It’s our last day in San Francisco and just like in St. Barths, I plan on making the most of it, which is why I’m currently strolling around Neiman Marcus laden down with designer bags and three impeccably dressed bodyguards. The historic building is a shopper’s paradise—gleaming floors and sparkling counters, crowned by that famous stained-glass dome that throws rainbow patterns across everything below. The scent of expensive perfume mingles with leather handbags and success.
Killian stalks beside me like a panther in a designer suit, radiating his usual mix of lethal grace and overprotectiveness. Sterling and Thomson flank us, maintaining what they think is a discreet distance, but actually screams, ‘security detail’ to anyone paying attention. Not that the well-heeled shoppers browsing Chanel and Gucci seem to care—this is San Francisco’s premier luxury department store, after all. Everyone here has something to protect.
‘You don’t have to buy the entire store,’ Killian mutters as I pause to admire a display of Jimmy Choos. ‘We do have to fly home eventually.’
‘I’m supporting the American economy.’ I add a pair of stilettos to my growing collection. ‘Besides, a girl needs options for her ELEGANCE cover shoot, doesn’t she?’
His lips twitch, and I count it as a win. Since yesterday’s meeting, he’s been… different. More cautiously optimistic. For him to even joke about marriage was a huge leap. Even if he did snap shut like a clam after the tongue in cheek, that’s why you love me, remark.
‘Thank fuck for the jet,’ he mutters
The collision comes out of nowhere. A shoulder slams into mine, sending my shopping bags scattering across the marble floor.
‘Watch where you’re going,’ a bald-headed man in his forties snaps, adjusting his Rolex with manicured fingers. Money clearly doesn’t buy manners. He sneers, looking me up and down like I’m something he scraped off his Italian leather shoes.
‘Excuse me?’ I stare at him in disbelief.
Before he can respond, Killian’s hand shoots out, catching the man’s wrist in what looks like a gentle grip, but is clearly anything but, judging by the sudden shocking pallor of the guy’s face.
‘Apologise.’ Killian’s voice is soft. Deadly soft.
‘I don’t think—’
Killian adjusts his grip. The man’s knees actually buckle.
‘Let me be clearer.’ Killian leans in, flashing a frankly terrifying smile. ‘Apologise to the lady, or I’ll introduce your face to that lovely shiny floor.’
‘I… I’m sorry,’ he stammers, visibly wincing.
‘You can do better than that,’ Killian snarls. Thomson and Sterling hover grim-faced beside us as other shoppers begin to stare.
‘Killian, please.’ I touch his arm. ‘It’s ok, leave it.’
‘It’s not okay, sweetheart. No one disrespects you.’ His face is a mask of rage. The man is clearly petrified. I don’t blame him. Even I’m alarmed by this side of my boyfriend. I know what he’s capable of, but knowing and seeing it are two very different things.
‘Killian, people are staring,’ I whisper.
‘We’ve given them worse to stare at.’ His steely gaze flashes to me.
‘So sorry. It was entirely my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ The man whimpers, his face now contorted with pain.
Killian releases him with a little shove, and he practically runs toward the exit, cradling his wrist.
‘Was that really necessary?’ I ask. He’s so tender with me I forget the man is a trained killer. The hot, hard, walking red flag thing does things to me, but seeing him in action is confronting.
‘Yes.’ Killian’s already picking up my scattered bags. ‘No one disrespects what’s mine.’ His possessiveness borders on devotion. Thank goodness I’ve witnessed the tenderness he reserves only for those he truly trusts—or I’d be terrified.
‘It’s just…’ I purse my lips.
‘Spit it out sweetheart, it’s not like you to be quiet.’
‘Seeing you in action is kind of unnerving.’ I glance around. Everyone’s gone back to their usual business.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He cups my chin, angling my face to meet his stare. ‘Never be scared of me, baby. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you. But I’d never ever hurt you.’
‘I believe you.’
But Christ, I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.
Killian gave Thomson and Sterling the night off. In fairness, they earned it trailing around after me while I shopped all day, and thanks to my pre-booked performance at the Luxor Lounge, the entire world thinks I’m in Dublin. Here, away from everything, it’s easy to forget there’s a crazy stalker sourcing black lilies and sending threatening notes.
We arrive at Saison just before eight. It’s even more exclusive than I imagined. Tucked away in an unassuming brick building, the interior unfolds like a secret told in hushed tones—warm wood, sleek lines, and understated luxury. The open kitchen glows like a stage, chefs moving in choreographed precision beneath copper pots that hang like art installations.
Killian’s hand rests at the small of my back as the host leads us to our table, a private alcove with a perfect view of both the kitchen and the dining room. All eyes follow us—more on him than me for once—as we weave between tables of designer-clad diners. The air smells of smoke and sweet wood, subtle spices and a shit tonne of old money. Soulful ballads drift through the restaurant—the kind of emotional, piano-driven music that acts as the perfect backdrop for intimate conversations. The vocalist’s raw, slightly raspy voice croons melancholy lyrics about love and longing.
