbling something incoherent.
Nick leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You missed quite the show tonight. Her got a mean right hook--both verbally and physically."
Liam didn't respond. Instead, he adjusted the blanket over Cecilia, his movements precise, almost protective.
When he turned back to Nick, his voice was low. "You can go now."
Nick smirked. "So, this is why you bailed on Newark?" He studied Liam for a reaction, but the man's face remained impassive.
"I mean, she's entertaining, sure. But is it worth it?"
"She's my wife now,"
The words hung in the air, final.
Nick raised his hands in surrender, then grabbed his jacket from the chair. "Alright. I'm out."
Finally, the room fell quiet again.
Liam sat down at the edge of the bed, his gaze resting on the sleeping woman.
Her skin was pale, her features soft and delicate. In sleep, she had a quiet elegance about her, the kind of grace that couldn't be taught.
But when she was pissed? She turned into a spitfire ready to burn the whole world down.
Yeah, she was beautiful. But beautiful women were everywhere.
Maybe she was rich? But did that even matter to him?
So why had he stayed? Why upend his plans, all for this...only to get sucked deeper in?
Suddenly, something warm brushed his palm.
Liam looked down.
Her hand had gently curled around his. And just like that, her lashes fluttered open.
"Cecilia?" He leaned closer, his voice a whisper.
Cecilia wasn't really awake.
She just caught in that hazy limbo between sleep and consciousness, her body moving on autopilot.
She blinked at the deep voice, her gaze drifting toward the sound.
His face was blurry. She couldn't make him out clearly. But when his scent floated into her nose, something oddly familiar stirred in her memory.
All those drinks...a wildfire roaring in her bloodstream, burning up her senses.
The pressure in her skull throbbed hard against her temples. She clutched his shirt.
"Hot," she whispered, groaning.
Liam peeled her blazer off, his fingers brushing the damp curve of her neck. "You're done with liquor after tonight."
Sensing he was about to get up, Cecilia instinctively wrapped her arms around him again, pulling him back. A lazy smile curved her lips. "Didn't we say...we'd have sex?"
His spine stiffened. Sex.
Her fingers fumbled for the buttons on his shirt, tugging one open. "That means...no clothes."
"Nick told you that?"
"Clothes off," she mumbled again, already working on the next button--completely oblivious to the storm brewing in Liam's expression.
He caught her hand, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "So, would you be doing this no matter who the man was tonight?"
Cecilia blinked, confusion slowly giving way to clarity. Her vision sharpened, and his face finally came into focus.
Oh. Shit.
She recoiled, scrambling back--until her shoulders hit the headboard.
"Clothes off..." Liam echoed mockingly as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged it off. The air filled with the raw scent of masculine heat.
Cecilia sat bolt upright. She was definitely awake now.
"Y-you--" Her voice cracked.
He leaned in, bracing a hand beside her head. "I'm following orders. Clothes off. Have sex."
His hand cupped her face, tilting her chin.
Then his mouth crushed against hers.
His lips were cool at first, but the kiss quickly turned hungry, relentless. His tongue swept into her mouth with a fierce urgency, as if he meant to claim every part of her.
Cecilia gasped, startled, struggling to process what was happening.
She wanted to pull away, to protest--but...
His kiss tasted like whiskey--sharp, sweet, dangerously addictive. Like the very liquor still burning her throat.
And it wasn't just his mouth...it was the heat in his touch, the tension in his body, the storm she felt pulling her under.
In the end, she gave in.
Her hands reached up, clinging to his shirt, then slid around his neck. Her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer--
Liam took that as all the permission he needed. With a satisfied growl, he pressed her deeper into the mattress.