Just when she wondered whether that was going to be it, he made a growly noise and crushed his mouth to hers. His hand palmed the back of her head, his touch hot against her scalp.

If their first kiss outside the bar had been an urgent beat, a frantic dance, this one was a swaying ballad. A sweet waltz. A slow-motion union of body and mind that she never wanted to end. Insecurities would have their day, but not right now. Because right now her senses were alive with this. The fire between them. It sizzled and sparked and scorched.

Liv became a single-celled being. Every sense was tuned to the slow dragging of his fingers in her hair, the ragged breathing that traveled from his chest to hers, to the dip and pull of his mouth against hers.

She gave in to temptation and slid her hand up his arm, slipping her fingers inside the sleeve of his T-shirt. She felt him shudder, and suddenly his mouth wrenched from hers and began a hot descent along her jaw as his hands slid down the sides of her body. When his lips touched the tender spot where her pulse pounded, she let out a moan and squeezed the bulge of biceps beneath her fingers. He flexed just enough to make it obvious. She smiled and squeezed the muscle again and was rewarded with the flick of his tongue into the small cleft of cleavage visible above her shirt.

“You smell good,” he rasped, moving his mouth to her ear.

“I smell like a bakery.”

“Exactly.” The tip of his tongue touched her earlobe. “You always smell like cookies or vanilla ice cream or something.” His mouth kissed a path back to hers. “It drives me crazy.”

This. This was what it meant to be kissed. This was what it meant to get lost in light and sound and sensation until everything disappeared but his lips, his taste, his scent, him. This was what she’d been missing without even knowing it.

It was also how mistakes were made. She should care, but she didn’t. She should stop, but she couldn’t. Her brain, her entire world could focus on one thing only—the feel of his hands on her face, his lips on hers.

By the time he finally eased his mouth away, they were both panting from heat and longing. Liv’s eyes fluttered open. She found him watching her, tenderness in his expression, wonderment in the small tilt of his smile. His hand tugged hers higher so he could press a kiss to her wrist before placing it over his heart.

Oh wow. That was . . . that was the most romantic gesture she’d ever experienced. “Mack . . .” All she could get out was his name.

“I like it when you say my name like that.”

He pulled her mouth toward his again.

And then they froze at the sound of stirring in the bedroom.

Mack let out a little groan and lifted his head to listen. After a moment with no more sounds, he lowered his forehead to hers. They stayed that way for a long, quiet beat. Collecting their thoughts.

Liv’s were a frantic mess. Confused and frightened. He wasn’t supposed to be like this—sweet and tender. He was supposed to be Braden Mack, conqueror of women, sarcastic man-child. He was safe that way.

“Can I ask you something?” he rasped.

“Okay.” Her voice barely worked.

“How do chickens have sex if they don’t have vaginas?”

“Oh my God.” Liv pushed him away with a laugh—a grateful laugh—and grabbed the nearest throw pillow. She whipped him in the head. “Go home.”

He laughed and lunged for her, grabbing her around the waist before she could get away. He hauled her against his chest and reclined on the couch, drawing her with him. “You have to tell me,” he said. “Imagine how bad those Google results would be.”

She sighed. “They rub their cloacas together.”

He rubbed his hands up her arms. “You should come over tomorrow night.”

“I find the segue there a little disturbing.”

“You can make me cupcakes.”

“Really? Jeez. What an offer.”

“You’d be returning my favor. I watched the girls. You can put that culinary school education to use in my amazing kitchen.”

“I can’t believe this, but I’m about to say yes.”

He hooked both arms around his head, probably because he knew it put his biceps at their best, bulgiest advantage. “It was washing the dish that did it, right? I know I’m right.”

She crawled off him. “Stop while you’re ahead.”

He grabbed her hand as she stood. “Hey, Liv?”

She looked down, ready for another smart-ass comment and, frankly, desperately in need of it. “What?”

He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “My chest is yours anytime you need it.”

This was the Mack that scared her most. This sweet, charming version of the man who tried so hard to pretend he didn’t have a care in the world. This was the version of Mack she could fall in love with, which was the kind of foolish, naive thought she should be chasing off with a broom like she did with Randy. For all she knew, he’d shown this side of himself to a dozen Gretchens in the past year alone.