‘Wine?’ Killian asks as we settle into our seats. The leather chair feels butter-soft against my bare shoulders. I’m wearing a midnight blue Valentino that dips low in the back—partly because it’s stunning, partly because I like watching Killian’s eyes darken every time I turn around.
‘Would you judge me if I order champagne? This feels like a celebration.’
His mouth curves into that rare smile that transforms his entire face. ‘As long as you promise not to pass out on me. I’ve got big plans for you after this.’
‘Big indeed.’ I lick my lips as the memories of the past couple of days float through my mind. I’m sore from our previous plans, but in the best way.
The sommelier appears and Killian orders without glancing at the menu, something French with a vintage that makes the man’s eyebrows lift. When he’s gone, Killian leans forward, his gaze intense in the candlelight.
‘I suppose it’s not too shabby for our first official date,’ I tease.
He strokes a thumb over his sharp jawline. ‘Thank fuck for that, because this is the last first date you’ll be going on.’
‘Is that right?’ I love how rapidly he’s transformed from distant and stoic to being utterly invested in us. No mind games. No bullshit. No wondering if he’ll call. I suppose being forced to live with someone is a quick fire way to find out if you could live with them.
‘Yes.’ Confidence oozes from his every pore.
‘If I’d have known you’d ask me out if I quit the topless photoshoots, I would have done it years ago.’
‘I was going to ask you out once,’ he admits quietly.
Shock soars through my system. ‘What? When?’
‘Scarlett’s graduation. At James’s house.’ He inclines his head and my gaze is drawn to the tattoos peeking out from under his collar. ‘We ran into each other by the pool. I asked if you’d started looking for a job relevant to your degree. You told me you didn’t have to, that you’d been signed by Zack. I wanted to hunt him down and throttle him.’
I blow out a breath. I remember it like it was yesterday. ‘I can’t believe it. In fact, I could have sworn you hated me, even then.’
‘I hated you telling me instead of using the doctorate you worked so hard for, that you were going to continue torturing me, and the rest of the male population with your fabulous tits.’
‘I had no idea you were interested.’
‘Interested doesn’t cover it. Remind me to show you my office when we get home.’ He shakes his head gently. ‘Then Isabella died, and I was grateful I didn’t have a woman of my own. Caelon’s loss reminded me of…’ he trails off, averting his eyes.
I try not to look overly interested, but my ears prick like a dog’s at dinnertime. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’ His voice is sharp.
The sommelier returns with our drinks and Killian’s shoulders visibly relax.
‘To your cover,’ he says, raising his glass.
I raise mine and clink it against his. ‘To us.’
‘To us.’ He takes my hand across the table, stroking a thumb over the pulse point on my wrist. ‘I wasn’t joking about this being your last first date. I know things are moving quickly, sweetheart, but I’m an all-or-nothing type of guy.’
‘I noticed.’ His intensity is one of the things I love about him. As is his darkness. Witnessing him dissemble his carefully constructed guard is a privilege. I’m finally beginning to see the fullness of who he is—the warrior, and the wounded, the protector and the passionate. ‘Luckily for you, I’m an all-or-nothing type of girl.’
‘I noticed.’ He quirks a brow and smirks, then takes a sip of champagne. His wince makes me laugh out loud. ‘I don’t know how you can drink this stuff.’
‘I love it.’ My shoulder dips in a shrug. ‘Do you want to order something else? A whiskey maybe?’
‘No. I’m supposed to be working, remember?’ He glances around the restaurant. I know him well enough to ascertain he’s already mentally assessed every person in here, noted the exits and entrances, and I don’t doubt he has at least one firearm tucked into his trademark Armani suit.
‘I’m still work to you, am I?’ I tease. ‘If your plan falls into place, in a matter of hours, your work will be complete.’
‘When my plan falls into place, you mean?’ His ebony eyes bore into mine, smouldering. ‘And you’re not work—you’re everything to me.’
It’s hard to believe that this is the same man who could barely look at me a few weeks ago. My heart is so full.
I swallow the words bursting to get out. It’s too soon. I don’t want to terrify him.
Then again, he’s the one declaring this is my last first date.
Silence settles between us as he continues to stare at me, that familiar intensity radiating from him in undulating waves. It’s like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. I reach across the table and take his hand in mine, brushing a thumb over the back of it.
‘You know I’ve never been into PDAs but if you keep looking at me like that, things could change very quickly,’ he says darkly.
‘You are totally into PDAs. Remember the yacht?’
‘You make me do things I’d never have dreamed of.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like contemplate putting a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ I almost spit my drink out.
And to think I was worried about scaring him off.