I wait for it,anticipateit, my lips tingling with the very thought of it.
I want to know what it feels like to kiss him.
But it never comes.
He pulls away, his hands falling from my body. “We’ve got time, butterfly,” is all he says before he walks out, leaving me a hot, unsated mess melting into the wall staring after him wondering what the fuck just happened.
I’m not even sure itdidhappen, the only indicator that it did is the scent of him that still lingers in the air, the ghost of his mouth on my skin.
Is this all a game? Is he toying with me? Reeling me in to leave me hanging,achingfor more? As much as I don’t want to admit it, it’s working.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Killian Hunt will be the ruin of me.
And I’m going to let him.
16
“Babe, you should be here! Rita’s roast turkey smellsto-die-for!” I can picture the pout on Fi’s face on the other end of the phone and my stomach tightens, wishing I could join her.
I can think of a million places I’d rather spend Thanksgiving than being forced to entertain a room full of my father’s guests, forcing fake smiles and playing happy families when we’re anything but. And as much as I’d love to be with my best friend right now, celebrating with her, I can’t because I’m stuck here.
It’s strange, but the guys and girls that make up the Lawless family, I daresay are slowly becoming friends. A few weeksago, I couldn’t imagine ever saying something like that, but here we are.
“Believe me, if I could, I would,” I say, smoothing down the baby blue knee-length dress in the freestanding mirror, tugging at the high neckline that cuts into the base of my throat.
Through the mirror, I glance across to where my original choice lies discarded on my bed, a simple dark blue fitted dress that ends mid-thigh, paired with tights and black heels. Personally, I didn’t see the issue, but of course my father was all-too eager to object the second I entered the room, claiming it was too revealing. Despite the neckline not showing anything, and the slit up the left thigh only being three inches long, in his eyes, I would pass for a harlot.
Why not just ship me off to a convent and have done with it?
“Killian’s here,” Fi adds.
I’m not going to lie and say the mention of his name doesn’t make my belly flutter. “I’d be surprised if he wasn’t.”
“Sure it’s not enough to tempt you to come? I heard about what happened at the bar the other night.”
“What?! What have you heard?” I panic.
“That you basically admitted you have the hots for Kill in front of him and some of the guys.”
“Oh, right.” My heart rate slows. Thank god that’s all she knows.
“Why, what wereyoutalking about?” she quizzes.
“Nothing,” I lie.
It’s been a couple of days since I’ve seen Killian after ourencounterin the storage room and it sort of feels like he’s avoiding me. I’ve been at work every day since and every timethe damn door to the bar swung open, my breath locked up in the hopes he’d come sauntering through like he always does, but it never happened.
Does he regret it?Do I?I should, but I definitelydon’t.
I’ve replayed it in my mind more times than I care to admit and the memory alone is enough to have heat pooling low in my belly. Which is why when I got home that night I spent almost an hour under the covers in the darkness of my bedroom with my fingers between my legs, desperately trying to recreate the feelings he conjured in that room. I had hoped that having the mental image of Killian pressed up against me, the way he smelled enveloped me and his raspy voice in my ear would be enough, but as usual, I wasn’t able to, resigned to the same steady plateau, never quite able to getthere.
I hate it.
The only communication I’ve had with Killian since that night was a text to say my car has been fixed and was ready to pick up at the garage.
“I just can’t believe you like him. I was under the impression the only way you’dlikehim is if he was roasting on a spit with a rod shoved up his ass.”
I laugh at the mental image. “Idon’tlike him. I don’t have to like someone to find them attractive.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince by that statement, her or me. We both know I’m lying.
