Full lockdown in Killian’s penthouse is nowhere near as bad as it would have been before we were a couple. In fact, other than there being a lunatic lurking in the shadows hoping to kill me or capture me, I’m thoroughly enjoying being holed up here. I moved into his huge bedroom—a sweeping mass of greys and silver, with huge sliding doors which open up onto a rooftop terrace. Opulence aside, the place was in desperate need of a woman’s touch—which is why I asked Thomson to print out the photos from Pier 39 and have them framed and mounted. Fresh seasonal flowers bloom in every room. And I also ordered a sixteen-foot gilded mirror for the bedroom with the credit card Killian insist I use while I can’t use my own–not just to reflect the light coming in from the triple glazed patio doors, but because we both like to watch as he takes me in front of it.
Every night, Killian makes love to me six ways to Sunday, and every day we work in the conference room together, side by side. While I work on my article for ELEGANCE, he works on finding the man who’s hellbent on taking me from him.
Since we got back from our trip, he hasn’t let me out of his sight. We cancelled all my prebooked photoshoots. We eat together, shower together, and sleep together. Well, I sleep—he mostly watches over me, stroking his thick fingers through my hair until I drift off. Despite the drama and the fear of knowing there’s someone out there who feels I belong to them, I’ve never felt so safe. So cherished. So cared for. So loved.
He’s yet to say those three little words out loud—but this is Killian Beckett we’re talking about. I feel them from every one of his fleeting touches to the way he makes love to me. And I saw proof of his affection for me in the images he keeps of me in his office–yes, I eventually got a peep inside. No, I wasn’t horrified–it was beyond flattering to imagine the most stoic man I’ve ever met acting like a teenager with a crush.
I crawl into my side of the bed and slide under the covers. He removes his suit and tosses it on a plush leather armchair in the corner of the room.
‘Can I get a Christmas tree delivered for the lounge?’ I ask, as he prowls towards the bed with a predatory look in his pupils. He rarely says no to me, but he never says no when he has that particular glint.
‘If it makes you happy.’
‘I usually love Christmas, but this year, I’ve never felt less festive.’ No wonder, given the circumstances. ‘It’s our first Christmas together. I want it to be memorable.’
‘Christmas is for kids,’ Killian tuts.
‘It’s also for couples.’ Which is why I ordered him a vintage Rolex Submariner from the early 1960s, the same model used by special forces operatives—Thomson assured me he’ll love it. Especially because I had it engraved with ‘better late than never’—our own personal in joke.
‘My parents are expecting us on Christmas day.’ He studies me while he waits for my response. ‘James has told everyone about us. You’re the talk of the family.’
‘Oh God. That can’t be good.’ I place my palm over my face.
‘Relax, they’re going to love you…’ He trails off with that intense look in his eyes and for a second I think he’s about to say ‘like I do’, but he doesn’t.
‘I need to tell my father “the entire family” won’t be at his place after all.’ I’d rather pull my own hair out strand by strand than play happy families with him, Tessa, Sebastian, and supercilious Yvonne. ‘He won’t be happy I’m backing out now.’
‘It’s not a matter of backing out. It’s a matter of your safety. If your father had any idea of the shit that’s been going down, he’d respect that. I can protect you better at my parents’ place.’ He stares at me for a long beat, towering over me from the edge of the bed. ‘Their house is bolted onto a beach. There’s only one driveway in. It’ll be manned by twenty of my men. The security system is as sophisticated as the one here. There’s a panic room with a pool table and a fully stocked bar. And you will never be more than two feet from my side. Blame me for the last minute change of plans.’
I glance at the time, ‘Might be too late to call him now. I’ll do it in the morning.’
‘Leave it until Christmas morning. I know it seems cruel, but trust me, it’s far safer this way. Your mother used her credit card to pay for her trip. The stalker knows you’re not going to be with her for Christmas. He might even be expecting you to go to your father’s place. Either way, we’re not taking the chance.’
‘My father will be disappointed.’
‘Disappointed is better than dead. Say whatever you have to, but it’s actually safer to keep him away from this.’
‘Thank God my mother is out of the country.’
‘And she has three bodyguards that she doesn’t know about trailing her.’
‘Thank you,’ I exhale heavily. If anything happened to her because of me, I’d never forgive myself. ‘But by the way, if the bodyguards you sent look anything like you, trust me, she’ll be well aware of them at this stage—for all the wrong reasons!’
Killian shakes his head. ‘Parents hey? Be warned, my own mother can be,’ he wets his lips, ‘intense.’
Laughter bursts from my chest. ‘Says the most intense person I’ve ever met.’
‘She’s a different type of intense.’ He takes his watch off and places it on the bedside table.
