5. Lilah

LILAH

I once heard female dragonflies will fake their own deaths instead of mating with unwanted males, and now I can’t help but imagine them looking at their friends, laughing. Like, here comes Joey. Quick, girl, play dead.

—Lilah’s Secret Thoughts

I run my fingers over the keys of my baby-grand piano, humming my favorite song. It was always one of Mom’s most loved, and as I sing the first lines, I can picture her dancing in the studio in our basement. Her eyes closed, just feeling the music.

Music can transform you.

It can calm you and excite you and heal you and break you all in one really good song.

The rhythm, the beat, the heart.

If you’re lucky, it’s always with you. In your head and your soul.

Keeping you safe and sound and sane.

Not that I feel sane or sound or safe.

Nope. I’ve been robbed. Metaphorically speaking.

I’ve spent the better part of the past twelve months having this house built. Painstakingly picking out every last detail. From the beautiful black-and-white checkered tile floor in my music room, to the trim work on the walls, and every single oversized window that looks out onto the ten acres surrounding my house. Acres and acres of Christmas trees because I wanted open windows and open porches and open balconies with beautiful French doors. But I also wanted privacy. I wanted escapism, and this house, to me, is escapism at its finest. I get to be free and private and not feel like I’m constantly being watched and judged while also feeling like I’m not being boxed in.

What a joke. I’ve been put in a box my whole life.

I know. Poor little rich girl. The oldest daughter of one of the best quarterbacks the NFL has ever seen and one of the most successful romance authors to ever put her fingers against a keyboard. Must have been a really hard life.

Truth be told, it wasn’t.

It was idyllic.

How many people can say they grew up in a happy, loving, well-adjusted family, with two parents who loved them and each other? We like to tease Mom and Dad that maybe they love each other a little too much. But really, seeing the way Dad still likes to squeeze Mom’s ass when he thinks we’re not watching gives me hope that I’ll have that one day. Though, I could go the rest of my life without overhearing them doing whatever they like to do when they sneak away, which is whenever they think they can get away with it. Good lord, who knew you could be that hot for each other after almost thirty years? Yup. Thirty. They were high-school sweethearts too.

I used to think that would be me.

The high-school sweethearts who grew old together.

I mean... that’s what I thought when I was fifteen. It took me a year to put it out there to see if the sweetheart I loved felt the same. I thought he did. I still think the fucker did. But for such a badass, scary guy, apparently love and commitment are the two things that scared him. That would explain all the other girls he noticed in school. I was his best friend. I was who he hung out with. I was the one cheering him on at his wrestling meets and MMA tournaments. We were study buddies. We were confidants. We were everything. But it turns out, we were actually nothing at all.

We were everything until we were nothing at all.

That’s not too bad.

I grab my phone and sing the lyric into my app before jotting it down into my notes. My fingers sliding over the keys again, this time to the melody playing in my head. The one rudely interrupted when the front door opens, jolting me momentarily until I hear my brother’s laughter.

I grab my hoodie and toss it on over my tank, padding my way down the hall to the front door, then stop short, expecting to see Noah walking in. Not prepared for Killian to be next to him.

“Don’t you have a house?” I ask before I hear how nasty it sounds. Nasty, even for me.

Killian stands tall, his broad shoulders taking up the entire doorframe as Noah pushes past him. “I have a penthouse. Thanks. Would you rather I let Noah drive home after a few too many drinks, princess?”

Noah coughs the fakest cough ever and walks toward me. “Just hear him out, Tink. I’m going to bed.”

“What?” Killian and I both ask as my brother slaps us both on the back.

“You,”—he points at Killian—“work it out.” Then he turns my way, his blue eyes softening. “And you...” Noah runs his hands up my arms. “Try listening to him for a change. Really listen, Tink. Because it’s your life, and we’re running out of options.” He drops a kiss on the top of my head and walks up the winding staircase, gripping the wrought-iron banister like he’s afraid he’ll fall to his death without it.

I shift on my feet and watch Noah until he’s out of sight. Because I don’t know what else to do or say, I stay silent until the quiet snick of my front door locking behind Killian before he turns my way knocks me from my frozen trance. “What in the world is he talking about?”

I nearly get lost watching Killian’s Adam’s apple working as he swallows, then licks his lips. I don’t even think he realizes what he’s doing. His eyes take in every inch of my bare legs but stop on my... chest. What the hell?

