He shoves my shorts and panties down my h*ps and his fingers are between my thighs, stroking the sensitive flesh before the clothes ever hit the floor. “Maybe,” he adds, acid in his tone, “we should invite Meg and Jared over to join us.”

Hurt and anger overcome me. “Is that what you want? Permission to go back to what you were before me? To f**k everyone and anyone?”

“You’re nice and wet just talking about it—”

“Stop!” I shove at his chest. “Stop talking like that and stop touching me.”

He surprises me and lets me go, leaving me standing there with my shirt ripped open and my shorts at my feet. He motions to the door. “You want me to stop. You want to go. Then go.”

I hug myself. “Who are you? I don’t even know you.”

“I can only be me, baby, and I’m not sure you can say the same. I’m not sure you know who you are and I damn sure don’t.”

The insult that hits a little too close to home, like a slap, and I slump. “If you wanted to hurt me, it worked.” I kick off the shorts and throw them at him. “Keep your stupid clothes and money and ass**le attitude.” I cut around him, not even caring I’m in a ripped shirt and sandals and nothing else, and I don’t stop until I’m at the dresser digging for my clothes that I bought.

I’ve been alone a long time. I can do it again. I will do it again.

Liam’s hand comes down on my arm and he turns me. “What are you doing?”

“Putting on my clothes that don’t make me feel like some kind of prostitute you own.”

“Prostitute. How can you even say that? You were the one with someone else.”

“I wasn’t with him, Liam. I was with you. Was as in past.”

He pulls me to him and the heat of his body, the feel of him pressed to me, is heaven and hell at the same time. I want him. I need him. But not like this. Not. Like. This. “Is that what you want?” he demands. “Me gone? Me out of your life?”

I know I should say “yes.” I should walk away and get out of what is trouble waiting to happen. “You’re being an ass.”

“Do you want me out of your life, Amy?”

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t want you out of my life. I want you to stop acting like this.”

His mouth comes down on mine and it is hot and possessive and it is not heaven and hell this time. It is heaven, and I sink into the kiss, melt into his body, the argument and the rest of the world disappearing. I am connected to this man. I need him like I didn’t think I could need.

I grab his shirt and I pay him back for what he did to mine. I rip it open, letting buttons fly, and my hands push under the cloth, absorbing warm skin and taut muscle. I wrap myself around him. I cannot get close enough to him.

He lifts me onto the dresser against the wall and I do not even remember him shoving his pants down. There is just his mouth on mine, his hands on my breast, and the hard length of him pressing between my thighs, into the wet, sensitive V of my body.

He is as he has never been with me. I am as I have never been with anyone. Wild, out of control. He is kissing me everywhere, whiskers rasping erotically over my skin, tongue licking and tasting, and driving me insane. His hands curve under my backside, arching me against him, and he pumps into me, drives harder and harder until we are so lost in passion, we cling to each other, our heads buried in each other’s necks, our bodies moving fiercely, urgently.

The edge of release comes over me in an unexpected, intense rush—too fast, and not fast enough. I gasp with the clenching of my muscles and then I am there, tumbling into the dark place that is not danger but pleasure, millions of sensations rolling through me, overwhelming me. In some distant part of my mind, I register Liam’s groan, the shake of his body, the tension in his muscles. For long moments, or perhaps minutes, we just hold each other. Time stands still and then slowly comes back to me. It is then that I become aware of the dampness between my thighs and the reality of what has just happened. Panic rises in me. Flashes of fire burn in my mind.

“Get off me,” I order. “Get off. Let me down from the dresser.” My heart is thundering and my hands are shaking.

Liam leans back, looking baffled. “Amy—”

“Let me go, Liam. Let me go now.”

There is a stunned look on his face, but he doesn’t argue. He pulls out of me and he tries to help me off the dresser, but I don’t let him. I jump off the edge and run to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and cleaning myself up. I can feel him behind me, watching me. I can’t even clean up without him hovering. I can’t control my life when he’s controlling it, and yet another eruption of emotion is on me before I can stop it.

I whirl on him. “We didn’t use a condom.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “The chances that—”

“Don’t downplay it. Don’t tell me the odds of me being pregnant are slim.” My voice cracks. I think I might cry. “There is a chance. There’s a big chance.” I look down and I’m still in my stupid sandals, though somehow my shirt is gone. I look ridiculous and I don’t care. “I cannot be pregnant. I can’t be.”

“Is having my baby that horrible?”

“My God. You of all people who have women chasing your money should be freaked out right now.”

“I’m not.”

“You should be. You should be, Liam. I don’t know why you don’t get it. Everyone in my life dies. They die. Our baby—” He steps toward me and I hold up a hand. “Don’t even think about it. You acted like an ass tonight and this is what happened. This is where it got us.”