I’ve never been on a private jet before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to the good life—I haven’t flown coach since I started dancing at The Luxor Lounge all those years ago, but the Beckett brother’s plane is something else entirely.
I glance around the cabin, soaking in every detail. Rich wood veneers and gold accents line the walls. The lights are controlled with integrated touch panels. There’s a state-of-the-art entertainment system with a retractable ultra-HD screen and surround-sound speakers. A built-in bar with a wine chiller, crystal glassware, and every type of whiskey Beckett’s has ever produced. A high-gloss lacquer dining table doubles up as a conference table in the space behind me, where Killian is furiously tapping away on his laptop.
Walsh and Thomson sit at the bar stools talking amongst themselves. Sterling stayed behind with the others to search the resort and apparently check the whereabouts of their top suspects–Thorne Blackwood, and Raven McCormac, who are both apparently staying on the island until tomorrow.
My gut tells me it’s not either of them. Yes, Thorne and his micro penis are weird, but loads of artistic types are. And as for Raven… Well, he’s a drunken drummer with a crush. Does he have the skills it takes to pull off something like this?
I don’t think so…
Which leaves me sitting on a cream, custom leather seat wondering who the fuck is so obsessed with me that he’d scuba dive to the private yacht I rented, just to leave me a fucking flower? It’s a comfortable twenty degrees in here, but I’ve been chilled all the way to my bones since Killian told me there’d been another note. Which is why I didn’t protest when he said we’re leaving St. Barths early.
There was no forensic evidence–or if there was, it was washed away by the water soaking every surface.
Who the fuck is this guy?
And how the hell did he keep the note and the lily dry? His attention to detail is alarming, yet impressive.
Killian is vibrating with anger—at the stalker and probably at himself for being distracted while he was that close. If he wasn’t putting on a show for Sterling and the others, perhaps they wouldn’t have been distracted too.
‘When we land, we’ll go straight to my place. You’ll be staying with me for the foreseeable future,’ he barks, without lifting his eyes from the screen. We’re back to him stoically refusing to look at me again.
Pity.
The best part of my entire trip to St. Barths was having his eyes on me while I came on his face.
Sorry Scarlett, it was great to witness your happily ever after and all, but my own happy ending blew it out of the water—even if it was so short lived.
A part of me is horrified the stalker witnessed that, even though I was ok with having Killian’s men as an audience—the badness of it was half the fun. But the defiant part of me is glad he saw it. Glad he knows I don’t belong to him. Glad he knows he can’t control who I let touch me. That I’m still living my life, despite the terrifying situation he’s put me in.
And then there’s another part of me that’s so fucking angry that because he—whoever he is—gate-crashed my boat trip, Killian will never touch me again. Frankly, that’s the prospect that scares me the most because it was the single-best experience of my life, and despite my broody bodyguard insisting it was a one-time thing, I know I could have worn him down.
‘I thought we were staying at mine. You didn’t put all those cameras in my house for nothing.’
‘Change of plan. My place is safer. I’ll have your clothes couriered over.’ His tone leaves no room for debate, but that never stopped me before.
‘I need to go home, Killian.’ I drag my fingers through my tangled hair. I didn’t even have time to brush it as we hastily gathered our belongings and flung them into our cases.
‘Not gonna happen, Avery. This psychotic bastard is even more dangerous than I thought. Who knows how long he’s been watching you for? The chances are, he knows your house as well as you do.’ He finally looks up from the screen and the second our eyes lock, that intense electricity surges between us again.
‘I just need ten minutes to grab a few personal items, and Jasper.’
‘You seriously want to bring that creature to my apartment?’ His nose wrinkles in disgust.
‘Wait until you meet him. You’ll love him.’ I bat my eyelashes, and he scowls.
‘Is it toilet trained?’
‘He is litter tray trained.’
He pauses for a long beat, like he’s thinking about it. ‘Fine. But if it shits all over my apartment, it’s going to the nearest cat shelter–via the window.’
Two hours later, we land in Dublin airport, where a black SUV waits for us.
