The music was a pulsing, synth-heavy heartbeat that vibrated up through the soles of Julia’s heels and into her bones. The living room of the sprawling suburban mansion, rented for the occasion, was a kaleidoscope of familiar faces, all a decade older, softened or sharpened by time. She clutched a glass of lukewarm chardonnay, a polite smile painted on her lips, feeling utterly adrift in a sea of nostalgia.
This was her ten-year college reunion. She’d come alone, a recent divorcee, a successful architect with a sleek, minimalist apartment that felt more like a showroom than a home. She’d been scanning the crowd for a familiar anchor, someone to make this exercise in awkward small talk feel less like a corporate networking event with cheap beer.
And then she saw him.
Liam. He was leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, a bottle of craft beer in his hand, talking to a group of guys she vaguely remembered from the economics department. He had been a year behind her—a junior when she was a senior. She remembered him as the scrawny, earnest kid with the big brown eyes who used to sit in the front row of her art history seminar, taking notes with an almost religious fervor.
Ten years had been fiercely kind to him.
The scrawny boy was gone. In his place stood a man of substantial, compelling width. His shoulders filled out the navy-blue Oxford shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, a thick watch strap circling his wrist. His hair was a shade darker, cropped short, and the face that had once been boyish was now a landscape of sharp angles and a strong, shadowed jaw. He was taller than she remembered, or maybe that was just the confident way he held himself. He was listening to someone speak, a slight frown of concentration on his face, one thumb absently stroking the condensation on his beer bottle.
Julia’s breath caught in her throat. A hot, unexpected pulse of attraction shot straight through her, low and heavy in her belly. She felt a flush creep up her neck, and she took a large, desperate gulp of her wine, nearly choking. She was thirty-three, for God's sake. He was a decade younger, and this was a cocktail party. She was not going to become a cliché.
She tried to turn away, to find someone, anyone, else to talk to. But her feet were rooted to the spot, her gaze traitorously locked on him. As if sensing her stare, he looked up. His eyes, those huge, dark brown eyes, scanned the room and found hers. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips, a direct, unashamed heat that made her knees weaken.
He said something to his group, clapped one of them on the shoulder, and began to weave his way through the throng of people towards her. Julia felt like a deer caught in headlights. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the thumping music.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something clean and woodsy, with a hint of citrus. It was expensive and masculine, a stark contrast to the cheap beer on his breath.
"Julia," he said, and her name sounded different in his mouth, deeper, richer. "I was hoping I'd run into you."
"Liam," she managed, her voice a little breathy. "Wow. You've… changed."
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. "So have you. You look… incredible." His gaze traveled over her, slow and appreciative, from her dark, sleek hair down to the deep burgundy of her fitted sheath dress, and back up to her eyes. "Even better than I remember. And I remembered you a lot."
"You were in my art history class," she said, the words sounding stupid as soon as they left her lips.
"I know. I didn't get the subject matter at all. I was too busy staring at you. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. You used to bite your lip when you were concentrating on a slide."
A fresh wave of heat washed over her. He remembered that? She felt a sticky bead of sweat trickle down her spine. "I don't think I knew you were looking."
"Oh, I was looking. I was a scrawny freshman, trying to work up the courage to say hello. I never did. You were untouchable. A senior, brilliant, gorgeous. I was just a kid."
"You're not a kid now," she said, before she could stop herself. The words were out, hanging in the air between them, charged with a meaning that went far beyond the obvious. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw and primal passing through them.
"No," he agreed, his voice a low murmur. "I'm not a kid anymore."
The party swirled around them, a dizzying carousel of laughter and clinking glasses. The music shifted to a slow, sultry R&B track, the bass a seductive throb in the floorboards. Julia felt as if they were in a bubble, a separate universe where the past and present collided with dizzying force.
"Let's get some air," he said. It wasn't a question. He placed a hand on the small of her back, a light, casual touch as they navigated the crowd, but it sent a jolt of pure electricity through her entire body. The heat of his palm seared through the thin fabric of her dress.
They went out through the sliding glass door onto the back patio. The air was cool and crisp, a welcome relief from the stuffy, crowded room. The backyard was landscaped, a meticulously manicured lawn leading to a dark, glittering pool. The party noise was muffled out here, a distant hum.
