Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,34

pool of black water. They struck me with a primal sort of fear that if I reached out, if I breached the surface, there would be no smooth rock bottom, no boundary, no limit, no end. A hand beneath would wrap itself around mine, pulling me in. And I would be lost forever, swallowed up by the darkness, leaving not even a ripple on the still, glassy plane.

And the thought left me wondering if I’d care.

12

Who Knows Better

LIAM

The night was cold, the bite in the air sharp, but I marched into Central Park despite the chill, the sting only registering from a distance.

The fire of my fury was enough to keep me warm.

Wickham’s face burned a negative in my consciousness, the smug smile he’d given me when Laney wasn’t looking. It had been a long time since I’d laid eyes on him, long enough that I’d never have guessed I’d react this viscerally to his presence, even if only from across a bar. I knew I wasn’t over his betrayal—I knew myself well enough to know I would never let go of that—but the urge to feel the bone of his nose crack against my knuckles was just as intense as it’d been when he abandoned my sister weeks before their wedding.

But it wasn’t just that, I realized as I stormed across the park toward my building. It was that he’d been there with her.

From the moment Laney left my office yesterday to the second I walked into the bar, she’d occupied my thoughts. Her proposition tumbled around in my mind, and though I knew I’d accept, the thing itself held my attention like a puzzle I’d almost solved. I’d given some thought as to why she’d suggested a challenge. This type of thing wasn’t unusual—I’d been in my fair share of wagers and competitions inside of a creative team over the years. But coming from her, and considering the volatility of our relationship, my curiosity was too much to deny. How would she rise to the occasion, and what would it produce?

But my preoccupation with her went beyond campaigns and marketing strategies. It went beyond the cut of her words or the friction between us. She drove me to madness, and I gladly returned the favor, but I couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t a symptom of something deeper, something bigger than what it appeared.

I couldn’t describe it, not exactly. Couldn’t pinpoint a word for the way she felt in my arms. There wasn’t a phrase to convey the way her hand fit in mine or the tempo of my pulse when her chin lifted to meet my eyes, when her smart smile beamed up at me. Her lingering presence was a constant companion, even when she infuriated me, even when all I wanted was for her to stop talking, willing to quiet her with my lips against hers where I could swallow her words. I was in her thrall, caged and captured, haunted by a ghost of what could be, of what would never be.

Not only did she despise me, but she was expressly forbidden. There was little I could do about either point, particularly gaining her favor. We were made of substances that didn’t mix, didn’t mingle—her of golden oil and me of aged vinegar—watching each other through an impenetrable barrier. There had been moments between us that shook the bottle, transforming us into something new. But her wall wouldn’t be breached. She’d made that much perfectly clear. So the moment would pass, and we would settle back into our space—mine dark, hers light—forever in opposition.

I would accept that, just as I’d accepted everything I’d been handed, well accustomed to not having things I wanted. But seeing her with Wickham had set a fire in me, and that fire was hungry for destruction.

There was little I could do beyond seethe, unwilling to stoop so low as to interfere—I’d done that once, and though I’d do it again for Georgie’s sake, the fallout had been cataclysmic. But Laney wasn’t mine to protect. My comfort was in trusting her intuition—she was too clever and suspicious to fall for his game. And Wickham was most definitely playing a game, just as he always was.

Even if I did tell her the truth about Wickham, I doubted she’d believe me when I told her why he left Georgie. If he was good at one thing, it was convincing everyone around him that he wasn’t a thieving, lying bastard. He was a