I roll my face into the plumpest, plushest pillow known to man and groan. My head is fucking splitting. I’m fairly sure there’s drool on my chin. The last thing I remember is… dancing to a cover of ‘Mr Brightside’ barefoot with Scarlett and her new sister-in-law, Zara.
I don’t even remember getting back to my room.
Damn champagne. Will I ever learn?
I’m going to need carbs. Lots of them. I’m on holiday, after all.
I stretch my arms above my head, prise my sleepy eyes open, then jolt to a sitting position.
What the fuck?
Killian Beckett is in my bedroom, manspreading across a velvet tub chair with a chrome laptop balancing on his lap like he owns the fucking place. He’s wearing a grim expression, along with yesterday’s suit pants and shirt. Rolled-up sleeves reveal strong, tanned forearms with enough veins to make a map out of.
I grab the blinding white duvet and yank it up over my chest. ‘What the fuck are you doing in my room?’ I glance down to check if I’m wearing any lingerie. I wasn’t wearing a bra to start with. The low back of the bridesmaid dress didn’t allow it, but my thong is still securely in position.
‘Actually, you’re in my room.’ He sweeps a hand around his meagre belongings; a dark green bottle of cologne, an electric razor, discarded Tom Ford shoes, and worryingly, a sleek steel coloured handgun. ‘Your blatant lack of regard for your own welfare is shocking.’
‘English, please.’ My head continues its incessant pounding.
‘You got so drunk you passed out on my chest. I had to carry you back to your room.’ His voice is rough, gritty, so fucking male.
I squeeze my eyelids shut, trying to remember. Maybe it’s a blessing that I can’t.
‘Did we…?’ I open one eyelid and peek at the man in front of me.
‘No,’ he scowls, rubbing a hand over his strong, square jawline. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the man is a broody bastard, but he’s one hell of a beautiful broody bastard. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but when I fuck a woman, I prefer her to be conscious.’
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I’m conscious now, but disapproval radiates from him. Maybe if I call him Daddy, he’d bend me over his knee like the last woman? Fuck, I don’t know who she is, but right now, I wish I was her.
‘That’s not the worst of it, Avery.’ His jaw ticks.
Oh no.
Fuck my life.
Did I serenade him?
Dance for him?
Strip for him?
‘It isn’t?’ I massage my temple with my fingers.
‘Do you know anything about a black calla lily?’ His pupils bore into mine unwaveringly.
‘I had one left in my dressing room at a shoot a couple of weeks ago.’ I sit up straighter and swallow hard. My mouth is drier than the Sahara. ‘And actually, there was one on my doorstep before that.’
‘Were there notes?’ he snaps, raking his fingers over his scalp.
‘Yeah, the first one said something like, A rare beauty, just like you. The second said See you soon.’ I thought it was a bit odd, but men send me gifts every day.’ A sinking sense of alarm snakes into my stomach. ‘How did you know?’
‘You have a stalker,’ he spits. So much for him being emotionless. He’s vibrating with rage. ‘You didn’t think to mention that?’
I wet my lips. ‘I get gifts like that all the time. It comes with the territory. My dressing room is always filled with flowers, chocolates, champagne. Lingerie even. It’s no big deal.’
He bangs his fist down hard on the arm of the chair and I jump. ‘Goddammit, Avery. Stop being so naïve and so fucking careless. You need to take this seriously. A stranger broke into your room last night and left a single black calla lily on your bed, along with this.’ He holds up a handwritten note, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.
‘What the…?’
‘Blake had it dusted for prints while you were asleep. There’s nothing–obviously. And there was no trace of any prints or DNA in your room. Which means this guy is a professional.’
I swallow hard as the harsh reality of the situation begins to sink in. ‘I don’t understand. Is it someone I know? Someone who was invited to the wedding?’
