We spend the rest of the day on the beach, soaking up the sun.
Well, I soak up the sun, while Killian taps his phone furiously, while simultaneously looking good enough to eat. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with no shirt on and fucking hell, he might be a miserable bastard, but the man is seriously ripped. His torso is taut and tanned. Smooth pecs beg to be touched, preferably with my tongue. A dark smattering of hair snakes from his stomach all the way down inside the waistband of his black shorts. And don’t get me started on the masculine ink scrawled over his broad shoulders and neck.
Mouthwatering.
‘I’m starving.’ And not necessarily for food. I’m horny as fuck, thanks to the cocktails, Rian’s comments about Killian’s apparently massive cock, and the fact that we’ve been nearly naked together all day. This forced proximity is doing things to my ovaries. I know it’s only day one, but maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome? I mean, technically, Killian isn’t my captor, but he’s hijacked my holiday nevertheless.
I reach for my dress. With the sun kissing my skin and the martinis releasing the tension in my shoulders, it’s hard to believe the lily and note were ever anything other than a stupid prank.
‘We’ll get room service.’ Killian stands, surveying the beach.
‘You’ve got to be joking.’ I swivel to look at him. ‘I didn’t come to St. Barths to hide in a suite all week. I already missed the damned barbecue. I want to get out and soak up the atmosphere before I get back to dreary Dublin.’
‘We aren’t going out.’ Killian’s tone is final.
‘You might not be, but I am.’
‘This whole thing is a joke to you, isn’t it?’ Killian steps in front of me like he’s ready to physically restrain me if need be. An image of him tying me to the bedpost forms in my mind, resulting in a sharp jolt of lust striking between my legs.
I’ve always been attracted to Killian Beckett. Even way back at the Luxor Lounge when I was a pole dancer, I tried to get his attention. But he remains as infuriatingly stoic now as he was then. Maybe that’s part of the reason I dislike him so much–because I can’t have him. Despite him being a cold, uncharismatic control freak, I can’t stop salivating over every hard line and curve of his frankly flawless masculine body.
It’s so fucking obvious that something happened to him, probably while he was away on one of his military tours. And despite his strong, stoic front, I’m almost certain there’s a man in there who craves attention and affection as much as the rest of us. And for some really fucked up reason, I’ve spent years fantasising about being the woman who gives it to him. The woman who cracks his outer wall and gets the raw, unfiltered version of him. I’m more convinced than ever that there’s a beast beneath that cold façade just waiting to break free.
It doesn’t take a psychology doctorate to understand the appeal of wanting the unavailable. It’s human nature. Which is why it’s impossibly hard to fight.
Killian sighs and pulls his t-shirt over his head. ‘Fine, we’ll get a table set up here on the beach, away from the main restaurant.’
‘That sounds romantic.’ There I go again. I can’t help goading him. I tug my yellow sundress over my head and wiggle into it before stepping closer to him, close enough that my chest rests on his. Tingles soar over my skin in every direction as the scent of his rich, enticing cologne seeps into my lungs. Man, that scent could get a woman off alone.
‘I was aiming for remote rather than romantic,’ he bristles, taking a step back. ‘Sterling and the others will set up a perimeter. We’ll be watched at all times.’
‘Good job I’m not shy then.’ I arch an eyebrow.
‘I noticed,’ he mutters.
‘Did you?’ My heart skips a beat as I close the distance between us again.
He tenses. A muscle ticks in his jaw. ‘Pretty fucking impossible not to.’
So, Killian Beckett is human, after all.
Before I can probe further, he says, ‘We’ll go to Scarlett and James’s suite for a drink beforehand. I’m sure you missed her today.’
My mouth pops open. Is it possible that beneath that sharp exterior, Killian has a soft side? Hard to believe when he treats me like I’m either a petulant child, or worse again, ignores me completely.
‘That sounds…nice.’ I bite back my surprise. ‘Does she know about the… situation?’ I texted her earlier, feigning the worst hangover known to womankind in case she was looking for me at the barbecue. But with a hundred and fifty other guests to get round, we’d have had zero time together anyway.
‘No. James didn’t want to put a dampener on their big day. And the less people that know about this, the better.’
‘Agreed. But how are we going to explain this?’ I motion between us.
‘We won’t have to. Scarlett’s too high on life to question anything. Besides, they leave for their honeymoon in a few days.’
