Chapter 112: Dinner With Mrs. Harriet.
Liam leaned back in his chair, his posture a calculated blend of relaxation and predatory focus. He didn’t just speak to Mrs. Harriet; he curated every syllable, letting his voice drop into a low, resonant register that vibrated in the quiet air of the secluded restaurant. He knew the power of a pause, the weight of a lingering look, and the precise moment to push a boundary just far enough to create friction without causing a retreat.
“I must say, you look stunning… It must have been hard to choose between modelling and law,” Liam complimented her. He delivered the line with a smooth, effortless confidence, ensuring the praise felt like an observation of fact rather than a desperate plea for attention.
He watched her closely, noting the way her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. The alcohol was beginning to work its magic, softening the rigid edges of her professional persona.
Liam’s gaze drifted downward, tracing the daring plunge of her neckline. The sheer lace panels of her dress teased the edges of her small breasts, and he could see the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. He wanted her—wanted to feel that silk against his skin and taste the heat of her—but he knew that rushing would be a fatal error. He was playing a long game, weaving a web of desire that would make her walk into the trap willingly.
“Liam, I must say I’m quite surprised someone like you is so available,” Mrs. Harriet finally said. The comment was out of character, a crack in her polished armor that signaled she was thinking about him in a capacity that had nothing to do with legal settlements or former employment.
Liam didn’t blink. He leaned in, closing the distance between them just enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne.
“Available? It cannot be helped. When you call, I believe everything else can wait,” he replied, his voice a velvet caress. He was making his move now, shifting the conversation from the professional to the personal, from the safe to the dangerous.
Mrs. Harriet tilted her head, a flicker of amusement in her dark eyes.
“Is that so? How many women have you used that line with?”
Liam let a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. He didn’t look away; he locked his eyes onto hers, challenging her to find a flaw in his sincerity.
“I’m sorry, but that line is reserved for goddesses, and you’re the first I have seen.”
The boldness of the statement hung in the air. Mrs. Harriet maintained eye contact without flinching, her expression a mask of composure, but Liam noticed the way her pupils dilated. She was fighting the pull, resisting the magnetic draw of a man who wasn’t afraid of her status or her power.
“You are a smooth talker…” she commented, her voice slightly breathy. She was careful not to cross the line, the invisible boundary of her marriage acting as a shield. She thought of her husband—a man of iron will and oppressive expectations, a man who viewed her more as a trophy of social standing than a woman with desires. To him, respect was a currency, and any betrayal would be met with a cold, calculated punishment.
The risk was immense, yet the void in her life—the lack of genuine, raw attention—made Liam’s advances feel like water in a desert.
Under the table, a sudden, soft pressure met the top of Liam’s shoe. Mrs. Harriet had shifted her foot, making deliberate contact. It was a subtle gesture, almost accidental if one didn’t know what to look for, but to Liam, it was a green light. He didn’t pull away; he kept his foot firmly planted, accepting the touch and anchoring her to him.
“Am I? I bet you say that to every man,” Liam countered, throwing her own skepticism back at her with a playful glint in his eyes.
“I’m a married woman, forgotten?” she reminded him, though the words lacked their usual authority. They sounded more like a plea for him to stop, or perhaps a challenge for him to continue.
Liam shrugged, his expression one of casual indifference toward the societal constraints she was clinging to. “I don’t know… if you were my lady, I wouldn’t even allow you to go out this late with a man.”
Mrs. Harriet’s eyebrows arched. “What are you trying to say?”
“Let us just say we would be too busy at night for you to go anywhere,” Liam replied, his voice dropping an octave. He was being brazen now, painting a picture of intimacy that was impossible to ignore.
He could see the moment the image hit her—the way her lips parted slightly, the way her breath hitched. She snirked, a small, private sound of surrender. Whether it was the wine or the sheer audacity of his words, the wall was crumbling.
“I’m glad we could do business…” she attempted to pivot back to the safety of the settlement, but Liam cut her off with a soft, firm tone.
“If it were anyone else, I would have pressed on with my case and wouldn’t have reached a settlement,” he told her candidly. “The only reason I did was because it was you.”
“Is that so?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Liam nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. He watched as her finger began to trace the rim of her wine glass in a slow, rhythmic circle. It was a subconscious tell, a sign of anticipation. He knew he had her. He had bypassed the lawyer and the wife, and he was now speaking directly to the woman beneath.
Seeking to push the tension to a breaking point, Liam shifted the topic abruptly.
“Say, what do you think about the French?”
Mrs. Harriet didn’t hesitate. She muttered a few sentences in fluent, melodic French, her voice taking on a sultry quality that sent a jolt of heat through Liam’s veins. The language suited her—elegant, complex, and deeply romantic.
“Hooo? That’s good,” Liam said, his gaze dropping pointedly to her lips. He imagined them parting for him, imagined the taste of the wine and the heat of her breath. “Maybe you could teach me some French…”
He paused, letting the suggestion linger before delivering the final blow. “After all, I heard French is best learned when it comes directly from the lips.”
The air between them felt electric, thick with an unspoken promise. Mrs. Harriet didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in a fraction more, the sheer lace of her dress brushing against the edge of the table, exposing the soft curve of her breasts to the dim light. She was drawn to him, lured by the danger and the desire, her husband’s shadow fading into the background as Liam’s presence filled her entire world.
Liam watched her, savoring the victory. He could see the conflict in her eyes—the battle between her duty and her hunger—and he knew exactly how to win. He didn’t need to force anything; he just had to keep pulling the string, tightening the knot of tension until the only way for her to find relief was to give in to him completely. He waited, his heart drumming a steady beat of anticipation, knowing that by the time they left this restaurant, the settlement would be the last thing on her mind.