‘You have a cat?’ Killian scowls at me from across the glass-topped table. We ordered room service for breakfast, opting to eat it out on the terrace. I wish he’d eat me out on the terrace, because after our hot and heavy kiss the other night, it’s all I can think about.
‘Don’t pretend you’re interested in my pussy now,’ I snap, partly out of frustration and partly to goad him into some sort of reaction. He’s been positively stoic the past three days, sitting beside me at the beach, sleeping on the couch, and generally refusing to look my way at all. Though that hasn’t dispelled the sexual tension between us. No, if anything, it’s only escalated—for me at least. I’m fit to physically burst with it thrumming between us.
He ignores my quip and continues to stare at his laptop. ‘Cats are possibly the most disloyal creatures on the planet. If you insist on keeping a pet, you should get a dog.’ He lifts his coffee cup to his lips and my gaze follows. The way he kissed me was rough, urgent, like he was drowning and I was his last breath. Then he just stopped.
My eyes drop to the stubble lining his jawline. What I wouldn’t give to feel the friction of it between my thighs… wait… my head whips up and my eyes narrow. ‘How do you know I have a cat?’ I leap forward to peek at his screen. It’s split into eight boxes, all showing high- resolution images of my house in Dublin. ‘That’s my house!’
Could I sound any stupider?
‘Not just a pretty face, are you?’ he drawls.
‘That’s a violation of my privacy!’ I didn’t agree to that. Mind you, I didn’t really agree to any of this. It just sort of happened. Killian isn’t a man you say no to.
‘It’s a necessity.’ He finally looks up from the screen. My boobs are in direct line with his eyes. He closes them slowly, and grimaces like he’s in pain. Good. Being here with him, wanting him and not being able to have him is pretty fucking painful too.
I drop back into my seat and huff out a breath.
‘Do you want to say goodbye to Scarlett and James before they go on honeymoon today?’
My eyes snap to his. Talk about whiplash. One minute he’s kissing me, then tearing himself away like he’s repulsed, then he’s plain ignoring me, then he’s nice again. I can’t keep up.
‘Yes please.’ I stab my fork into a piece of pineapple. ‘But it’ll need to be early; I’ve arranged a private yacht charter.’ It’s another cracking day in St. Barths and, seeing as it’s my last full day, I plan on making the most of it—stalker or no stalker.
His fingers freeze over the laptop keyboard. ‘You did what?’
‘You heard me. A luxury day trip with snorkelling at Colombier Beach.’
‘When exactly did you book this?’ His voice has that dangerous edge I’m starting to recognise.
‘The other night, while you were brooding out here.’ I had to cheer myself up somehow. And distract myself from wondering about the girlfriend who died.
‘For fuck’s sake, Avery.’ He slams the laptop shut. ‘Did you use your credit card online?’
‘Yeah, now I think about it, I should have used yours, moneybags,’ I joke. I do pretty well for myself, but I haven’t quite reached billionaire status yet.
‘As usual, this is a fucking joke to you, isn’t it?’ He shakes his head. A vein pumps furiously at his temple. ‘You might as well have sent the stalker a fucking invitation.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous. There’s been no sign of our flower-loving friend for the past few days, and with your small army surrounding us, no one can get within ten feet of me anyway.’
‘You’re not going.’ He folds his arms over his chest.
‘I am. Come, or don’t come, but the only way you’ll stop me is by handcuffing me to the bedposts.’
‘Don’t fucking tempt me, Avery,’ he growls, and it reverberates through my entire body.
‘The choice is yours.’ I flash him a sarcastic smile.
Three hours later, we’re cruising along St. Barths’ rugged coastline on a sixty-foot Sunseeker Manhattan. The gleaming white yacht cuts through crystal-clear waters, its polished decks catching the Caribbean sun. Captain Marcel and his crew of three are discreet professionals. Thomson personally vetted each of them before letting us board.
Sterling and Walsh are positioned starboard, trying to look inconspicuous in their swim shorts. Thomson is at the port. Two more of Killian’s men are on a smaller boat, trailing us at a respectful distance. I’m surrounded by hot, hard men and I’m not even going to lie, I’m fucking lapping it up. Although, none of them hold a candle to their boss. In a pair of Tom Ford shorts and a short-sleeved white shirt, the man looks like a fucking model—and I should know. Killian Beckett is hot enough to melt off my bikini. I picked out a tiny black one for today but as usual he’s doing that thing he specialises in again—avoiding looking at me. Sterling doesn’t have the same restraint, I notice.