James has booked a yacht to take them around the Caribbean islands for a month. I have no doubt she’ll come back pregnant with baby number three.
‘Perfect.’ I link my arm through his and start towards the main hotel. He tenses again, but he doesn’t brush me off.
Is he softening towards me?
Or is it all part of the ‘hanging out’ together act, pretending like he’s not my human shield?
His bicep strains against his shirt. It’s too tempting not to touch. The cocktails gave me enough courage to brush a finger over it.
‘Avery,’ his low, deep voice is weighted with warning.
‘What?’ I feign innocence. ‘People are supposed to think we’re friends, right?’
‘Friends don’t go around feeling each other up,’ he says darkly.
‘Maybe they should.’ I shrug. ‘A little casual sex might help to pass the time until we catch this calla lily-loving psycho.’
‘There’s nothing casual about the way I fuck.’ His raspy tone sends shivers over my spine.
What a fucking visual.
‘And how am I supposed to catch him, if I’m balls deep inside of you? Bodyguard rule number one–never ever sleep with your charge. Not that I would anyway,’ he adds hastily.
I deliberately brush my breast against his arm. ‘I think I could wear you down in time.’
‘That’s the problem, Avery.’ He shakes his head, disapproval emanating from him once again. ‘That’s the fucking problem.’
What the actual?
Psychology doctorate or not, I have no idea how to work that one out…
Killian’s men check the suite before we enter, then give us the nod to go in. The air con blasts through the brilliant white open plan area. In addition to the queen-sized four-poster bed and the white leather tub chair Killian was sitting in this morning, there’s a lavish, turquoise, suede couch and a long glass coffee table. Sliding glass doors open up onto a large private decking area overlooking the ocean. It’s stunning.
‘My men got the rest of your stuff from your suite. Your clothes are hanging in the closet beside mine,’ Killian mutters, shoving his Ray-Bans on top of his head. His eyes are utterly arresting—almost ebony, with torrid flecks of gold. I could drown in their depth. ‘I’ll wait on the decking while you shower and get changed.’ He reaches for a bottle of beer from the minibar.
‘Or you could join me?’ The words are out of my mouth before I can even work out if I mean them or if I’m just trying to shock a reaction out of him—again.
Yes, I’m ridiculously attracted to him, but I don’t actually like him.
Then again, I don’t have to—not for what I have in mind.
Killian stares at me stonily for a few seconds before turning towards the patio doors.
Am I that repulsive to him?
No, I don’t think so.
‘I think I could wear you down in time.’
‘That’s the problem, Avery. That’s the fucking problem.’
I love a challenge. Killian is undoubtably that.
Things are finally getting interesting.
I shower—alone—then spend an age applying enough make-up to make it look like I’m barely wearing any. I pick out a simple, short black dress with spaghetti straps and a low cut back, then slather a load of Jo Malone body butter onto my arms and legs before slipping into a pair of diamanté flipflops. I run the brush through my hair a hundred times; it’s an odd habit I picked up when I worked at the Luxor Lounge. The repetition of it soothed my initial nerves. I wasn’t always this body confident.
By the time I make my way outside, Killian is sitting on the white wicker couch staring out over the ocean. What I wouldn’t give to know what’s going on in his mind. His head turns as I enter the lounge area. The sunglasses are firmly back in position, hiding his eyes, but he seems to be staring at me for a beat longer than usual.
I grab a bottle of water from the minibar and step out into the balmy evening. The cresting sun casts a luminosity over his sharp cheekbones.
‘I’m ready.’
‘So I see.’ He peels the label from his beer bottle. A sign of sexual frustration, apparently. ‘You look… nice.’
I feign surprise, clutching my chest. ‘Was that an actual compliment?’
‘Don’t get used to them.’ He takes a deep swig from the beer bottle. ‘It’s just nice not to actively have to avert my eyes from you.’
‘You don’t have to actively avert your eyes from me.’ I sink into the couch beside him.
‘Actually, I do.’ He stands abruptly. ‘Sterling and Walsh are outside the front door. Thomson’s gone down to organise a table for us. I’m going to shower.’
I watch as he strides inside the suite. His glutes could be sculpted from marble. Saliva floods my tongue. In a couple of minutes, he’ll be naked. The thought sets a fresh blast of sex hormones surging through my blood. I should tip this bottle of water over my head, not drink it.
Though, I doubt even that would help the fire raging through my body.
