Page 53 of Seeking Stars
She worked hard at softening her body, fighting against her instinct to tighten up. Somehow, the looser her muscles, the more solid the water felt.
"There you go," he said, pride in his voice. He took his hand away from her back. "Just stay there."
Her body stayed diagonal to the wall, unlike Liam's which had been parallel to the water. Despite that, excitement built in her heart.
"I'm doing it, Liam! I'm floating!"
She laughed but it came to an abrupt stop— she'd let out too much air and, in the way of treacherous waters, she'd gone slightly underwater. Tensing up, she sank even faster and she kicked and flailed trying to find the bottom of the pool. As promised, Liam saved her from submersion; in a flurry of water and movement, he straightened her up and held her against him.
His laughter vibrated against her again. Her arms were trapped between them, barely allowing her to clear the water and wet hair from her face with trembling hands. She curled her fingers, knuckles rubbing against each other.
For all the embarrassment warming up her face at her difficulties, begging her to look away, her desire to glance up at him won. He already gazed at her, his green eyes earnest, the remnants of a smile on his face. As if her eyes had triggered the action, his hands followed a downward path, making their way from her shoulders, down her arms, and onto her waist. Her own hands fell to his chest, and the warmth of his skin glued them to him.
The distance between them grew smaller. Her chest pressed against him as her breathing quickened, and his hands squeezed where they rested, on the curve above her hips. His smile all but disappeared as his eyebrows furrowed, the barest signal that he was as enthralled as she was.
He moved slowly. She could imagine what his beard would feel like on her skin. How their kiss would taste like chlorine, and he'd grab her harder, and she'd bite his lip, and their hearts would beat loud and in sync… and wanted to test it. Prove it. Be able to say,yes, Liam. Kissing you is exactly what I imagined.
He gave her time to pull away; he stopped a breath away from her lips. He waited for her to make the final decision. He'd made his intentions clear, showing her with steady lips that hovered over hers. His fingers dug into her skin, the only sign of his impatience, but he waited. Like he knew she was the one that stood to lose the most.
A wave of fear released within her, fast, relentless, a tsunami making it clear that if they kissed, if she— they— let this happen, she might come to regret it. The flood took over everything she knew, replacing it with visions of a crumbling career.
Her heart sunk to the bottom of the water. She closed her eyes and pulled her face away, frowning and pressing her lips closed. She lifted her hands off his skin and curled them into fists, lest she grabbed him again. His breath tickled her temple, a quick warm release against her.
"I can't…" she heard herself say. Hating herself a little bit. A lot.
His hands left her.
"Okay." He took a step back, cold water rushing in.
He turned without another word and, ignoring the stairs, walked straight to the edge of the pool and used his arms to get himself out. His steps were heavy as he went into the house, not caring about the water still streaming down from him. His leaving her there had taken less than five seconds, but it felt like time had scratched to a stop. She stayed where she was, her body growing cold in the water. Ana welcomed it, begging it to reach that hurting, breaking organ caged in her chest.
***
Fuck.
Liam escaped into the bathroom, craving the privacy of the shower. He took off his wet shorts with sharp, brusque movements, the wet fabric clinging to his legs. He panted by the time he got under the hot stream of water, his hands on his hips, his head hanging low. Water dripped down his neck and shoulders.
Shaking his head to no one in particular, he straightened up and reached for the soap. He washed up as if the menial task had the power to clean the mess he'd made of things. He'd known he needed to move slow and be careful for both their sakes; she'd told him several times this project might be a big break for her, and he'd promised himself he'd be mindful about any relationships he chose to pursue. Trying to kiss her in the swimming pool was none of those things. It was mindless, it was careless, and it was rushed.
It also felt natural. Inevitable. Like his body had no other purpose. Like his brain could reach no other conclusion.
Lather now covered his body and, for the briefest moment, he considered letting out some of his frustration by using his hand.
"Fuck," he whispered. His hands slowed as he let his fingers drag soap over his chest and abs, while staying away from his growing erection. His mind had filled with awareness of her at the pool; all her softness and generous skin within reach, tempting his hands to wander every time they touched. His mind had filled with fantasies of all they could have done, had they been here for pleasure.
They weren't here for pleasure. Not technically. And she'd said she was scared to trust again.
With a growl, his will and his arousal fighting for attention, he recalled his frustration, the pain of rejection, and forbade himself from seeking release. If he wanted her— he did— and if he liked her— he did— then he couldn't rush or force anything. He had to be thoughtful and patient. If this were ever to become the relationship he'd begun to hope for, he had to be okay with the way things were and pace himself for the sake of his future.
He took deep, calming breaths, and willed the water to cleanse away the urgent void in his gut. He rinsed the suds on his skin and washed his hair, before getting out and drying off quickly. She still sat outside when he came out of the bathroom, with her eyes seemingly lost in the distance.
He cleaned the streak of water on the floor from his run inside, then sat on the sofa with a book he knew he wouldn't read. His thought had been to show her he was fine, that she didn't need to worry, but he reeled. Even though his eyes moved over the page and latched on random words, his brain hyperfocused on her and hercan't.
He thought he got it— he couldn't assume she was wrong in fearing negative consequences if she got involved with him. Hollywood typically saw romances between colleagues as fodder for gossip, nothing more than a commodity they could sell to someone for money or status. But itcouldaffect her professionally. He couldn't prevent that. And none of this even touched on her fears about trusting him as a partner.
Was there a way to move past all of this, and respect her fears? Maybe take them into a place where they could really give this thing between them a real try?
He didn't hear her come in, but realized she was in the cabin when he heard the shower run. He blocked the mental image from his head, and read a full sentence from his book instead. When that failed, he sprinted to his room and hid there; he couldn't take the tension, not when he had so many unanswered questions swarming his head.
