With every day that passes at work, I feel more and more at ease in my role and it keeps me busy which is exactly what I need today. After my conversation with my father this morning, I welcome the distraction, throwing myself into my work, forcing my father’s cruel words from my mind. It also helps take my mind off the other man who plagues my thoughts. A man I can’t decide if I like or hate.
I saw a different side to him yesterday that changed what I thought I knew. My father would have me believe Killian is some heartless criminal who has never done a decent thing in his life. And yet he walked out of that cage, mid-fight knowing he was forfeiting all that money just to protect me.
Maybe I was wrong about him all along.
All day I’ve watched the door to the bar swing open in the hopes it would be him walking in, and every time it was someone else stepping inside my heart sank.
I finish wiping down one of the tables before returning behind the bar. Jett is currently leaning up against the side of the bar, chatting up one of the customers, a beautiful blonde who hangs off his every word. I’m sure he’ll have smooth-talked her panties off before last call.
The door swings open and I can’t stop my heart from leaping into my throat when Killian saunters through like he owns the place, like he knows he’s the hottest thing in here.
And despite the cuts to his face and the bruise on his cheek, he is.
He’s in all black today, his t-shirt stretched tight over his upper body that I’m sure was sculpted by Michelangelo himself, his leather kutte thrown on over the top. His black jeans are fitted, hugging his thick thighs and toned ass perfectly.
His thick dark hair is pulled back into a high bun at the back of his head, wispy strands of rich brown hair framing his face and falling over his forehead. It’s almost annoying how effortlessly handsome he is. It takes me a good fifteen minutes of tugging, teasing then starting all over again to perfect a messy bun and yet the masterpiece on top of his head probably took him ten seconds.
Sex and sin drips from every inch of him and there’s not a single woman in this room who’s head didn’t turn the second he walked in. Even the married ones, their wedding bands miraculously disappearing as soon as they saw him. Not a single woman immune to the magnetic pull this man has, not even me.
But he doesn’t see them. Doesn’t even spare them a passing glance. All he sees is me.
His eyes immediately seek me out and my breath locks up in my chest as he makes his way over to me, a hint of a smirk on his face, knowing damn well my eyes are eating up every delicious inch of him.
“Judging by the look on your face, you should’ve taken me up on that booty call offer after all,” he says, stopping to lean forward on the bar in front of me.
“I’m a lot of things, but desperate has never been one of them.”
He frowns. “Really? That’s strange. Is that…? There seems to be a little bit of drool, just there,” he points to the left corner of my mouth and on instinct my hand flies up to wipe my mouth, but it comes back dry.
He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You make it far to easy to wind you up.”
Bastard.
“Remember how that guy last night got my knee up in his junk? Maybe take that as a friendly warning.”
“We’re friends now? Well, that’s a step in the right direction, at last.” There’s a brief pause before he continues, “Are you alright after last night?”
I shrug. “I’m fine. It’s not the first time a man’s put his hands on me, you’d think I’d be used to it by now.”Shit. I know I’ve said too much as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
Gone is the flirty mischief in his eyes as a murderous rage in it’s place. “You’ve been hurt before? When? By who?”
“Not here. At college before summer break.” I don’t elaborate. The last thing I want right now is to be reminded of that night. Ofhim.
Killian opens his mouth to ask me more but I cut himoff.
“How are your hands?” I ask, deflecting.
He sighs, clearly annoyed with my change of subject, but he doesn’t press. He inspects his bandaged hands, a few smaller cuts poking out from underneath the bandage that are already beginning to heal. “Nothing to worry yourself about, butterfly.”
I hate how my stomach flutters at that nickname. The first time he used it, I hated it. I’m not sure when I stopped hating him calling me that, but now, just like in his truck last night, there’s a tenderness behind it.
“Beer?” I ask.
He nods. “Thanks, darlin’.”
I reach for a chilled bottle of beer from the fridge in front of my legs and flip off the lid before sliding it towards him.
“Oh, I uh… I got Beau to tow your car to the garage this morning. Said he’d keep me updated on the progress.”
