‘I’m so sorry.’ I cover my mouth with my hand. ‘When? How?’
‘A long time ago,’ he picks up his drink again. ‘I’m over it.’
Jesus Christ. I assumed he had PTSD or something, but not in a million years would I have guessed his grief. Or is it guilt that renders him so arduous? He was a soldier, a hero, yet he clearly couldn’t save the woman he loved.
Is his callous demeanour a front to keep people out? Is his indifference actually a self-imposed prison constructed with fear? And why do I feel compelled to fix him or distract him at the very least?
‘Stop psychoanalysing me, Avery,’ he snaps. ‘This conversation is over.’
Probably best not to admit I’m simultaneously psychoanalysing myself—and trying to dissect this weird chemistry between us.
Minutes pass in silence. I swallow down a million questions and glance out towards the sea. The Beckett brothers have seriously suffered over the years. Women tend to get hurt around them. My thoughts drift to Scarlett.
Then to my own situation.
‘How long do you think it will take you to catch our lily-loving friend?’
‘I thought I’d have him already, to be honest.’ Killian rubs his fingers over his razor sharp jawline. ‘He’s good. Unfortunately. But he’ll fuck up. And I’ll be there when he does.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t just a prank or a hoax?’ I hate the hope in my voice. I know as well as he does that the threat is real. Someone went to the trouble of sourcing those specific lilies to send me a message. It’s creepy as fuck. A shiver runs down my spine. A couple of times lately, I’ve sensed someone watching, but I assumed I was either overtired or over-imaginative.
But do they really want to hurt me?
And why?
I believe you reap what you sow. I believe the Universe gives you back the same energy as you emanate, which is why if I can’t say something nice about someone, I don’t say it at all. I don’t have any enemies that I know of. Yeah, I have a few ex-boyfriends, but the relationships ended amicably. When you’re in the industry that I’m in, it’s safer not to fall out with people who could sell stories to the tabloids about you.
‘I’m certain.’ Killian’s sombre tone leaves no room for doubt.
The waitress returns carrying our starters. The scent of saffron-infused butter and grilled prawns wafts in the air and my saliva pools on my tongue.
I pick up my fork and force myself to put my energy into brighter topics—worrying won’t help. I just have to trust Killian is as good as he’s supposed to be.
I make small talk as we eat—partly to distract myself from the fact that there’s a stranger out there harbouring a weird obsession with me, partly to stop myself from prying further into Killian’s past. He won’t thank me for it. It’s one thing to rile him sexually, but I don’t truly want to make him uncomfortable. Especially not when, like it or not, we’re stuck together.
At least what he lacks in social skills, he makes up for in eye candy. I watch his mouth work as he chews every morsel, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. It’s the best distraction from reality a woman could ask for.
By the time we finish the champagne and devour our dinner, the sky has turned inky black. The hurricane lamps cast a soft glow across his face, softening those sharp angles.
‘We should head back.’ He signals Amelia for the bill. ‘It’s not safe out here after dark.’
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. ‘We’re on a private beach at a five-star resort with six of your men watching our every move.’
‘Eight,’ he corrects automatically. ‘Sterling is stationed by the beach bar, Walsh at the water sports hut, Thomson and Marco are covering the perimeter. Hughes and O’Connor are monitoring the CCTV feeds, Carter’s on the roof, and Davidson’s coordinating with hotel security.’
Just as I suspected, the man is a complete control freak. ‘Let me guess—you colour coordinate your underwear drawer by shade and designer.’
A vein throbs at his throat. ‘They’re organised by fabric and occasion.’
I stare at him for a beat, then burst out laughing. Way to lighten the mood. It’s only when he doesn’t laugh with me, I realise he’s not joking. ‘Seriously? By occasion? What occasions are we talking about here? Business meetings? Black tie? Hot dates?’
Does he date?
‘Organisation saves time,’ he says stiffly, ‘And lives.’
I stand, smoothing a hand over the front of my dress. His eyes follow the movement, dragging over my body like a hot poker stick. He rises from his seat and sidesteps around the table, leaving less than a foot between us.
‘Do you feel the need to exercise control in every aspect of your life?’
His gaze lifts until his eyes catch mine. Dark twin pools burn with a shocking intensity—disdain or desire? Or both? The man is impossible to work out, but fuck, I’m compelled to try.
‘What do you think?’ His voice is low, almost guttural.
I step closer, leaving less than a foot between us. The air is charged with the sexual chemistry that permanently pulses between us. ‘I think you should show me.’ I wet my lips and tilt my face upwards to where his huge frame towers over me. Silence hangs heavily between us as my heart hammers in my chest. His face dips closer, so close the scent of his heady cologne wafts between us.
