Wicked Heart (26 page)

“We headed upstairs and helped a lady and her two boys get out of the wreckage before moving to the top floor where the damage was the worst. It was a stupid move. We could feel the
structure was about to go. The crane was too heavy; the walls couldn’t support it. Jamie yelled that we had to get out, but I couldn’t leave those people there screaming. When I opened
the door to their apartment, the crane smashed though the exterior wall. Jamie shoved me out of the way just before it would’ve hit me. He was killed instantly. So were the people in the
apartment. The whole thing happened so quickly, it took me a minute to figure out why the screaming had stopped.”

My stomach clenches. “God. Liam.” I rub his hand, trying to convey my sympathy.

He shakes his head. “When I saw Jamie there . . . I couldn’t move. I knew it was too unstable to stay, but I couldn’t leave. Couldn’t take my eyes off him. One second he
was my brother. My hero. The next, he was . . . nothing. Just a mess of bone and blood whose face looked nothing like Jamie’s. When Dad found me, I was sobbing his name over and over again.
It took two firemen to drag me away.”

He takes a deep breath, then takes a sip of his drink. I keep rubbing his hand and try to let him know he can stop whenever he wants.

“Mom and Dad were devastated. I mean, there’s no way to get over losing a child, you know? Especially when the one left behind looks exactly like the one you’ve lost. For me,
it was even worse. Jamie and I were inseparable from the moment we were born. Mom used to call us the ‘cling twins.’ Wherever we went, we were a package deal. It was always Liam and
Jamie. Jamie and Liam. The Quinn boys. I thought we’d be that way forever, even when we were married and had kids. Then, suddenly, it was just me.” He looks over at me.
“Afterward, people would forget, and when I’d show up places they’d say, ‘Hey, it’s Liam and . . . ’ then trail off before saying his name. And that summed up
how I felt when he died. I was incomplete. An unfinished sentence.”

He looks back down at the table, and he’s gripping his glass so tightly, his knuckles are white.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what that must be like.”

“After the accident, Mom and Dad were buried under lawsuits. Liability, civil, negligence. The easy road would have been to declare bankruptcy and make it all go away, but Dad would never
agree to that. He felt responsible. He negotiated settlements. Sold the business he’d built for forty years, all the equipment, our family home. Paid every cent he could to the families of
the victims who were still waiting on checks from the insurance companies. That’s one of the main reasons I went to Hollywood. I needed to help them out. All the fees from my first two movies
went to paying off their debts.”

“Oh, Liam—” I grip his hand, and I can feel his pulse pounding through his fingers, fast and unsteady. I hate that he had to carry around the burden of his brother’s
death as well as his parents’ financial difficulties for so long.

He lets out a shaky sigh and gestures to the iPad. “And every time something like this happens, my first thought is to say screw it, and go live in a cabin in the woods. But then I get a
flash of Jamie’s face, and it makes me stop, because I feel like I need to be someone, you know? Like my future has to be doubly bright, because I have to make up for him not having
one.” I see a tear fall onto his cheek as he whispers, “I miss him so fucking much, Liss. Every day.”

I reach over and cup his face so I can wipe the tear away with my thumb. “I’m sure if he were here, he’d tell you how proud he is of you. Every day. You’re an amazing
man, Liam. Your brother knew that.”

He closes his eyes and leans into my hand, and I can see he’s fighting to keep his breathing steady. I have no idea what it’s like to lose a brother, but the mere thought of living
in a world without Ethan makes me break into a cold sweat. I can’t even imagine the pain Liam must feel without his twin.

“Ever since Jamie passed,” he says as he takes my hand away from his face and holds it with both of his, “I feel like part of me is missing. Like I’m always lonely, no
matter how many people are with me. The only time I don’t feel like that is when I’m with you.” He looks into my eyes. “Not Angel.
You.
”

I stare at him for a few seconds as a storm of confusion brews inside me. What does that even mean? I search his eyes, but don’t come away with any answers. Right now, he looks just as
confused as I feel.

I pull my hand back and look down at the small amount of wine still left in my glass. “So then, why didn’t you choose me?”

