The bass thrummed through the floorboards, a steady, hypnotic pulse that seemed to sync with the beat of Sienna’s heart. She’d been at the party for an hour, nursing the same lukewarm gin and tonic, her eyes constantly scanning the crowded living room. The air was thick with the scent of spilled beer, expensive perfume, and the electric hum of a hundred conversations. She was looking for one person. Only one.
Liam.
Her best friend’s older brother. The man who had been the silent, brooding star of her most private fantasies for the better part of a decade. He was the reason she’d spent two weeks agonizing over her outfit—a simple black slip dress that skimmed her curves and felt dangerously flimsy without a bra. The reason she’d curled her blonde hair into effortless, tumbling waves and spent way too much money on a lipstick the color of a bruised plum.
It was a stupid, cliché crush. The kind that should have faded years ago, when she was a gawky teenager and he was a college sophomore who barely registered her existence. But it hadn’t. He’d only become more compelling with age, his lean frame filling out with muscle, his sharp jaw now dusted with a carefully maintained five o'clock shadow, and his dark eyes holding a depth that made her feel like a raw, exposed nerve.
The problem was, he was also aloof. Distant. Polite. Whenever they met, he’d give her a curt nod and a half-smile that never quite reached his eyes, before retreating into his own world. It was maddening. It was also, she had to admit, a huge part of the appeal.
“Sienna! There you are!”
Tara, her friend and Liam’s sister, materialized through the throng, her face flushed with excitement. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, you have to say hi to Liam. He’s here. He’s in the kitchen, being all antisocial and broody.”
Sienna’s stomach performed a slow, terrifying flip. “Oh, is he?”
“Don’t play coy with me,” Tara laughed, grabbing her hand. “I know you’ve been crushing on him since you were old enough to spell his name.”
Before Sienna could protest, she was being pulled through the crowd, the world a blur of laughing faces and raised glasses. The kitchen, by contrast, was a pocket of relative calm. The music was muffled here, and the air was cooler. And there he was.
Liam was leaning against the counter, a dark beer in his hand, his gaze fixed on some distant point out the window. The crisp white of his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the strong line of his throat. His dark hair was a little messy, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. He looked up as they entered, and for a moment, his eyes met Sienna’s. They were the color of a stormy sea, and they held hers for a beat longer than was strictly polite.
“Hey, little sis,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver straight down Sienna’s spine. His gaze shifted to her. “Sienna.”
Just her name. No platitudes. No ‘how have you been’. Just ‘Sienna’, in that voice that made her want to press her thighs together.
“Hi, Liam,” she managed, her own voice sounding thin and reedy to her ears.
Tara, blissfully unaware of the intense current of tension, launched into a story about her day. Sienna barely heard a word. She was hyper-aware of Liam’s presence, of the heat radiating from his body, of the way his worn Levi’s clung to his hips. She watched his throat work as he took a swallow of his beer, a simple, primal movement that made her mouth go dry.
This was hopeless. She was a grown woman, a successful graphic designer with her own apartment and a 401k, and yet in his presence, she felt like a fumbling, hormonal teenager again.
“You’re not drinking that,” Liam’s voice cut through her reverie.
She blinked. “What?”
He gestured with his chin towards the sad, watery drink in her hand. “That’s just melted ice. It’s pathetic.” Without another word, he took the glass from her, his fingers brushing hers. The contact was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust that made her gasp softly. He poured the contents down the sink, then reached into a cooler and produced a bottle of craft cider, its label dark and elegant.
He popped the cap with a practiced flick of his wrist and handed it to her. “Try this.”
Sienna took it, her fingers still tingling from his touch. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Tara’s phone buzzed. “Oh, damn. It’s my ride. I gotta go. You guys gonna be okay?” She shot Sienna a meaningful look that was somehow both a question and a dare.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Sienna said quickly, perhaps too quickly.
“Great! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Tara called over her shoulder as she swept out of the kitchen.
And then it was just the two of them.
The silence that descended was thick, heavy, charged with the things that were not being said. The cider was crisp and sweet, a welcome distraction. Sienna took a long sip, trying to calm her racing pulse.