Just when I think his plump lips are about to brush mine, he pulls back. ‘Not a good idea, Avery.’
He’s probably right. But when he backs away from me, it feels so fucking wrong.
Sterling and Thomson escort us back to the suite. When they’ve secured the suite, I step inside, glancing around the open plan area.
‘I’ll take the couch, obviously,’ Killian says, as he unbuttons the top buttons of his crisp white shirt. I get a tantalising glimpse of those tattoos and his tanned torso.
It’s official; I don’t even like the man, but I need him to fuck me. Just once. I don’t know if it’s the threat to my life, the heat, the sun, Killian’s sheer presence, his earlier admissions, or the need for oblivion, but I need a release. I’ll never be able to sleep with this tension thrumming through me. ‘The bed is huge. We could share it and still be in different area codes. Unless…’ I pause for effect, watching his throat work as he swallows. ‘You don’t trust yourself?’
His eyes darken to midnight. ‘I don’t trust you.’
‘Me?’ I perch on the arm of the sofa, letting my dress ride up to reveal a dangerous amount of thigh. His gaze tracks the movement, and satisfaction curls through my core.
‘Avery.’ The sound of my name on his lips sets a fresh burst of lust coursing between my legs.
‘What?’ I widen my eyes innocently.
He steps closer, and I stand again. The air between us crackles like a live wire. His chest is inches from mine, and the heat radiating off him makes it hard to breathe. He feels it, this potent, inexplicable attraction between us. Our bodies are begging to bang. I’m vibrating with the need for him to touch me. Smoothing my hands over the fabric of my dress, I reach the hem. I hesitate for a split second before pulling it up, yanking it off, and tossing it to the couch.
‘What are you doing?’ A rush of hot breath whooshes from his mouth and his eyes drop to my lingerie. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ His voice has dropped to a dangerous whisper that sends shivers down my spine.
‘No. I’m trying to make you feel alive.’ I trace my finger over the broad slope of his shoulder, over his tricep, before catching him by the hand.
‘Have you no shame?’ Coal-coloured eyes bore into mine.
‘Honestly?’ I inch closer. ‘When it comes to my body, and giving it what it wants—–no. I have zero shame.’ This close, I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze, and the position makes me achingly aware of how much bigger he is, how much strength and power is contained in that muscular frame.
‘I knew you were dangerous the second I laid eyes on you at the club.’ The words rumble through his chest, and I swear I can feel them in my bones. His eyes are molten as they drop to my lips, lingering long enough to make my pulse race.
‘You’re the trained killer, yet I’m the one who’s dangerous?’ My voice comes out breathier than intended. I inch closer, slowly.
‘You’re lethal,’ he whispers a split second before his mouth crashes onto mine, hot and heavy and urgent. His tongue bursts between the seam of my lips, demanding entry. Every stroke of it stokes a fire deep inside my core. Huge, hot hands grip my waist, fingers digging into my skin roughly before sliding up to my breasts. He swallows my feral moan as he rolls his palms over my nipples. His erection strains against my stomach–fucking hell, Rian wasn’t exaggerating.
He’s the one who’s lethal. I might actually combust with lust if he doesn’t thrust his enormous cock into me in the next three seconds. I reach for his ass, fingers dragging his pelvis hard against mine.
‘Fuck.’ He rips his lips away and leaps back like he’s been burned. Black eyes blaze with both lust and disgust.
‘What’s the problem?’ My heart pounds through my ears and there’s a pulsing in my panties that’s practically painful.
‘You. The problem is you, Avery. You’ve spent the day torturing me with your transcendent tits, and now this.’ His eyes rake over my transparent lingerie and his hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me again. I pray to fuck the urge wins because my own urges are eating me alive.
‘We’re two consenting adults. We can do whatever we like.’ I take a tentative step towards him again, but he turns his back to me.
‘I’m supposed to be protecting you. Not railing you with my cock,’ he spits.
My hands fall to my hips. ‘Can’t you do both?’
‘No, Avery, I can’t. You might be reckless, but I’m not. Go to bed.’ He doesn’t turn around again.
‘Reckless? That’s what you think of me?’
‘I don’t think; I know.’ He blows out a heavy breath and stalks towards the terrace doors, staring out into the darkness.
‘Reckless is watching life from the sidelines because you’re too afraid to enjoy it. Reckless is assuming there’s always going to be a tomorrow. Reckless is dying without having fully lived.’ I strut towards the bathroom. I need a cold shower.
