Be My Bride: The Right Mr Wrong / A Most Suitable Wife / Betrothed for the Baby

‘Victoria—’

‘No.’ She pre-empted him. She was not inviting him in. She was not touching him. She was not letting him—

He smiled. Reaching out, he touched her burning cheek with just the tips of his fingers.

She clamped her jaw together.

‘Even now you want to resist it?’ he murmured.

‘You can’t just pick up with five years in between when we last saw each other.’ Did she have to sound so breathy?

‘Why not?’

‘Because…’ So much had gone down between then and now.

‘I’m single.’ He glanced at her hands in her lap. ‘You’re no longer attached.’

‘And you’re pleased about that,’ she said tartly.

He clamped his hand over hers, a quick frown pulling his brows. ‘Of course I’m not. Believe it or not I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you both to be happy.’

She swallowed, conscious of the strength of his hand pushing on hers. The heat of it. ‘We were,’ she said hoarsely, but honestly. ‘For a while.’

‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But it not working out was nothing to do with me.’

‘I never said it was.’ And she wouldn’t. But the edges of her heart shrivelled because, while Oliver had been the one who’d cheated, she’d been the one who’d withheld part of herself. She’d not been honest with him. Or herself. Or anyone.

Liam leaned closer. ‘Don’t make me pay the price of him hurting you.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What is it you want to do?’

‘What I’ve always wanted to do.’ His shoulders lifted. ‘From the second I first saw you in nothing but a towel and steam. At least I’m honest enough to admit it.’

She felt the steam now as heat surged through her body.

‘This thing between us?’ He shook his head. ‘Still the same, even after all this time. You can’t deny it.’

Of course she’d deny it. Self-preservation was a basic instinct. ‘I can.’ Because she knew all that was important to know about Liam, yet he knew nothing of what was important about her. Like the fact she wasn’t about to let herself get distracted. ‘You don’t know me now, Liam. You don’t know what I want.’

‘So you’re going to take the easy option and avoid it? You’re good at that.’

She shook her head. ‘You thought you were so clever. That you saw it all. But you saw nothing of what was really going on with me. You didn’t know me.’

‘I knew enough,’ he argued. ‘I still do.’

‘And what do you think you know? That I was sexually attracted to you?’ She kept her head high despite another flare of heat in her cheeks. ‘You intrigued me then, yes, I admit it. But I’m not interested now.’

‘Then prove it.’ His gaze locked on hers. ‘Come closer without blushing.’

‘Oh, please.’ She covered up with a laugh. ‘I don’t need to prove anything to you.’

‘What about to yourself?’ he challenged right back, his expression wicked and tempting. ‘Isn’t that part of what you’re doing now? Isn’t your move to Paris all about proving things to yourself?’

‘You still think you’re so smart.’

‘No, but I know when I’m right.’ He brushed that strand of hair behind her ear for her. ‘You’re out here on your own. Proving you can do it. You can handle it.’

‘And I can,’ she whispered.

He smiled. ‘Yet you won’t even try to handle me.’

THREE (#ulink_ae3f76e8-6a4e-5321-b83a-d50da90940a1)

‘You do not have to see me to my door.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Liam wasn’t letting Victoria walk out of his life again. At least, not yet. Not when there was this much unfinished between them. He was going to get something from her today. Even just an admission. He wanted to hear her say it only the once, a whisper even. She reckoned she didn’t want him? She reckoned wrong. He knew that as well as she.

‘I have to work.’

He knew that too. ‘I’m not asking to stay the night.’ Though he would if she offered. One night was all he’d need. Why she could do this to him, he didn’t know, but from the first second he’d seen her it had been there. That hot response in every cell of his body.

Want.

But he wasn’t the kid he’d once been. He wasn’t going to lose it as he had back then—he was in control of everything now, right?

He’d experienced lust plenty of times. Course he had. Had acted on it too. But it had never been as extreme as it had that night he’d first met Victoria. When she’d opened her mouth and answered him back? When she’d been as enthralled as he had?

She still was. He’d seen it flash in her eyes when he’d walked into that room, before she’d had a second to school her face. He saw it now in the way she went out of her way to avoid touching, or even looking at, him.

But he looked at her. And he wanted to touch. In fact he wanted to provoke—that would only be fair. Because that rampant lust was back as bad as it had ever been.

He followed her up the stairs, trying hard not to stare at her sweet curves. Instead he glanced around, checking out her digs. The distraction was not good.

The stairwell was poorly lit but he could still see the grimy, peeling paintwork and he could smell something horrendous—like several stale dinners mixed with the stench of wet wool. How many tiny apartments were squished into this ugly building? They passed a million doors as they marched on. No wonder she was looking fit given all these stairs she had to climb.

‘So you’re doing the garret-in-Paris thing?’ He ground the feeble joke out. This place was hardly the Left Bank and giving her a nice view of the river.

‘I’m not starving. I’m doing very well,’ she said as they finally got to the top floor. She unlocked her door and paused. ‘And calligraphy is a craft as much as it is an art. I’m happy.’

‘Good for you.’ He ignored the ‘goodbye’ in her tone and walked right past her, into the shoebox of an apartment— a child’s shoebox at that. ‘But there are better garrets. With better views.’ He frowned, learning all there was to know in a swift glance. One room with a cupboard for a kitchen and another for a bathroom. The place sucked.

‘I don’t need a better view. I only need good light.’

She’d set up a small workspace in the room. The biggest bit of furniture was her desk. Angled and pushed against the window to maximise use of the natural light. On a flat desk beside it was her computer. Against the far wall—as if it were an afterthought—was the smallest single bed he’d ever seen.

The place wasn’t miniature doll’s-house cute, it was cramped.

‘How can you work in here?’ He looked away from the itty, bitty bed. ‘It’s hardly a ‘studio’ is it?’ It wasn’t big enough for anyone to be comfortable in. Not even petite blondes with leaf-green eyes.