I sat up, putting my book down. I was make up free and wearing what could only be described as a comfy shorts and vest set, and by set, I meant mismatched random clothing. “If I said no, what would your response be?”
The door opened as I imagined it would and Killian stood there, all six feet three of muscle, blonde hair and beard and blue eyes. His tattoos were visible on both arms as he wore a vest, biceps on show also. “Damn,” he said, staring straight at me. “I was hoping you’d have been naked.”
“No, just some very old…” I glanced down. “Never mind.” I smiled, partly with embarrassment, partly amusement.
Killian closed the door and leaned against it. “Did you hear me and Max?”
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it.
He watched me, blue eyes seeing straight into my soul, or so it felt. There was a brief nod and he moved to sit down next to me on the bed. “You’re okay about what was said?”
“Yes. There was nothing untrue to the extent of my knowledge,” I said, aware of the heat that his body exuded. I lifted a finger and began to touch the tattoos on his arm, tracing the curve of a rose’s petal, intricately inked onto his skin.
It was the only physical connection between us even though we were sat barely an inch apart. His eyes watched my finger move, making feather light touches following the lines. It seemed as if he was holding his breath, as if any exhalation would scare me away. I took my eyes from his arm and looked up at him, smiling. “I like the ink.”
He caught my hand in his and positioned it over his chest so I could feel his heart beating, the rhythm solid and strong. “I’m glad.” His lips touched mine and gave me the softest of kisses, lingering and full of promise. I hadn’t had sex in months and a good part of me, mainly between my legs, was aching for some attention other than my fingers and vibrator. I wished I could forget what had happened, why I had pushed him away and broken his heart, but my tensed shoulders told me that now was not the right time. I needed to give him closure on that sagabefore we could enter another.
Fingers stroked my hair behind my ear and he pulled back, his expression unreadable. “I need to take a cold shower and go look at business accounts or my email.”
“And not me in my tatty pyjamas?” I smiled, feeling like that eighteen-year-old virgin and needing that feeling, the peace it provided.
He chuckled. “I’d rather you in those tatty pyjamas than any underwear model.”
“You say the sweetest things. So, I couldn’t be an underwear model then?” I teased, portraying the character I’d hid behind these past few years.
“Claire, you’ve been my everything. Do you understand that?” He didn’t touch me. He didn’t need to.
“Back at you, K,” I said. “And if you stay here, right now…”
He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine, tentative, tasting. I reached to touch him, needing the heat of skin under my fingers. My hands travelled under his top, over the corded muscles of his abs and the firmness of his chest. I remembered the first time I explored his body with hands that were unsure. The response I’d had from my body back then had surprised me. I wasn’t entirely innocent; I’d had boyfriends with whom I’d done everything but, yet I’d never had such a need just from touching them or being kissed. It was the same now: I needed him.
I heard a moan I didn’t realise I was making and he pulled away from the kiss, chuckling. “I guess I don’t need to worry about whether you still find me attractive,” he said.
His cock was hard when I brushed it with my hand. “We can make good use of this,” I said. “I know somewhere it would fit just nicely.”
Killian moved away completely, looking wickedly at me. “I don’t put out on the first date,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning at the cottage. ‘Night.” He backed away to the door, his eyes never leaving me.
I gave him a nod, elation and nerves festering in my veins. “Bastard. I hope your balls are blue and they drop off.”
“Then I wouldn’t be able to serve one of my purposes,” he said. “I’ll think of how hard your nipples are and that wet patch between your legs while I jack off.”
“Bastard.”
He closed the door softly and I lay back in bed, thinking of him, his hands, how his lips felt. My hand slipped into my panties and I thought about what he would be doing now and how I’d missed him and needed him. After I’d came, I thought of how I would tell him about that summer, thirteen years ago, without breaking either of our hearts a second time around.
Chapter Nine
Killian
Leaving Claire alone in her room was the difference between the man I was thirteen years ago and the man I was now. Back then, I would’ve stayed, even if we hadn’t had done anything physical, I still would’ve taken my place in her bed and had her sleep next to my skin. Now the bigger picture was clearer and I could appreciate the complexities of the details within a wider context.
I needed to know why she’d ghosted me. Even when I’d come back to London and we’d spent most of our time together casting insults like crumbs before sparrows I’d never sensed she was genuinely hating me. Sometimes I’d caught her watching me when she thought my attention was elsewhere and she’d looked sad, which I’d fucking hated. Throughout our relationship, we’d not argued. Even though everything had been in secret and I could’ve flirted or even fucked other girls under the lie of it being cover, I never had because I didn’t want to and I wouldn’t have inflicted any pain on her. To be honest, I’d have put my hands around the neck of anyone who did.
In old pyjamas and without make up, she didn’t look much different to how she had at nineteen, only her eyes contained something different to what they had then. She had a story to tell, and I knew it was one where I should’ve played a central role but for whatever reason I hadn’t.
That summer I should’ve pushed harder to find out why she’d refused to take my calls or respond to my messages. Whatever it was, I should’ve been there to help her, to carry her through whatever it was that had caused her pain, even if it was me. But maybe I hadn’t been enough back then for her to want to need me. The thought near killed me.
Outside of Claire’s parents’ house, summer bloomed. The sky was bright blue and clear of clouds. In the distance, fields of barley coloured the landscape. There was no noise except the distant calling of the swallows who were flying high.
