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The low rumble of his voice touches the aching part of my soul and I know he’s not talking about the scar. I pull my hand away and study his face as he opens his eyes and stares down at me. The space between us takes on a life of its own, shrinking and contracting with each and every one of our breaths. I lean into him, needing contact. Needing sensation and oblivion and a reason to step outside of myself for a while.
I respect Bailey Schultz. And the pain I saw in her last night? The pain that ran down her face and poured out of her soul into that piano? I recognized it and I understood it and…
“Look at you,” she says, laughing a little. “Are you tongue-tied, Liam McGuire? Is that even possible?” “I didn’t think it was. And then I saw you standing there, looking like that, and I didn’t have a word to describe how perfect you are.”