“So, you still working at that design firm?” Liam asked, his tone casual, his eyes anything but. He was studying her now, a new intensity in his gaze. He took in the way her dress moved over her breasts, the pale curve of her hip, the long line of her legs.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “For my sins.”
He smirked, a quick, devastating flash of teeth. “I bet you’re good at it.”
“I try.”
He pushed himself off the counter and took a step closer to her. The air between them seemed to thin. “What else do you try hard at, Sienna?”
The question was a velvet glove, but inside it was pure steel. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was a new side of him. The aloofness was gone, replaced by something predatory, something hungry. He was toying with her. And she loved it.
“I’m a quick study,” she managed, proud of how steady her voice sounded. She took a step closer too, closing the distance until she could smell him—the clean scent of his soap, the woody aroma of his beer, and something else, something uniquely and intoxicatingly *male*.
He looked down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Are you now?”
His hand came up, and for a second she thought he was going to touch her face. Instead, his fingers curled around a strand of her blonde hair, rubbing the silky texture between his thumb and forefinger. It was an intimate, proprietary gesture that stole the breath from her lungs.
“I’ve always liked your hair,” he murmured, his voice so low it was barely audible over the thumping music from the other room. “Like spun gold.”
“I thought you barely noticed I existed,” she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them.
A shadow crossed his face. “You’re hard to miss, Sienna. That’s the problem.”
The confession, cryptic and weighted, hung in the air. He let her hair fall, his fingers trailing down her jawline, a ghost of a touch that left a trail of fire in its wake. He tilted her chin up.
“You want me to kiss you,” he stated. It wasn't a question.
She couldn't speak. She could only nod, a tiny, helpless movement.
“Tell me.”
The words were a command, and they sent a fresh flood of heat through her. Her entire body was thrumming with a desperate, aching need.
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice raw with wanting. “God, yes, Liam. I want you to kiss me.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. He didn’t move. He just looked at her, his eyes roving over her face, her parted lips, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He was giving her a final chance to back out. She didn’t.
And then he closed the distance.
His mouth was hot and demanding, and he tasted of beer and mint and something darker, more addictive. It wasn’t a gentle, testing kiss. It was a claiming. His tongue swept against her lower lip, and when she opened for him, he delved inside, deepening the kiss with an urgency that made her knees buckle.
She moaned into his mouth, her hands fisting in the soft cotton of his shirt. She pulled him closer, pressing her body against his. The hard planes of his chest were a stark contrast to her soft curves, and she could feel the rock-hard evidence of his arousal pressing against her stomach. The knowledge that he wanted this as badly as she did was a heady, powerful feeling.
He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. “Not here,” he gritted out. “Come with me.”
He took her hand and led her out of the kitchen, down a hallway, past the bathroom, to a door at the very end. He opened it and pulled her inside, closing and locking the door behind them. The room was a small study, dimly lit by a single desk lamp. The party was a distant roar now. They were in their own world.
He turned to her, and there was no more hesitation. He framed her face with his hands and kissed her again, this time with a desperate, devouring hunger. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands moving from his chest to his shoulders, to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair.
He walked her backwards until her back hit the solid wood of the bookshelves. His body pressed against hers, pinning her in place, and the feeling of being trapped by him was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced. His hands left her face, skimming down her neck, across her collarbone, to the thin straps of her dress.
“This dress has been driving me crazy all night,” he rasped against her lips. “I’ve been watching you. Every time you moved, I could see the shape of you. No bra, Sienna? That’s a dangerous game.”
“Maybe I was playing for you,” she whispered, her voice a breathy challenge.
He groaned, his hips grinding against hers in a slow, deliberate circle. She gasped, her head falling back against the books. The friction was exquisite torture.
“Yeah?” he breathed, his lips finding her neck. He kissed a hot, open-mouthed path down to her shoulder, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin. “You wanted me to watch you? To want you?”
“Yes,” she panted, arching into him.
His hands slid the straps of her dress down her arms, and the silky fabric pooled at her waist, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. They were full and pale, her nipples tight, aching peaks of rosy pink. He looked at her like she was a feast.
“Jesus, Sienna,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He cupped one breast in his hand, his thumb brushing over the rigid peak. She shuddered, a low moan escaping her throat. He lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before he drew it deep, suckling hard.
The sensation was a lightning
