I’ve been at Killian’s for five days now. He’s tailed me to meetings, to photoshoots, to the gym. He accompanied me to lunch with my mother—much to her delight. He even sat patiently in the salon while I had my highlights done. Unfortunately, he’s also started locking his bedroom and bathroom door—more’s the pity. I’ve been getting myself off to his image every night since, but almost a week later, I’m greedier than ever for the real thing.
There’s been no sign of the stalker, and no more flowers as yet. It’s like he’s disappeared into thin air. Killian has absolutely zero leads and is growing more frustrated by the day. True to his word, he’s eaten dinner with me every night this week, and allowed me three questions per night while we devour whatever delicacy his talented housekeeper produces.
I’ve deliberately been easy with the questions, luring him into a false sense of security before I drop the big one—the one that’s been eating me up inside since the shower incident. It’s literally crawling up my throat tonight, though that might have something to do with the half a bottle of Bandol I consumed with my venison. The wine is a product of the Beckett family vineyards in Provence; it’s so good even Mr Control Freak let down his guard to have one.
‘Spit them out then, Avery.’ He swirls his wine around his glass. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
‘You love it really.’ I hold out my empty glass for a refill.
He takes it, reaching for the bottle with his other hand. ‘I don’t.’
‘Don’t you ever get lonely?’
‘Is that your question?’
‘No.’ I accept the full glass he passes over the huge cherrywood table. Our fingers touch and a jolt of electricity sears my skin. He yanks his hand away and hides it under the table. ‘It was a question.’
Our eyes lock and the chemistry pulses between us. How he can ignore it is beyond me.
‘No,’ he says, bluntly.
‘That’s it? You’re not going to elaborate?’ Jesus, it’s a good job this man is easy on the eyes because his conversational skills are shite.
‘It’s the psychology doctorate, isn’t it?’ He doesn’t break eye contact. ‘Maybe if you got a job using it, then you wouldn’t feel the need to practice on me.’
‘Does it make you uncomfortable?’ I inch forward over the table. His eyes drop to my scoop neck top and a ripple of satisfaction surges through me.
‘No.’ He lifts his wine to his lips and drinks. I watch his throat work as he swallows. He really is a piece of art. ‘That’s two questions you’ve used up now.’ A hint of a smile ghosts his lips.
‘That wasn’t a question, it was—’
‘It was a question. And think carefully before you waste the next one, because that’s your lot until tomorrow.’
In that case…
‘Fine.’ I straighten my spine. ‘But you better be honest.’
‘Shoot.’ His expression gives absolutely nothing away, as usual, but I’d almost swear he’s enjoying these evenings together more than he lets on.
‘What were you thinking about the other evening?’
Confusion mists his eyes.
‘In the shower.’ I clarify.
His nostrils flare as he thrums his fingers off the table. ‘Avery…’ there’s a warning in his tone.
‘You said you’d be honest,’ I remind him.
‘It won’t change anything.’ He stares stoically at my face.
‘It’s only a question.’
‘Fine.’ He pauses for a long beat. ‘You want the truth?’
I nod, frightened if I open my mouth I might scare him off.
‘I was thinking about you, but you knew that already, which is why you’re asking.’ He rests an elbow on the table, his dark dilating pupils boring into mine. Hot flames lick over my skin. ‘What you don’t know is that I was thinking about your lips around my cock, imagining you lapping my cum from the tip, and loving every fucking second of it.’
The air whooshes out of my chest. Desire pools in my core and lower. Wow. The speed at which he can flick from being verbally stunted to downright filthy and uninhibited is an impressive talent. He should drink wine more often.
It’s not often I’m lost for words—but tonight, I have none.
That was his intention though, wasn’t it?
I wet my lips. My underwear is ruined. I’m fucking ruined. How is it possible to want someone so badly? If we ever did have sex, I know it would blow every other experience I’ve had out of the water. But Killian Beckett is off limits, physically and mentally. Even if I could convince him to take my body, he’d never give me his heart or mind.
Fuck, where did that thought pop from?
For all I know, the man might not even have a heart.
He downs the remainder of his wine, then stands. ‘I’ll be in my office.’
‘I’ll be in my bedroom with my vibrator.’ I’m not even joking.
‘Avery,’ he hisses as his eyelids fall closed.
‘Unless you’ve got a better suggestion?’
His fingers curl into tight fists. Tension radiates from him as his eyes snap open. ‘I suggest we catch the stalker.’
I watch his firm sculpted ass as he storms away.
A few days later, I’m perched at a chrome bar stool at Killian’s massive kitchen island. He struts in looking positively fucking edible in one of his trademark black Armani suits which sculpts his shoulders in a way that should be illegal. He strides towards the coffee machine with a grunt that I’ve come to interpret as ‘morning.’
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve learnt that Killian is even moodier than usual until he’s had a double espresso. And when he gets himself a caffeine fix, he usually gets me one too, just the way I like it. He doesn’t even ask anymore—just does it. Two shots of espresso, steamed oat milk, two sweeteners. The man might be emotionally stunted and repressed, but he pays attention to detail.
My phone chimes with a message notification from the counter. I’m under strict instruction not to even open one of my social media apps and the withdrawal symptoms are starting to kick in. The FOMO is real. I suppose I’m lucky I still have a phone.
‘Who’s that?’ Killian asks gruffly.
‘Kenzi.’ Kenzi is one of my school friends who’s making it big as an actress in America after a Netflix series she starred in blew up. I click open the message.