I can’t look at his face, so I watch his hands as they clench around his glass. He’s quiet for a long time, and I have a feeling he’s trying to find a way to gently tell me the
truth.

“Elissa, look at me.” When I meet his gaze, he leans forward. “I hate that my actions made you feel second best. You’re not. You never could be. Circumstances just
weren’t on our side, that’s all.” He looks down and swirls the liquid in his glass. “When I left that message saying I loved you, I meant it. You have to believe
that.”

I look down at a scratch on the table. “I did believe it. That’s why I said it back to you, even though falling in love with you was never a part of my plan.”

He looks up at me before he swallows the last of his drink and puts the glass down on the table. “See, that’s the problem. Love is an asshole. It doesn’t care about
people’s plans. It’s
never
convenient. It crawls inside of you at the most ridiculous times and makes you feel, whether you like it or not. And even long after the time when
you
should
have learned to stop loving someone, it just keeps holding on to them. Doesn’t it?”

I avoid his eyes and drink the remainder of my wine.

“Liss?” When I look over at him, the intensity of his expression makes my hair stand on end. “Do you still love me?”

Goose bumps break out all over my body. This whole conversation is getting out of control. It’s dangerous territory, especially because some part of me is loving the adrenaline rush.

“You know I’m not going to answer that.”

He reaches across the table and takes my hand. The soft brush of his thumb makes tingles break out all over my arm.

“If you asked me the same question,” he says as he looks down at my fingers, “I’d answer it in a second. And I suspect you already know what I’d say.”

He brings my hand up to his mouth and presses his lips gently against my skin. The contact makes me inhale. His lips are warm and soft, and the shock of them leaves me breathless. He’s
about to say something else when his gaze flickers over my shoulder, and within a second, his expression goes from affectionate to thunderous. “Un-fucking-believable. Prick.”

“What is it?” I look behind me.

“Don’t worry about it. Wait here.” He gets up and stalks over to the man at the end of bar, who’s studying his phone. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

The man looks at him in confusion. “What? No. Why would I take a picture of you?”

“I’ve seen you before,” Liam says as he towers over him. “You a reporter? A pap?”

“No. I’m an accountant.”

“Then show me your phone.”

I walk over and put a hand on Liam’s arm. “Hey. Come on. Let’s just go.”

“No,” Liam says. “If this guy has nothing to hide, he’ll show me his picture roll.”

“I’m not showing you my phone. I don’t even know who you are.”

Liam goes to snatch the phone, but the guy draws back to keep it out of reach.

“Give me the fucking phone!” Liam’s voice echoes through the whole room, and everyone turns to look.

When he grabs the guy’s arm, I step between them. “Liam, stop.”

“Hey!” The bartender strides down to where we are. “No trouble in here. Take it outside, all of you.”

The accountant backs away from Liam and hightails it to the door. “You’re crazy, man. You stay away from me. I’ll call the cops.”

“Good. Then I’ll report you for stalking, asshole!” Liam kicks the bar stool the guy was sitting on. It teeters but doesn’t fall. “Son of a bitch!”

“Hey, calm down. He really didn’t seem to know who you were.”

“He was taking pictures of us while pretending to look at something on his phone. It happens all the time.”

I look to where the door has just closed behind the guy. “And maybe he was just looking at something on his phone and all the stuff with Jamie has set you on edge.”

He drops his head and sighs. “Maybe. I swear to God, being stalked all the time can make a guy paranoid as hell.”

“I don’t blame you.”

He gestures toward the bar. “Do you want one more?”

“Yes, but we have rehearsal tomorrow, so we should get out of here. Also, people are staring. Come on.”

I tug on his arm, and after we grab all our gear, I push him toward the door. He doesn’t resist.

When we get outside, the humid spring night has given way to a heavy downpour.

Liam turns to me. “Don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”

“Don’t suppose I do.”

“Dammit, Liss. I thought stage managers were like Boy Scouts. Always prepared.”

“In a theater, yes. Outside a bar that probably has Nickelback on the jukebox? Not so much.”

He looks both ways and then shrugs. “It’s only a few blocks to my apartment. Run for it?”

“Okay, but not too fast. Your legs are twice the length of mine.”

