The kiss turned into something wild and desperate.
Liam's hands were everywhere—rough, possessive, claiming. He kissed her like a man drowning, like she was air and he'd been suffocating for two years. Isabella kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to erase every inch of distance that had existed between them.
"Isabella," he groaned against her mouth, and the sound of her name—raw and wanting—sent heat flooding through her body.
She gasped as his hands gripped her waist, lifting her slightly, pressing her harder against the bookshelf. Books tumbled to the floor, forgotten. Nothing mattered except the feeling of his body against hers, his mouth on hers, his hands finally touching her the way she'd dreamed about for two years.
"Liam," she breathed, and he made a sound low in his throat—something between a growl and a groan.
"Say it again," he demanded against her lips.
"Liam."
His control snapped completely.