‘Kenzi O’Brien?’ Killian’s dark eyes narrow as he reaches for the oat milk. I’m pretty sure he knows where this is going.
‘She’s wrapped up filming and she’s in Dublin this weekend only. She wants to meet for cocktails at Elixir.’
‘Absolutely not.’ As usual, his tone implies that it’s not up for debate.
Has the man learnt nothing about me in the copious amount of time we’ve been forced to spend together?
‘It’s not in your schedule.’ He necks his espresso, then stirs the sweeteners into the coffee he’s making me, hard enough to rattle the silverware from the mug.
‘It’s called spontaneity. You should try it sometime.’ I motion for him to hand me the mug, preferably before he cracks it with the spoon.
‘Spontaneity gets people killed.’ He passes me my drink, then places the spoon in the top tray of the dishwasher on its side, exactly one centimetre apart from the first spoon I used this morning. Then he turns that one on its side too, so it’s sitting at exactly the same angle as the other one. My billionaire bodyguard has OCD as well as control issues.
‘People die of boredom too.’ I take a sip, watching him over the rim. ‘Come on, Killian. I’ve been cooped up in here since we got back from St. Barths. Elixir is exclusive, has great security, and your men can come too. Though maybe not Sterling…he’s kind of intense.’
Despite the yacht incident, Sterling continues to stare at me with some sort of weird fascination when he thinks I’m not looking.
‘Not happening.’ Killian slams the dishwasher door closed.
‘You misunderstand me.’ I hard ball him. ‘I’m not asking your permission.’
He straightens himself and I feel the full impact of the glare he’s aiming at me, but I refuse to back down. ‘Avery…’
‘Would you prefer I go completely stir crazy in this fancy penthouse prison of yours?’
He plants his palms on the counter, leaning forward. ‘You have a seriously educated, and apparently affluent stalker leaving you death threats.’
‘They’re not death threats. They’re creepy love notes. And I refuse to let him win by hiding away.’ I stand, smoothing down my silk robe. Killian’s eyes track the movement. ‘Besides, I might get lucky tonight. It’s been way too long since—’
‘Enough.’ The word comes out as a long low growl that sends heat pooling low in my belly.
‘What’s wrong?’ I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of his ovary combusting cologne. ‘Worried I might find someone who’s actually willing to fuck me?’
His knuckles go white against the marble counter. ‘You’re not going.’
‘I am, with or without you.’ I turn to leave, letting my robe swish around my thighs. ‘Question is, are you going to let me walk into potential danger alone?’
* * *
The bass line thrums through the soles of my Louboutin’s as we step into Elixir. Crystal chandeliers drip from coffered ceilings, casting rainbow prisms across chrome and velvet. The air is thick with expensive perfume, fruity cocktails, and bad decisions waiting to happen.
Killian scans the space with military precision, probably cataloguing exits, threats, and vantage points. His hand hasn’t left my lower back since we left the car, fingers splayed possessively against the barely there fabric of my gold dress. And I’m not going to lie, I’m loving his attention. I should have insisted on going out days ago.
Walsh and Thomson flank us, Collins waits outside in the car, and Killian orbits me like I’m the sun, shifting his body whenever someone moves too close.
I spot Kenzi holding court in our usual curved booth, the VIP section elevated above the main floor with a perfect view of the dance floor below. She’s with Sophia, our other friend, and on the table in front of them are two bottles of Dom Pérignon glinting under the chandeliers because Sophia never does anything by halves. Sophia and I met three years ago at Milan Fashion Week. We were both new to the industry, terrified and trying not to show it. She caught me stress-eating mint chocolate gelato behind a curtain before the La Perla show and shared her emergency flask of tequila. We’ve been firm friends ever since.
‘Finally!’ Kenzie grins, but her step falters at Killian’s thunderous expression.
His fingers flex against my spine; the heat of his palm burns through the fabric of my silk Rebecca Vallance dress.
‘Dios mío!’ Sophia’s voice carries over the music as she sashays towards us, drawing every male eye in the place. Well, every male eye except Killian’s. His gaze hasn’t left me since I stepped out of my room in this outfit.
‘Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming!’ I squeal at my stunning friend.
‘I texted her the second you said could make it!’ Kenzie throws her arms around me and Killian reluctantly sidesteps without taking his hand from my spine, continuing to scan the vicinity
‘Is that Killian Beckett?’ Sophia openly stares at my billionaire bodyguard.
‘The one and only.’ I shrug. ‘Scarlett asked me to babysit him while she and James are on honeymoon.’ The lie rolls from my tongue. ‘He brought a few friends.’ I glance around at Killian’s men.
‘Hot. As. Fuck.’ Kenzi pretends to fan herself.
‘Ladies.’ A smooth, deep voice cuts through the music from behind us. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
I spin on my stiletto to find Austin Falcon smiling down at us. Venture capitalist, and regular on Dublin’s most eligible bachelor lists.
Killian’s fingers dig into my skin.
‘Austin!’ Sophia launches herself at him. ‘When did you get back from New York?’
‘Yesterday.’ But Austin’s eyes home in on me. ‘I saw your GQ magazine shoot, Avery. Stunning.’ He shakes his head like he’s mind blown and wets his lips.
‘Thanks.’ Red hot tension radiates through Killian’s palm. ‘How long are you in Dublin for?’
‘Long enough to take you to dinner.’ Austin steps closer and places his hand on my bicep. ‘How about it?’
