Olivia Westview
James’s lips moved against mine, urgent and hungry. My body responded instinctively, arching toward him, seeking out more of his warmth, more of his touch. I was like a moth drawing closer and closer to a flame. I wanted to burn.
His hands were heavy on my thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to remind me that he was here, right in front of me, and he was mine—if only for this fleeting moment.
“Liv,” he murmured, breaking the kiss for a breath, his forehead resting against mine. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Not since Chicago.”
His confession sent a thrill through me. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension crackling between us like static electricity. “Why didn't you answer my texts?” Really, Liv? Of all the things you could say?
James didn't