I stretch my legs out on a cushioned lounger on the flybridge. I’m pretending to read a magazine, but I’m actually perving on the eye candy from behind my sunglasses. Killian hasn’t stopped scanning the horizon since we left the marina. As usual his jaw is clenched tight enough to crack his molars.
The scenery is spectacular—and not just my hot security team. Emerald cliffs drop into turquoise waters, majestic looking luxury villas peek through tropical foliage, and there’s barely a cloud in the bright blue sky.
‘Relax,’ I call. ‘This is supposed to be fun.’ Killian’s gaze keeps returning to Sterling and his sly glances my way. If looks could kill, we’d be one security guard short.
‘For who? Fun isn’t getting murdered at sea because you’re irresponsible and reckless.’
‘I am not.’ I snort indignantly. ‘Irresponsible and reckless would be sneaking out alone.’ I gesture around the boat, ‘This is called Living. The. Fucking. Dream. All I’m missing is a martini.’
‘I’ll go get somebody to make one for you,’ Thomson offers from his position. Unlike Sterling, Thomson appears uncomfortable with my lack of clothing—a sure sign he is as happily married as Killian suggested.
What’s the big deal?
It’s only a body.
We all have one.
Poor Thomson, you’d swear he thinks I’m liable to leap on him. He’s safe. Killian, on the other hand, I can’t make any promises about.
Killian doesn’t want me, but he clearly doesn’t like Sterling looking at me. It’s time to see exactly how far I can push my brooding bodyguard. I can’t help myself. I reach for the SPF oil from my beach bag beside me and tug the string of my bikini top. I bite back my smirk as it falls to the ground beside me.
‘Avery,’ Killian snarls.
‘Yes?’ I bat my eyelashes in his direction.
‘Put your top back on.’ He strides towards me and picks it up from the ground with pinched fingers.
‘No.’ I glance at Sterling, who is watching intently.
‘Don’t make me make you, Avery,’ Killian warns in a low rasping tone.
‘Why does my sunbathing topless bother you so much?’ I smooth a hand over the side of my breast and bite back the urge to snigger.
‘It doesn’t,’ he snaps.
‘Good, because in case you forgot, I’m a glamour model who happens to have back-to-back photo shoots next week—I can’t have tan lines. Here, can you rub this on my back?’ I toss him the oil. His reflexes are razor sharp, catching it before it hits the ground.
‘Do it yourself. Or better yet, put a t-shirt on.’ Killian’s glare could slice through ice.
There are more ways than one to skin a cat. ‘Sterling, perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping me? Or maybe Walsh could?’
Walsh smirks like all he’s missing is a bag of popcorn. Sterling steps forward and Killian’s eyes narrow to slits. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he hisses. ‘In fact, go to the front of the boat. I’ve got things under control over here. You too Walsh.’
Sterling glances at me before marching off. Walsh follows on his tail—all trace of humour gone from his expression. Killian tends to have that effect on people.
‘Why do you insist on torturing me?’ Killian stares at the bottle of oil in his hands. ‘Are you so desperate for attention that you need every man in a five-mile radius salivating over you?’
I swallow thickly, push my sunglasses up on top of my head and tilt my face up until our eyes meet. ‘Honestly, I like feeling desired. It makes me feel alive.’
‘Well, congratulations. You got what you wanted.’
‘I didn’t,’ I admit. ‘The truth is, the only man here that I want to want me is you. How fucked up is that?’
His throat bobs as he swallows hard. ‘It’s fucked up.’
‘Stop fighting it, Killian. Never mind a fucking stalker. This chemistry between us is killing me.’ I get up from my sun lounger until we’re face to face, chest to chest. ‘We’re a world away from everything out here. Give in to it.’
‘What do you want from me?’ He asks in a low, strangled voice.
‘I want you to fuck me into next week.’ My chin juts upwards so our lips are millimetres apart. I breathe in his scent, and the junction between my legs throbs.
He scowls, but his eyes remain fixated on mine. ‘I can’t lose myself in you and protect you.’
‘Let Sterling watch out for twenty minutes.’ I place a hand on his arm, and for once, he doesn’t flinch.
‘Sterling is watching everything, believe me,’ he mutters darkly.
‘Why does that bother you so much?’ I sweep my thumb over the curve of his bicep.
‘What is it with you and the questions?’ He hisses. ‘You’re relentless.’
‘Answer them, and I’ll stop.’ I tilt my head to the side. ‘Why does it bother you when other men look at me?’
