Page 93 of Debt of My Soul

“We should leave,” he says, looking back toward the house. What looks like longing and pain lances his face as he squints at his childhood home.

The only thing I brought with me was the bottle of wine, but my parents taught me better than to walk out. While Liam starts the truck, I poke my head back in the house, catching Mrs. Parker at the same window I was staring out. Heat burns my cheeks. Did she see us?

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Parker.” I grit out a smile and pull the door back closed, then bolt back to Liam like a teen playing ding-dong-ditch. I practically giggle flinging myself into the truck and look at Liam with a smile, but his head is fixed straight ahead as we pull out of the drive.

He doesn’t look at me the rest of the night.

Several days of gorgeous weather follow the dinner from hell. It’s normally still screaming heat at the start of fall in Mississippi, from what I’m told, but these few days of reprieve have been invigorating.

Most of my days have been spent butt parked in the chair on the front porch watching several mail trucks, of all things, pull inand out of the compound’s warehouse. While the days have been busy, the nights have been quiet. Normally, the evenings are teeming with drunken parties, but between the constant influx of deliveries and work, it seems everyone has their nose to the ground.

Liam has taken up running, which I’m fairly certain is new. A couple of mornings, I’ve met him coming out of the bathroom from an early morning run while I’m on my way to pee, having slept like crap on the sofa.

Today I spent too much time lying in the grass next to the cabin, and I’m sunburnt and stiff.

Digging around in every crevice of this cabin, the most I’ve found for relief is lotion. No aloe to save my life. The sun sets outside the window and I turn to stick out my tongue at the giant ball of gas.

“What’d the window do to you?” Liam shuts the door behind him, his eyes narrowing on my reddened face.

“I have beef with the sun.”

“Ah,” he says, hanging up his leather coat. How he wears that thing in the raised temperatures around here is beyond me. Stalking in my direction, he reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb gently against my nose. My eyes widen before they blink in rapid succession, and I continue to stare at the vacant spot well after Liam has moved to the kitchen.

Does he realize he touched me? He’s barely looked at me since our kiss.

When I finally turn around to face him, his eyes are trained on my backside, a glass of water pressed to his lips.

“The guys are ordering a bunch of pizzas tonight. I ordered a supreme for us. I’ll grab it at the clubhouse when one of the guys texts.”

“Uh, yeah. Sounds good. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Fleur.”

“Fine. You suck and I don’t thank you for the delicious pizza that happens to be my favorite.”

Liam roars out a laugh and I have to bite my lip to refrain from squealing in delight at the masculine sound rattling my core.

When his laugh dies, I move toward him. “You should do that more.”

“What?”

“Laugh.”

Liam frowns, tilting his head to study me. “Not much to laugh about around here.”

“Then leave.” I sigh. “You have so much to offer, Liam. This shouldn’t be the price you pay for Adam. It just shouldn’t.”

Maybe I could convince him to leave and take me with him. He can’t have much longer left here, right? I picture it: us packing to leave in the dead of night, weaving through the trees on his bike and getting the hell out of this town, away from Blitz and Darrin. Would we stick together or go our separate ways? Regardless of what he’d do with me, why doesn’theleave?

Liam’s jaw ticks and he moves closer to me. The tattooed hand hanging by his side ruffles the string from my cut-off shorts, tickling my thigh. It takes everything in me not to lean in and seek his touch.

“It’s more complicated than that now. Hell, you really are burnt.” He reaches to brush my hair off my shoulder, inspecting it. I’m unsure if he’s purposefully changing the subject, or if he’s only now noticed the extent of my third-degree wrestle with the sun.

“You should take the bed tonight,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Let me rephrase that … youwilltake the bed tonight. Should’ve had you in it from the start.”

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