‘I ran a background check on all one hundred and fifty guests on the list, plus every employee this hotel has ever had. Bar finding a few questionable porn subscriptions, nothing else stuck out. But this is a public island. I can’t run checks on every single person who sets foot on it. This person, whoever he is, must have the resources and finances to be a serious threat, Avery.’
His words wash over me like a cold wave, soaking into every inch of my skin. ‘I don’t understand. “I’m coming for you.” Why?’
He exhales a long, slow breath. ‘There’s no explanation for why people do what they do. There are some seriously deranged fuckers out there. Impotent fuckers. Crazy fuckers. Egotistical fuckers. They get something in their head and boom—there’s no reasoning with them. We need to get this guy.’ He eyes me over the top of his laptop. ‘Before he gets you.’
I inhale sharply. ‘I should go home.’ Clearly, I’m not safe here. I look down, wondering how to get out of this bed without showing Killian exactly what my mamma gave me. Then again, he’s seen it all before at the Luxor Lounge anyway. Not to mention that ‘Eye-ful’ vag shot.
‘You’re not going anywhere. Not without me, anyway,’ he mutters grimly.
My head whips up. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You need security,’ he says, like it’s a matter of fact.
‘You mean like a bodyguard?’ My jaw swings open.
‘Yep.’ He slams the laptop shut. ‘It looks like you and I are going to be stuck with each other. Until we catch this creep anyway. It shouldn’t take long. I’m very good at what I do.’
‘You.’ I point my index finger at him. ‘You’re going to be my bodyguard?’
‘Believe me, babysitting you is the last fucking thing I want to do for however long it takes to catch this fucker.’
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘Avery, you can’t take care of yourself on a good day, let alone when there’s some fucking weirdo out there leaving flowers that symbolise death on your bed.’
I hadn’t given much thought to the significance of the type of flower, but he’s right.
Still, the prospect of having Killian hovering beside me all day every day is not one I can stand. Especially not when I can’t stop imagining him hovering over me—but for very different reasons. Even if he is an emotionless control freak.
‘Does it have to be you? Haven’t you got a million other more important clients? You’re a billionaire, from a family of billionaires; you don’t even need to work, so why don’t you delegate this job to one of your many minions? I’ll pay one of them to take care of me.’
His ebony eyes narrow. ‘You’re not paying anyone.’
‘Of course I am.’ I might not be a billionaire, but I make plenty of money myself. The last thing I want is to owe him any favours—unless they’re sexual ones, of course. I could get over the fact he’s a broody bastard if I was lying under him.
Avery.
I smack my palm against my forehead.
‘You’re not.’ His tone leaves no room to argue. ‘This one is on me.’
‘Why?’ I swallow down my surprise.
‘Because this crazy cunt gate-crashed my brother’s wedding to harass one of his guests, which makes it personal. Besides, I’m the best at what I do. And Scarlett will kill me with her bare hands if anything happened to you and I could have prevented it.’
‘So, what…? You’re going to come everywhere with me until we catch this crazy fucker?’ I push my hair back from my face, flicking it over my shoulder. Killian observes my every movement.
‘No, you’re going to come everywhere with me until I catch this crazy fucker.’
‘Ha, no chance.’ I yank back the covers, exposing my breasts and slide towards the edge of the bed in search of my dress. My mother raised me to be body confident. I’m grateful for my assets, and I’m also aware that they’re on borrowed time. Which is another reason I’m praying ELEGANCE sign me.
‘For fuck’s sake.’ Killian makes a show of looking away. Prude. ‘Avery, you need to take this seriously.’
‘I am! But I have back-to-back photoshoots for weeks, nightclub appearances, and charity lunches to attend. And I’m due in San Francisco in a few weeks for a meeting that I’ve been manifesting for years.’
Killian’s eyes fixate on my face, no matter how badly I will him to peep at my body.
Look down and show me you’re human. Look down and show me you find me attractive. Look down and fucking show me this fucked up attraction I feel for you isn’t entirely one-sided.