‘Collins, this is Miss Williams.’ Killian introduces me to his driver. I nod politely, as Killian slides into the seat beside me, his cologne wafting around me. I’m dying to lean closer, inhale his neck, throw myself on his lap, and beg him to put his arms around me until this whole fucking ordeal is over.
But of course, I don’t.
Walsh hops in beside us and Thomson gets in the front. Killian reels off my address to Collins. The fifteen-minute drive is silent, bar the November rain hammering off the windscreen. It’s just after seven in the morning and I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. I need a hot bath, a cup of camomile tea, and to fall into a comfy bed.
‘Pull up on the opposite side of the street,’ Killian orders Collins, then motions for Walsh and Thomson to check the perimeter. I stare through the dim morning light at the house I bought two years ago—a five bedroomed detached, red-bricked house in Skerries, one of Dublin’s most desirable locations overlooking the Irish Sea.
A shiver runs down my spine.
He’s been here.
When will I be able to stay here again?
And will I want to when it’s suddenly gone from being my safe haven, to a place where I’ve been watched like prey? A deep sense of violation twists my stomach.
I stare silently out of the window, wondering who the hell is crazy enough to follow me to St. Barths? Just as we’re about to exit the vehicle, a car approaches in the distance, its headlights blinding. I instinctively raise my hand to shield my eyes.
‘Get down.’ Killian’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I jolt as he pushes my head down into his lap. I might enjoy having my face in his crotch if he hadn’t just snatched his gun from his suit pocket.
The car engine cuts out right beside us. Fear trickles over me. Killian doesn’t take his hand from my head, brushing a thumb over my temple with a tenderness I never would have believed he possessed. I take a tiny bit of comfort from his touch and from the heat of his body. He won’t let anything happen to me. He won’t.
‘Who is it?’ Would the stalker be brazen enough to pull up outside my house? No. Unless he had a private jet, he has to be halfway across the world.
‘Red BMW, registration plate D52 MILF. Thomson and Walsh are in position.’
A snort erupts from my mouth. ‘That’s my mother! She’s here to feed Jasper!’
‘Your mother has a registration plate that spells out MILF?’ Killian sighs. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ He removes his hand from my head, and I reluctantly lift my face from his lap. I kind of liked it down there. ‘Next you’ll tell me she’s a glamour model too.’
‘No, she’s a wedding planner.’
He huffs out a breath. ‘Stand down.’ He says into his watch. ‘It’s Miss Williams’s mother.’
I reach for the car door handle, but Killian catches my wrist. ‘Don’t tell your mother about the situation. The less people who know, the better. I’ll have security installed at her house in case our flower-loving friend decides to target you in other ways.
Panic rises in my chest. ‘You think he’d hurt the people I care about?’
‘I have no idea, but the man clearly has the means to, if he takes the notion.’
‘What shall I tell her?’
‘Tell her there’s a leaky pipe and you’re staying with a friend until it’s fixed.’
I cock my head. ‘And that friend would be you?’
‘Obviously,’ he snaps, dropping his grip on my wrist. ‘I’ll tell Walsh and Thomson to make themselves discreet. Come out my side.’
Collins is hovering outside the back door, waiting to open it. He’s dressed like Killian and the rest of his men in a black tailored Armani suit. I watch as my mother clocks him as she gets out of her car. Her lips pop open as her eyes eat him up from head to toe.
Killian gives Collins a nod, and he opens the door for us.
I slide over the plush leather and out into the chilly morning. ‘Mam,’ I call from behind Killian’s huge bulky frame. He steps aside and her expression morphs from surprise to delight.
‘Avery!’ she squeals. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow. I was just about to check on Jasper before my Hot Pilates class.’
My mother is a fitness freak. She does Pilates daily. In fairness, for a woman of her age, she has an amazing figure. She takes care of herself physically, and isn’t shy about the fact she gets botox. When dad left her for his PA, she channelled all her heartbreak into self-improvement. Now she’s that fifty-something woman who gets mistaken for being in her thirties and has more energy than most twenty-year-olds. She has a huge Instagram following, and half her followers are boy toys sliding into her DMs—which she takes full advantage of.