‘I’m looking forward to getting to know your family.’ It’s true, while I’ve met all the Beckett brothers over the years, and met Killian’s parents at the wedding, I’m excited to see them in a different capacity.
‘James and Scarlett will be there, obviously.’
‘As if I needed any more persuasion. It’ll be nice to get a change of scenery.’ I rock into a sitting position beneath the covers and hug my legs to my chest. ‘Any progress on the other thing?’ I hate putting pressure on him when he’s every bit as frustrated as I am about the stalker situation, but I have to know if we’re any closer to normality. We can’t stay cooped up in here forever, even if it suits me down to the ground right now.
‘I have a meeting tomorrow with the Finance Minister, which I hope will be…’ He pauses, choosing his next word carefully, ‘informative.’ He climbs into bed wearing only a pair of fitted black boxer briefs. If I get my way, they’ll be on the floor in less than two minutes.
As he slides under the covers beside me, his expression morphs into a solemn one. Sorrow touches his huge coal coloured eyes.
‘What’s up?’ I reach for him, sliding my hands over his taut, rippled torso.
His fingers catch mine and thread between them. ‘I hate letting you down.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I slide closer, pressing my body flush against his. ‘You’ve never let me down.’
‘I was sure as hell I’d have found him by now. I hate knowing there’s someone out there who is determined to take you from me. I hate that he’s still breathing.’ He nuzzles the top of my head and inhales my hair.
‘No one is going to take me from you.’
‘Damn right they’re not.’ His fingers tighten. ‘I’m going to find this deranged fucker and I’m going to kill him.’
‘You’d kill for me?’ I suck in a breath.
‘I warned you multiple times that I’m not a good man.’ He shrugs.
‘Three questions.’ I demand.
‘I thought we were past this.’
‘Indulge me.’
‘Open your legs and I’ll indulge you anyway you like.’
‘Please,’ I beg.
‘Go on then. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker I can make you come on my cock.’
‘You’ve killed men before.’ I blurt.
‘That’s not technically a question.’
‘Okay, let me rephrase. Outside of your military tours, have you…’ I hesitate, unsure if I really want to know the answers, but also needing to unlock the darkness inside of him. Share the burden of it with him. ‘Have you killed anyone?’
His pupils blaze into mine with maximum intensity. I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.
‘Would it bother you if I had?’
I roll my lips together. ‘Not as much as it probably should.’
‘I’ll be honest with you.’ His fingers stroke me with a tenderness that completely contrasts this entire conversation. ‘As long as you promise not to run screaming from the room.’
‘I promise.’
‘I’ve never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it.’ His tone is so matter of fact. It’s hard to believe we’re talking about him ending a person’s life.
I swallow thickly, processing his words. I should be horrified. Terrified. Appalled. But I’m none of those things. Does that make me as deranged as the stalker? Or simply a woman who is sick of being hunted like a baby deer?
Killian gives me a minute to digest. ‘My family have a lot of enemies. Enemies who want to hurt us, who want what we have and will do anything to get it.’ His lip curls in disgust. ‘Caelon’s wife, Isabella, being the most recent and tragic example.’
He reaches up to gently sweep his thumb over my cheekbone, his eyes never leave mine. ‘It’s not what any woman wants to hear about their partner, but I suppose it’s better we have this conversation sooner rather than later.’
I nod quietly, still digesting. I’m not surprised. On some level, I knew he had that capability in him. Deep down, I knew, and I think a really dark, primal part of me is attracted to it. Like animals in the wild are drawn to the strongest alphas to mate with. Deep down, I’m innately drawn to him, secure in the knowledge he’s a powerful mate. That he’s capable of protecting me and providing for our family.
Fuck, the man just admitted to killing people and I’m thinking about having his children?
‘I’d never hurt you, sweetheart. I told you before, I’d kill for you, I’d die for you, but I will never, ever hurt you.’
I press my forehead to his. ‘I know that.’ The truth of that statement rings with every word.
‘I’m going to catch this deranged maniac who thinks he can take you from me. And I’m going to kill him—slowly.’
‘Personally, I’d like to thank him.’ I palm his chest, skimming over the hard ridges of his abdomen.
‘Thank him?’ Killian’s tone is incredulous.
‘Yes.’ I tilt my face up to meet his stare. ‘If it wasn’t for that lily in St. Barths, we wouldn’t have been forced together, and I wouldn’t have been able to woo you with my spectacular p—’
‘Pussy,’ he growls, and slides a hand lower, skimming my stomach and reaching between my thighs. I’m already soaked for him.
‘I was going to say personality.’ I smile, parting my legs wider for him, as my hands roam lower over his torso, reaching for his length which is growing harder with every passing second. ‘But the time for talking is over. Lose the boxers.’