Tension lines his neck, his shoulders and even his forearms. He pauses for a long beat, so long that I’m not convinced he’ll answer me at all, but then he shocks us both. ‘It bothers me because I want to bend you over that fucking deck and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down without thinking of me for a full week.’
Finally.
‘But I can’t.’ Torrid flames burn in his irises.
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ I place my other hand on his hip.
‘Both.’ His focus falls to my lips. ‘You and your fucking pheromones and silky fucking skin and killer curves wreak fucking havoc on my senses, and I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.’
‘Believe me, the feeling is mutual,’ the words slip from my lips. ‘I don’t even know if I like you, but I can’t stop thinking about having your fingers, tongue and weeping cock inside of me.’ Desire pulses through me. ‘It’s torture.’
He hisses again. ‘Torture is watching all of my men drooling over your tempting tits. Torture is not being able to touch them, claim them, mark my territory and make them mine.’
‘Do it then.’ I push my chest forward until my breasts are resting on his chest. My nipples are taut, furled peaks, screaming for his attention. ‘Please, Killian, give me something. This fucked up attraction between us is killing me.’
He steps back and disappointment soars through my soul until he raises the hand holding the SPF oil. He flicks open the lid and squirts it straight between my breasts. We both watch as it trickles over my skin.
He tosses the bottle on the sun lounger. ‘This what you wanted?’ His fingers sluice through the oil, smearing it over each of my breasts in maddening circles around my rock hard nipples. My back arches and hips slam forward to meet his, seeking some sort of friction, but he steps backwards, so his hands are the only part of his body that’s touching mine.
‘Sterling, Walsh, and the rest of the crew are watching. They’re all wishing they were me right now. Does that turn you on, Avery?’
‘You turn me on.’ I blurt, blind with lust.
‘I’m not doing this for your benefit. I’m doing it for mine.’ He weighs each breast in his hand and squeezes to the point of pain. ‘I’m doing it so my men will think twice about looking at you again. So that they’ll think you’re mine, even though you’re not. Because they wouldn’t dare so much as fucking peep at you if you were.’
The man is a walking red flag, and I am here for it. My bikini bottoms are ruined. ‘Kiss me,’ I demand.
‘I’m going to,’ his pupils triple in size. ‘You wanted my attention, Avery. I’m going to give you so much attention that no man here will fucking dare look at you again.’ He pinches my nipples, and I push my lips on to his. A wicked laugh slides from his mouth into mine. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh. A ripple of anticipation slides over my spine. ‘Not there, sweetheart.’
I inhale sharply.
‘I’m going to kiss your perfect little cunt, in front of all these men, and then they’ll know for sure that you are off limits,’ he whispers. ‘Unless you don’t want me to, of course?’
Lust courses through every single cell in my body. I glance over to the front of the yacht. Marcel is facing away from us, steering as Colombier beach crests on the horizon. Sterling, however, is resting against the decking and facing this way. So is Walsh.
‘As much as I’m enjoying the momentary reprieve from your smart mouth, we don’t have all day.’ Killian sweeps one hand lower, dragging the slick oil over my stomach, while the other teases my nipple.
I knew he’d be filthy, but this? I had no idea he was capable of this. And I’m shocked at how soaked I am for it.
‘There are two conditions, though.’ His lips brush over the sensitive skin on my earlobe. ‘Firstly, this is a one-time offer. Now or never. Take it or leave it.’
Saliva floods my mouth. I want it so badly, but I’ve always prided myself on not flashing what’s inside my knickers. Some things are meant to be sacred, even after the Eyeful Avery scandal.
It’s like Killian can read my mind. ‘I’ll pull these flimsy little things’—he dips a finger inside the waistband of my bikini bottoms—‘to the side. The only thing Sterling and Walsh will see is the back of my head, and your face when you come on my tongue.’
I almost come just thinking about it.
‘You’ll look at me. You’ll watch me, and the image will torment you forever, the way the image of you and those perfect tits torments me.’
Saliva floods my mouth. Two strokes of his tongue and it’ll all be over anyway. That won’t give anyone a lot of time to look at much. ‘What’s the second thing?’
‘If I give you this, you put your bikini top back on. The only place you take it off is on our private terrace.’
I love his possessiveness. His need to claim me. It’s fucking primal.
I part my legs and give him my answer.
‘Good girl.’ He ushers me backwards until my ass hits the half height wall along the edge of the deck, then lowers himself to his knees.
