We start working. I measure while he marks the brace point. We don’t talk much, but the silence between us feels charged. It feels like speaking isn’t necessary, like words might break whatever it is that we’re building. And, I’m not talking about the porch roof.
At one point, he kneels to check alignment, and I crouch beside him. Our shoulders touch. It’s accidental … I think. Every nerve in my body leans toward his.
Then it happens. A sharp clatter, a curse, and I look over to see him jerk his hand back from the edge of the board.
“Shit.”
Blood wells up quickly from the base of his palm.
I’m beside him in a second. “You okay?”
“It’s nothing.”
“You’rebleeding.”
He tries to shake it off, but I’m already tugging his wrist toward me. I grab the rag he brought to wipe sweat and press it firmly against the wound.
“Hold pressure,” I tell him, and then my tone shifts, reflexively professional. “Sit on the porch step. Now.”
His brows lift like he’s amused I’m bossing him around, but he listens.
I dart inside, grab my little first-aid kit, and return in seconds. He’s seated now, arm out, watching me with that same unreadable expression.
“Let me see.”
He lowers the rag slowly. It’s a clean slice. Not deep, but messy. I clean it with saline and wipe away the blood.
“You’ve done this before,” he says, voice low.
I don’t look up. “It’s my job, remember?”
Once I’ve bandaged the cut, I pause, still holding his hand, and glance at him.
“Better?” he asks, almost amused that he’s receiving this attention.
“Almost.” Without thinking, I lean in and press a soft kiss just above the bandage. “There,” I say, like it’s nothing. “For good measure.”
His expression becomes more serious. Before I can move back, his hand … his good one … grabs my waist and pulls me into his lap.
I let out a startled breath as I straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs, our faces inches apart. He looks up at me like he’s done holding back.
Then he kisses me.
No warning. Just heat and hunger and years of unspoken things crashing into a single moment. His mouth is firm, warm, claiming. His hand stays at my waist, but his thumb moves slow and sure, brushing skin beneath the hem of my shirt.
I meltagainst him.
And the world with its beautiful morning sunlight, smell of new wood, and porch problems, all of it … falls away.
Chapter 15
Liam
Ididn’t mean to pull her into my lap. It just happened. Like a train already halfway down the mountain—no brakes, no steering, just gravity and need.
And now she’s on me. Around me. Her mouth on mine, soft and hungry. Her hands on my shoulders. The press of her chest against my shirt, the weight of her hips, her thighs straddling mine.
It sets me on fire.