‘You manifested it, huh?’ He drawls, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
‘Gabby Bernstein’s manifestation meditation every damn day for the last two years.’ I shrug, reaching for my bridesmaid dress, which lies in a crumpled heap on the floor. Did he take it off me? Oh God. I wish I’d been conscious to see that. Did he look at me then? Or do I truly repulse him like he makes out I do?
‘You have clean clothes in the en suite. Don’t use all the hot water. When you’re done, we’ll compile a list of everyone you may have met, or offended lately. I need your schedule for the next three months, plus the previous year. I need a full relationship history. That includes one-night stands.’
‘You want me to tell you the names of every single man I’ve had sex with?’ My cheeks colour at the prospect.
‘Names, dates, addresses.’ Killian’s gaze remains firmly fixed on my face. ‘Look, Avery, I don’t want to have to listen to every sordid detail of your sex life, but unfortunately, it’s necessary. This person has intimate knowledge of your whereabouts. It could be someone you already know.’
‘Fuck.’
‘I’ve hacked your social media accounts. Don’t even think about posting a video, a picture, or even a damn fucking meme.’
‘You hacked my Instagram?’ I wail.
‘For your protection. My team are running your direct messages through our proprietary threat-assessment algorithm—it uses linguistic pattern recognition to identify genuine threats among the thousands of messages, then cross-references the flagged accounts against known stalker behaviour patterns.’ He bristles. ‘I also installed a software on your phone to block it from being tracked, but don’t even think about opening a social media app, let alone commenting on one of those damn British Royals that you’re obsessed over.’
‘You know about that?’ My eyes widen. I suppose I could have worse obsessions than stalking the princesses of England. Their resplendent style and impeccable fashion choice make me positively salivate. Add in the fucked up family dynamics and royal weddings and I lap it up like ice cream. The youngest princess, Princess Layla Sinclair is a total rebel. In another life, we could have been sisters. Elegance radiates from her, but so does defiance. I bet she gives the Queen hell behind closed doors. Now that’s one Netflix documentary I’d pay to watch.
Killian hunkers forwards, resting his elbows on his thick muscular thighs. ‘I need you to think carefully. Is there anyone that you got a bad vibe from? Anyone who may have reason to want to hurt you?’
‘Ha! You know who’s smack-bang at the top of that list?’ I shake the creases out of the dress and toss it onto the bed.
‘Thorne?’ Killian clears his throat. ‘That creepy fucker was smack-bang at the top of my list too, but my guys had eyes on him all day. Unless he had an accomplice…’
‘Not Thorne! He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ I roll my eyes.
‘Who then?’ Killian’s gaze doesn’t waver, no matter how much I will him to look at my body.
‘You.’ I rest my hand on my hip and stare defiantly at him.
In typical Killian fashion, he doesn’t bite. ‘Sweetheart, if I wanted you dead, you’d be six-feet under already. Somewhere no one would ever find you.’
‘Dead?’ Panic pierces my tone.
Killian lets out a low, incredulous laugh, ‘What? You think “I’m coming for you” means “I’m coming with fairy cakes and champagne for a fucking tea party”?’
‘I didn’t think about it at all, to be honest.’ I pinch the bridge of my nose.
‘That’s the problem, right there.’ He points an accusatory finger at me. ‘You. Don’t. Think. You party, pose and drink.’
Harsh, but I suppose it’s not entirely untrue.
‘I get paid hefty amounts of money to pose.’ I huff.
Killian’s stare could level a building. ‘Get in the shower. We’ve got work to do. The quicker we catch this fucker, the quicker we can go on our merry separate ways.’
Sarcastic bastard.
It’s going to be a long few days.
It will be days, right?
I can barely suffer Killian Control-Freak Beckett for hours. If it comes to weeks, it will be him that’s in danger—from me. There’s a good chance I’ll smother the hot moody bastard while he’s sleeping—with my vagina.
