He stops beside me and takes my hand. “Let’s go, Amy.”
I’m appalled. Did he really just order me to leave? “Liam—”
He lowers his head and presses his mouth to my ear. “Let’s go now.”
My emotions are a rollercoaster ride of anger, embarrassment, and more anger. I slip my briefcase and purse on over my shoulder and scoot out of my seat, and I don’t look directly at Jared or Meg. “I forgot we had a dinner meeting tonight.”
“Amy—” Jared starts.
“Don’t,” Liam says sharply.
I pull away from him and start walking for the door. He’s behind me. I don’t have to look to know. I feel the predator in him. Well, he’s going to find out that this deer in headlights just grew fangs.
I exit the restaurant and I don’t stop walking. I’m going to the apartment I swore I wouldn’t go back to anytime soon, not his hotel. I’ve spent too much time feeling like I don’t own me, and now he wants to own me. No. No, this is not going to happen. I’ve been “insane” over this man. Clearly insane.
I’m crossing the street when Liam shackles my wrist, claiming control and all but dragging me with him, the big bully. “Let go, Liam.”
“Not a chance. Not until we’re in the room.”
“I’m not going to the room with you.”
He doesn’t even look at me. “Like hell you’re not.”
“I’ll make a scene.”
He stops at the curb on the other side of the road, and turns to me, his eyes hard, his voice crackling with barely contained anger. “No. You won’t.” It’s a command he expects me to follow, solidified by the way he starts walking again, tugging me along with him.
“Don’t talk, Amy. You’ll only piss me off more.”
He’s pissed off? I’m the one who has been embarrassed and treated like crap. I’m the one who is angry. He won’t intimidate me. He won’t control me like this. He wants to go at it with me, I’m in. Bring it on.
We reach the hotel in record speed. The doorman says hello to us and Liam doesn’t even look at him, and I’m pretty sure we’re a walking billboard for a couple about to go to war. Oh, yes. We are getting good at making scenes and getting noticed. I’m failing miserably at staying off the radar, and I have Liam to thank for that. No, I amend again. I have me to thank for that. I let this happen. I let him happen, and I have to do something about it.
We enter the elevator and he slides his card through the panel and then pulls me hard against him, forcing my hands to his chest, with nowhere else to go. My legs settle against his, and damn it, I am affected, wet and aching for him, and this only serves to spike my anger a notch higher. He’s controlling me and I don’t like it. I can feel him willing me to look at him and I refuse.
As if punishing me for my insubordination, his hand slides down my back and cups my backside, caressing deeply, and I swear I feel it like a stroke between my thighs. Barely containing a moan, I curl my fingers around his shirt and I want to scream with the injustice of how aroused I am.
The doors to the elevator slide open and my heart jackhammers. The adrenaline pouring through me is like acid in my blood, burning me with anticipation. The swipe of his card on his door feels eternal, almost slow motion, and then Liam is dragging me inside the hallway and I am against the wall.
“Stop shoving me around, Liam. Stop trapping me, and—”
His mouth comes down hard on mine, a deep thrust of his tongue claiming me, the taste of his anger like a shot of spicy, bitter whiskey about to pull me into a haze I cannot allow myself to enter. I shove at his chest and he tears his mouth from mine, and I am both relieved and tormented by the loss of the intimate connection.
“You have no right to do what you did back there,” I hiss.
“You made that pretty damn clear tonight.”
“I didn’t do anything, Liam. You did.”
“What I did was have a shit day you completed with an exclamation mark.” He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it aside, then does the same with his tie.
“I repeat. I didn’t do this. You did.”
He leans on the wall. “And you know how I wanted to deal with this shit day? I wanted to get lost in you, and us, and what did I find? You with him.”
“He was there when I got there.”
“And that made you drink out of his bottle.” It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. His hand slides into my hair, and he stares down at me, his hand moving roughly over my shirt. “I have no right, you say? That’s what it comes down to, now doesn’t it? I have no right to want you all to myself. I have no right to expect you to be loyal.”
He rips my shirt and I gasp as he unsnaps my bra, teasing my nipple, pinching it. He is rough, hard in a way I’ve never known him to be. “I liked this shirt and now it’s ruined,” I whisper, but I’m not talking about the shirt. I’m talking about us.
“And you like being f**ked. So that’s what I’m going to do. Maybe you want me to be that guy I was before I met you. Maybe you want me to f**k you and leave you. Or maybe you’d rather him do it.”
“No.” My voice is barely audible. I feel defeated. He unbuttons my shorts and I let him.
“I don’t want Jared.”