Her heart didn’t seem to care, though. Not when he was smiling at her like she was the only woman in the entire world or, better, the only woman he wanted to be with.

That was a man she could convince herself to trust.

And that was the worst kind of man of all.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Malcolm looked tired and annoyed when Mack sat down at their table in the diner at seven thirty the next morning. Mack hadn’t called anyone else because this wasn’t something he could talk about with the rest of the guys.

“What’s the big emergency?” Malcolm yawned.

Mack glanced around furtively before answering. “Liv is coming over tonight.”

Malcolm stroked his beard. “I see.” He shook his head. “Actually, I don’t see. What’s the big emergency?”

“I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Mack, you’re the one who has taught the rest of us everything we know about the manuals. You’re not going to screw this up.”

“I’m not talking about sex, douchebag.”

Malcolm smiled. “Neither was I. So just tell me what the problem is.”

Mack pursed his lips and looked away. “I’m not sure if she’s . . . if she’s really into me.”

A puff of air burst from Malcolm’s mouth. “I’m sorry. I just, I need to make sure I understand. You’re worried because, for the first time ever, you have to actually work for it?”

“I’m sure that’s super fucking funny to you, but I’m a goddamned wreck. Gretchen threw me off my game. I’ve never been dumped before, and I have no idea what I did wrong with her. And Liv is . . .” Mack scrubbed his hands over his face.

A waitress brought coffee and asked whether they wanted to order food. They waved her off.

“Liv is . . . ?” Malcolm said.

Mack had the sinking feeling that he’d never really understood how hard it was to be on this end of the book club until now. For years he’d been cajoling everyone else to spill their guts if they wanted to save their relationships without ever truly believing he’d need to take his own advice someday.

“She’s skittish. Distrustful. Just when I think she’s opening up to me, she closes herself off again. I don’t want that to happen again after tonight.”

“You really like her,” Malcolm said, his voice carrying an element of holy shit. Mack’s mood darkened.

“Look,” Malcolm said, leaning on his elbows. “You know how this works. If she’s scared and determined to keep her distance from you, then she’s going to be vulnerable tonight because sex is a big deal. Be prepared for her to show up as her normal sarcastic self.”

That made sense. It was exactly what he would’ve told any of the other guys. Still . . . “What do I do, then?”

Malcolm gave him an are you serious look. “You know the answer to that.”

Sure. He knew what he’d say to anyone else. “Be what she needs in the moment.”

Malcolm nodded.

But those words suddenly meant nothing to him because Liv was taking everything he thought he knew and throwing it on its head. He’d left her apartment last night feeling like the jagged edge of a knife. She’d slayed him with that snuggling fantasy and her unguarded words. I just like the idea of having someone to lean on sometimes. It was the loneliest thing he’d ever heard someone say, and the scary thing was, he’d known exactly what she meant. He would never admit it to his friends, but Mack had spent many nights alone in his gigantic house cursing the silence and staring at the empty space on the other side of the bed.

“It’s harder than you realized, isn’t it?” Malcolm said, interrupting his thoughts.

Mack drank his coffee.

“You really have no idea why Gretchen dumped you?”

“I mean, she had reasons, but they were bullshit.”

“What were they?”

“It’s embarrassing.” Mack knew it was a stupid thing to say before he even said it.

“How many times has one of us said the exact same thing, and you’ve told us we had to get over it?”

Mack picked at the corner of his forgotten menu. “I know.”

“You’ve heard every humiliating aspect of all our lives, man. It’s your turn.”

“I know.” He puffed out his cheeks and let it fly. “She said she felt like I was wining and dining her according to an instruction manual. That it was too perfect.” That still burned. “How can something be too perfect?”

“Because perfection is the opposite of authenticity, Mack.”

He gulped at that because it too closely mirrored what Gretchen had said. Eventually they want it to feel real.

“I don’t know who to be with her,” he admitted quietly, shamefully.

“Just be yourself, Mack.”

But what if that was the one thing he couldn’t give her? If he were smart, he’d cancel tonight. She deserved better. She deserved someone who wasn’t doing the one thing she hated most: lying to her.