Page 55 of Taken With Trouble

Then I do my makeup with the items we picked up yesterday. Mascara, foundation, and a little bronzer. Any more, and I fear I’ll turn myself into a clown.

Quietly, I open the bathroom door, not wanting to alert Liam. I’m not sure why. Makeup usually makes women more confident, but it’s having the opposite effect on me. I feel awkward and vulnerable. I make it to the bedroom, hurry inside, and lock the door behind me. I lean against the door with a sigh. Made it.

“Did you just try to lock me out?”

I jump as Liam emerges from the walk-in closet.

“Or were you locking us in… together?” He wiggles his brows as his eyes rove over my face. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“What?” I cover my face, horrified. I knew the bronzer was too much.

He struts toward me, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. Who carries a handkerchief these days?

I think he’s going to hand it to me, but he steps up next to me, less than a foot separating us, as he lifts the handkerchief to my cheek.

“You missed blending this part. May I?”

Sometimes I forget he’s an artist. Of course he’d be particular about how I look.

“Fine.”

He moves in closer, pressing his chest against my arms. He lifts his other hand to the opposite side of my face, cupping my chin as he gently runs the handkerchief over my cheekbone and jaw.

It’s a good thing the door is still holding me upright because his tenderness is making my bones melt. His eyes never leave his work, and he takes his job seriously. Like I’m as precious to him as his paintings. I hold my breath, scared to mess him up, scared to let him see what he’s doing to me.

“One more thing.” He drops the handkerchief and pulls something from his pocket, pressing it to my lips.

“Wh—” I start, but he stops my words with his finger.

“No talking. You’ll ruin it.” He removes his finger, replacing it with lipstick, rubbing it on my bottom lip like the master painter he is. He takes his time, and the longer it takes, the more lightheaded I get. He’s treating me like I’m his masterpiece. I need to breathe, but I can’t. He’s touching me in a way no one ever has—like I matter.

He pulls the tube away and replaces it with his thumb, dabbing at my lips. My entire body is in tune with his touch, every nerve narrowed in on the point of contact. My heart rate is out of control, my palms sweating, his warmth scorching. I want him to kiss me.

His gaze darts to mine, then back to my lips. My heart thumps against my ribcage so hard he must be able to hear it.

His head bends toward mine, and my body stills, waiting.

He tilts my chin and presses his lips to mine in the barest of touches. But he’s gone before I can respond. He pulls back with a satisfied grin that now boasts the smallest tint of red. “Perfect.” A tiny thrill shoots through me, but I immediately tamp it down.

I breathe, at last there’s oxygen in my lungs, in my head. “I think you’re wearing more lipstick than me,” I lie.

“Good.” He drags his bottom lip into his mouth, licking at the color. “We’ll match.” He turns and retrieves something from the closet while I desperately try to pick up what is left of my dignity, reinstalling my faulty security forces Liam clearly hacked. There’s no other reason for my body to respond like this when he touches me.

I suppose there isoneother reason. But I refuse to give my heart to another man only intent on exploiting it. He can lie all he wants, claiming he’s a changed man, but I will only believe him when he’s done the honest thing and turned himself in.

“Do you want to get dressed first?” Liam asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. He carries the dress and suit bags out of the closet and drapes them on the bed. He unzips mine and pulls out the red dress and the tiny bag at the bottom with the matching jewelry.

“I thought I was wearing the black dress. Isn’t the point to blend in?”

He shakes his head. “Darling, you could never blend in.” He reaches into the bag again. “Don’t forget these.” He tosses a set of silicone bra cups in the air and catches them with a smirk. “Or you could always go without.”

“Give me those.” I snatch them out of his hand.

“Excellent choice.” He releases them to me then picks up my opposite hand and brings it to his lips. “Change fast, I’ve been dying to see you in that dress again.” He presses a soft kiss to the back of my hand, and despite myself, a flush creeps up my neck. His eyes travel down my face and neck, and I grow hotter by the second. What is happening? I don’t blush. I’ve trained myself not to.

His eyes rush back up to mine, a devilish gleam in his taunting irises. I hold my breath, waiting for him to tease me, but instead, he drops my hand then turns, retrieves his suit bag, and walks to the living room.

I nearly collapse on the bed in relief when I remember the camera in here and the computers out there. I rush after him.

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