She races towards us; Killian sidesteps a split second before she flings her arms around me. I sag into her embrace, the weight of the past twenty-four hours finally catching up with me.
‘How was the wedding, honey? I bet Scarlett looked amazing. Did you have a good time? What was the resort like? The pictures looked fantastic. How was the food?’ This incessant stream of conversation is totally normal for my mother. ‘Did you have a hot and heavy holiday fling?’ Eventually, she releases me from her arms to squint at my face.
My gaze drifts to Killian.
‘Oh my,’ My mother waggles her perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘Who do we have here?’
‘This is Killian.’ I clear my throat. ‘He’s a… friend.’
Killian nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t extend a hand. His issues with personal contact are painfully obvious. Which is what made yesterday so much more special—until my stalker ruined it.
‘Friend, huh?’ My mother parrots in a voice that drips with disbelief. She didn’t read the room long enough to deck Killian’s issues and flings her arms around him. ‘Any friend of my daughters’s is a friend of mine. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
He stands rigid for a few seconds; an expression of horror pinches his features. The urge to laugh rises in my chest like a tidal wave. Finally, he offers my mother an awkward back pat before wrenching himself free.
‘So, what are you kids doing home early?’ Her cobalt blue eyes dart between us.
‘I have a leak in my house; I spotted it on the cat cam.’ I shrug. ‘Killian kindly offered me a space on his jet.’
‘His jet,’ my mother’s jaw swings open as she stares at Killian again. ‘You’re Killian Beckett.’
‘I am,’ he confirms.
The Beckett brothers are notorious in this country.
My mother pauses for a long beat. ‘Well, shall we go inside and check it out? I can’t say I noticed anything yesterday.’
‘Actually, I’m not sure it’s safe. We’ve arranged a plumber to call, so we’re waiting outside for him.’ Killian’s smooth lies roll from his tongue as his face remains poker straight.
‘Oh, well,’ Mam turns her attention back to me. ‘Come and stay with me until you get sorted. We could…’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Killian cuts in before my mother can launch into another monologue the length of War and Peace. ‘I’ve arranged for Avery to stay with me.’
‘I see.’ My mother drags out the word see like it’s an entire song. Mischief dances in her irises. She leans in to whisper, not so discreetly in my ear, ‘Are you sure it’s not him with a leaky pipe that needs attention?’ Her shrill laughter pierces the air. ‘He’s kind of intense, isn’t he? But I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’
‘Mam!’ I cover my eyes with my hand.
‘I see the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree,’ Killian remarks drily. ‘You’re welcome to wait in the car with us until the plumber comes,’ he offers with a sweeping motion towards the SUV.
‘No, thank you, this was literally a flying visit.’ My mother’s blonde high ponytail swings from side to side as she shakes her head. ‘I really do have pilates.’
She turns her attention to me again. ‘I’m glad you’re home safely.’
A ripple of guilt bursts through my stomach. If only she knew. Killian’s right though, it’s better she doesn’t. She’d be worried sick.
‘Thanks for taking care of Jasper while I was away.’ I kiss her cheek.
‘No problem. He’s a little dote.’ She backs away, towards her car with a wave. ‘Let’s do lunch soon.’
‘Sure. I’ll call you. Love you.’ I blow her another kiss.
‘Love you too.’ She slips into her car and zooms away with another wave.
‘Let’s get the flea-ridden fur ball and get out of here ASAP.’ Killian places a huge palm on the small of my back as he scans the street. Interestingly, I seem to be exempt from his personal contact issues after yesterday. I know his hand on me is protective, but it’s definitely a little possessive too. And I like that knowledge almost as much as I like the shooting sensations he’s sending rippling over my skin.
‘He’s not flea-ridden, he’s fabulous.’
The prospect of living with Killian Beckett sets stupid little butterflies soaring through my stomach. Which is probably far more dangerous than any stalker, because Killian will never be what I need.
But try telling that to my vagina.