"This is better," he said, leaning against the railing of the deck, looking at her. The moonlight painted his features in silver and shadow, making him look even more handsome, more dangerous.
"Much," she agreed. She felt a little giddy, a little reckless. The wine and his proximity were going to her head.
"I want to know," he said, his eyes holding hers, "do you still bite your lip when you're concentrating?"
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His hand came up, his thumb tracing the outline of her lower lip. His touch was shockingly gentle, a stark contrast to the intense hunger in his eyes. She parted her lips slightly, her breath catching as his thumb grazed the sensitive skin.
"Liam…" she breathed.
"I've been thinking about you for a decade, Julia," he said, his voice thick with a raw, honest desire. "Night after night, in my head. And now you're right here, in a dress the color of wine, looking at me like you want to devour me."
His hand slid from her lip to her cheek, cupping her face. He was so close now she could see the faint flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the stubble on his jaw. She should have stopped him. She should have said they were too old, too different, that this was a terrible idea. But every rational thought was obliterated by the sheer force of her wanting.
He kissed her. It wasn't the tentative, questioning kiss of a boy. It was the claiming kiss of a man who knew what he wanted. His lips were firm and demanding, parting hers with a skillful urgency. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting of beer and a sweet, clean heat that was uniquely him. It was a deep, searching kiss that stole her breath and her sanity.
Julia moaned, her hands coming up to grip his shirt, pulling him closer. The solid planes of his chest pressed against her, the heat of his body seeping into her. He tasted incredible, and he kissed like he meant it, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
He pulled back, his breathing ragged. "Not here," he rasped. "Too many people. Is there somewhere… private?"
She knew this was madness. But she felt like a match being struck, and he was gasoline. "The house has a study downstairs," she said, her voice shaking. "I saw it earlier. By the conservatory."
He took her hand, his grip firm and warm, and led her back inside. They skirted the edges of the party, bodies brushing against theirs, but no one paid them any attention. They were just two more guests, perhaps looking for the bathroom, perhaps getting another drink.
The hall to the study was quiet, the boisterous noise of the party fading behind them. He opened the door, leading her into a room filled with dark wood and leather. The only light was the silvery moonlight streaming through a large bay window and the soft glow from a desk lamp. It smelled of old books and leather, a distinctly masculine scent.
He locked the door behind them with a soft click. The sound seemed to seal them off from the rest of the world. He turned, and in the dim light, he was a vision of primal intensity. His eyes were dark, hooded, devouring her.
He didn't say a word. He just walked towards her, a predator stalking its prey. He reached out, his hands circling her waist, and lifted her effortlessly, setting her on the edge of the massive mahogany desk. The wood was cool against the backs of her thighs.
"God, Julia," he murmured, pushing his body between her legs. His hands moved from her waist, sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands moving to the zipper of her dress. He pulled it down slowly, the sound a sharp hiss in the quiet room. He slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and the scarlet fabric pooled around her waist, leaving her torso bare except for a delicate black lace bra.
He pulled back to look at her. A low, appreciative groan escaped his lips. His eyes roamed over her, and she felt a surge of power, a thrill at being so blatantly desired. His thumb traced the lace cup of her bra, back and forth, back and forth, teasing her.
"Let me see you," he whispered.
She reached behind her, unclipping the bra. It fell away, and the cool air of the room hit her sensitive skin, pebbling her nipples into tight, aching buds.
His hands moved to cup her breasts, his palms rough and warm against her soft skin. He weighed them, stroking his thumbs over the hard nubs. A dizzying wave of pleasure washed over her. She arched her back, pushing herself into his hands.
"Beautiful," he breathed, before lowering his head. He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, before sucking it hard. Julia cried out, her hands flying to his head, her fingers threading through his short hair. The sensation was electric, shooting direct signals to her core, making her clit throb with a desperate need.
He lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between fierce sucking and gentle, wet kisses. He seemed to know exactly what she needed. When he finally released her, her chest was flushed, her nipples tight and glistening.
He slid off the desk, kneeling before her. His hands ran up her thighs, pushing her dress higher until it was bunched around her waist. His fingers traced the top of her stockings, then moved to the damp silk of her underwear.
"You're so wet," he murmured, the awe in his voice sending a thrill through her. "Is this all for me, Julia?"
"Yes," she gasped. "God, yes."