We rush down the slick pavement. Within a minute, we’re soaked to the bone. A minute after that, my shoes are making disgusting squelching sounds every time I take a step, and I squeal when
I hydroplane across a particularly slippery piece of cement.

“Wait up,” I say, and stop at a small alleyway. “I’m going to kill myself in these things.” I walk a few steps into the alley before bending over to pull off my
shoes and socks. I know walking barefoot on New York sidewalks is gross, but at least I won’t fall and break any bones.

After I shove everything into my bag, I look up to find Liam staring at me.

His posture is rigid, and his face is the very definition of lust.

I follow his gaze down to my chest. My previously white T-shirt and bra have become transparent. I may as well be wearing cling wrap.

I cross my arms over myself. “Shit. Sorry.”

He looks up at my face, and exhales. “Every day, I try to ignore my attraction to you. Every . . . damn . . . day. I tell myself I’m over you and can’t have these feelings, but
it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.”

His bag falls to the ground as he steps forward and cups my face.

“Liam . . .” Then, he’s walking forward, and I’m walking back, and before I know it, I’m against a wall and gripping his sodden shirt. The overhang from the
building protects us a little from the rain, but it does nothing to protect me from how I react to him. His wet T-shirt reveals every dip and groove of his physique, and I have to stop myself from
pawing him. He doesn’t seem to have any qualms. He winds an arm around me and pulls me against his body. He’s already hard, and his breathing is shallow as he stares down at me.

Dear God.
Aroused men are sexy. Aroused Liam is the equivalent of a metric ton of the world’s most potent aphrodisiac.

“I need to kiss you,” he says, his voice almost a groan. “Please, Liss.”

“Liam, you know why you can’t.”

“Let’s pretend for a moment that Angel doesn’t exist and I can. Pretend I didn’t go to Hollywood. That I stayed here and made a life with you. One where I could make love
to you every day. See you whenever I liked. One where I didn’t ache like a part of me is dying whenever I’m not with you.”

He’s leaning down. So close I can smell him and feel his warm, sweet breath.

“Liss.” He cups my face and looks into my eyes. “Pretend with me. Imagine we’re in a movie of how our lives could have been. Let me show you what I fantasize about every
time I see you. Please.”

I want to stop looking at him, but I can’t. Just like I can’t stop wanting him.

I grip the front of his T-shirt and pull. He takes it as permission, and brushes his lips against mine. Just the lightest touch. My body explodes with sensation. Fierce flutters start in my
stomach and spread through all my limbs. When my toes curl, I grip him tighter to urge him closer.

Sweet Jesus, the power of what he does to me. It’s been so long, yet everything comes rushing back in knee-buckling detail.

He kisses me again, and a groan passes from his mouth to mine as his lips open and his tongue slides and strokes.

“God . . . this,” he whispers against my lips. “You. You’re everything.”

He captures my lips and sucks gently, then repositions so our mouths slant over each other. We fit together just as perfectly as always, and the soft warmth of his tongue makes me groan. He
kisses me again, and again, and each time it’s deeper and more passionate, but still not enough. I grab at him and hold on as he lifts me and pulls my legs around his waist. Then I anchor my
hands in his hair while he grinds against me, and I’m reminded how he can overload every pleasure receptor in my body in a matter of seconds.

Our hands aren’t gentle as we roam over each other. Everything has an air of desperation about it, not only because we’re so relieved to finally give in to this unrelenting need, but
also because we know this is borrowed time and it won’t last. Liam rocks his pelvis against me, stroking and pressing his hard against my soft, hitting all the right places to make me gasp.
When I dig my fingers into his shoulders, he makes a noise in his chest. A dark, possessive sound. It makes me kiss him harder and cling to him more fiercely. More than anything, I want to be
possessed by this man. Not just physically. I want to belong to him, just as much as I want him to belong to me.

But even through the trembling muscles and low, needy aches, I can’t turn off the guilt that comes with kissing a man who isn’t mine. An echo of ‘
This is wrong, this is
wrong
’ starts in my brain and won’t be silenced. Even as I’m gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer, I’m bombarded with images of Angel in her wedding dress,
giddy over the thought of Liam waiting at the end of the aisle. The Prince Charming in her ever after.