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19
Killian
It’s a short drive from the bar to Scarlett’s place, but it takes every shred of self-control I have not to pull over on the side of the road and tug her onto my lap. I know if I touch her, I won’t be able to stop, so I keep a vise-like grip on the steering wheel.
I feel her eyes on me, but I stare straight ahead, laser-focused on getting home. Thank god, Piper wanted to stay behind and get a ride home with one of her colleagues. I’m not sure Scarlett or I could have handled her in the backseat right now.
I’m hyper-aware of every breath, every tiny movement as Scarlett shifts in her seat, every second that ticks by and feels like an eternity.
I pull up outside the house and cut the engine. We look at each other, and it feels like a moment suspended in time. It was easier in a parking lot, when neither of us were really thinking straight, but now … Who am I kidding? I haven’t been thinking straight around her for a while.
“What now?” she asks, toying with the strings of her shirt.
“We go inside,” I answer. “And we pick up where we left off, if that’s what you want to do. Or we go inside and I make hot chocolate, and we sit down with a Christmas movie and one of your new puzzles. Whatever we’re doing here, we’re doing it on your terms. Whatever you want, Scar.”
“I want … I want to pick up where we left off,” she answers, but her hands are shaking. “It’s just been a while since I was, you know, with anyone.”
“How long’s a while?” I ask.
She leans back against the headrest, her eyes closed, her expression pinched. “Like, five years.”
It takes a second for my mind to register. Five years. She hasn’t been with anyone since she got pregnant with James. Shit. The last person she slept with was my dad.
“I understand if it’s too weird. I—”
“It’s not too weird,” I promise her. “I’m just curious: has there been anyone else since you met him?”
She shakes her head. “I think getting pregnant at eighteen kind of took the fun out of casual sex, you know? Besides, I always felt like no one would be interested in a single mom, let alone the girl who got knocked up by a forty-eight-year-old—not once, but twice.”
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed how much shame she seems to carry around about it, but I hate that she’s been carrying it for so long. And I’m furious that my dad gets to go about his life without a single shred of it.
I undo my seatbelt and turn so I can reach across the center console and take her hand. “Yes, you got pregnant at eighteen, and I’m sure there are people who are assholes about it. But Scarlett, love, you are so much more than that. And you’re an incredible mom, but you’re more than that, too. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise. You are a whole person, and, if it wasn’t clear, I’m interested.”
Scarlett’s eyes widen, her cheeks rosy. She opens and closes her mouth, drawing in a deep breath before speaking. “You are a very good man, Killian Michaelson.”
“You make me want to be better,” I admit. A better version of myself; better than my dad. I’m still pissed as hell about the shit he said to Scarlett on the phone. I couldn’t hear everything, but I heard enough to wipe away any lingering guilt about my feelings for her. Whatever relationship they had, I’m going to make sure Scarlett learns she’s worth more than that.
As far as I’m concerned, my dad is dead to me. I’ll be civil, for Caitlin and James’s sake—and the rest of my family, I suppose—but I know my family, and I’d be surprised if I was the only one to be done with him after it comes out how he’s treated Scarlett. And my mom … She’s put up with him being an absent asshole for years. I came here hoping he’d step up, but now, I hope this is the push she needs to walk away from him. Like Scarlett, she deserves better.
Scarlett smiles, shaking her head as she undoes her seatbelt. “You? Better? Impossible.” She leans across the center console and inches close enough that I feel the heat radiating from her. The kiss surprises me, and I barely have time to kiss her back before she’s pulling away and opening the car door.
“Are you coming?” she asks, with an over-the-shoulder smile that makes my heart skip a damn beat.
I watch her walk carefully up the path and sigh, rubbing my face before following.
I’m so fucked. And I couldn’t be happier about it.
Scarlett is sliding her key in the lock when I make it up the porch steps. I wrap my arms around her from behind, and she relaxes against me. She looks good in my shirt. Pressing my lips against the top of her head, I breathe her in. The smell of whiskey, beer, and smoke clings to her, mixed with the sweet, Christmassy, fruity scent of Scarlett. The combination is intoxicating.
Fallon has a habit of dragging me and Ronan shopping whenever we’re hanging out, and she loves to spend hours smelling candles. She has one for every occasion, in every scent, and, if I didn’t think she’d take the piss out of me for it, I’d pull out my phone and describe exactly how Scarlett smells right now, in the hopes she could find me something that comes close. Not that anything could live up to the real thing.
Scarlett finally unlocks the door and steps over the threshold, out of my grip. But she holds her hand out to me, pulling me inside with her. I kick the door closed behind me, spinning her around so I can press her to it. She gasps, her head dropping back against the wood as I lean in and run my lips along the curve of her jaw.
She slides her hands up the back of my T-shirt, her fingers cool against my bare skin. My lips trail down her neck, and I can’t stop myself from tasting her as I push my flannel shirt off her shoulders. It falls to the floor, and Scarlett’s nails dig into my back as I drag my tongue across her skin.
“Fuck, Scar,” I moan. I slide my hands slowly down her body, taking in every inch of her. Scarlett presses against me, like she can’t get close enough, so I grip her ass and squeeze, before lifting her. She wraps her legs around my waist and we both groan. I take a deep, steadying breath, trying not to come in my jeans. My cock is straining at the zipper, as desperate for her as the rest of me. Even through two layers of thick denim, mine and hers, she feels fucking incredible.
She knots her fingers in my hair, tugging my face to hers. Our lips crash together, our tongues picking up where we left off at the bar in an easy dance.