I snap my fingers in front of his face. “My eyes are up here, champ.”

“Nice hoodie.” His voice is thick and delicious. Raspy.

This is why I avoid him.

These kinds of thoughts are not an option.

“It’s a million years old. Why are you still here?” I fold my arms over my chest, which if I’m honest, does little to take his eyes off my boobs because I’ve just pushed them up. Dillan might have gotten Mom’s ass, but I got her boobs.

“I know exactly how old it is, Tink. It’s mine,” he growls.

I roll my eyes and hold my ground. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and I stole this from you in ninth grade. I’ve had it longer than you ever did. It’s mine.”

“Possession, huh?” Damn that voice. Why does he sound turned-on, and why in the world does that thought do things to me? Killian walks by me like this is his house, not mine, and heads back to the kitchen.

I stand here, dumbfounded for a hot second, then yes, I stomp my foot like a pissed-off toddler. I probably look a whole lot like my best friend’s daughter right now, but I push that thought aside and follow the big oaf. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Damn him and his long legs.

He’s already in the kitchen with the fridge open by the time I get there. “Killian, stop.”

His stupid dirty-blond head pops up above my giant subzero refrigerator door. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

He holds up a bottle of water and shuts the door. “Getting water. I’ve got to run in the morning, and I had a shot tonight... Actually, two. I need to flush it from my system before I run.”

“It’s snowing out. You’re going to run in the snow?” I can’t decide if that sounds fun or stupid. Knowing me, I’d fall and bust my ass. Knowing him, he’d be fine.

Douchebag.

“You know those things at the gym that you run on... they’re called treadmills, and I run on them too. If it weren’t already snowing tonight, I’d still run outside tomorrow. But I don’t want to bite it on black ice. So the gym it is. Tomorrow is a ten-mile day.”

“Damn... ten miles, huh?” Easy peasy. But I don’t tell him that.

I don’t tell him anything.

“Okay. I meant what are you doing in my kitchen? Don’t you have a perfectly good one at home? Your home?”

Killian cracks the lid open on the water, and here I go watching that stupid Adam’s apple working again. When did this turn into my kink?

Oh yeah. When it’s him.

He’s always been my kink, and fucking hell, that frustrates me.

Once he finishes the bottle, he looks around for the trash, then opens cabinets until he finds it and tosses the bottle into the recycling bin. In two big steps, he’s in front of me, and in a move that has me gasping, the giant, brooding bastard puts both hands on my hips and sits me on the marble counter. His hands stay planted on either side of me. We’re still not eye to eye, because when I say giant, I mean well over a foot taller than me.

“We’ve got to talk, princess.” His words and voice hold no room for argument. He’s serious, not playing, and I’m not ready for this. Not even a decade later.

“No, we don’t.” I slap my hand against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

This close, everything about this man is overwhelming.

The way he still smells like the ocean, even though we live an hour away from the nearest one. The catlike green eyes with the gorgeous golden flecks that only ever come out to play when he’s super serious or super scared... rare as the second option is. His dirty-blond hair, that’s always been just a little too long, that I used to run my fingers through when he’d lay his head in my lap. Ugh.

“Yeah, we do. Why are you fighting your security?”

“What?” Of all the things he could say, that wasn’t what I was expecting.

“Noah told me you won’t let your security do its job. He’s scared to death for you. He thinks you need someone closer than you’re letting them get.”

When I refuse to look into his eyes, one hand slips under my chin, forcing my face up. “Lilah...”

“You don’t get to ask me this. You don’t get a say in how I live my life, Killian. You lost that privilege when you chose wrong.” Emotions long ago shoved far away crawl up my throat until I push them right back down.

I will not cry over this man.

Not again. Not ever again.

“Wrong answer, Lilah.”

I slide my leg up and press my bare foot to the center of his chest. “Back the fuck off before I make you, St. James. You lost privileges ten years ago. You don’t get to be concerned. You don’t get to have a say. And you certainly don’t get to lecture me.”

He wraps his rough, calloused hand around my ankle, and instead of me pushing him away, he drags me closer.

Damn it.

“Your brother is worried. Your family. Your friends. Your label. Everyone is worried about you. Everyone but you. Do you hear how selfish that sounds, Lilah? Do you?”

I yank my foot away, and anger and humiliation skitter over my skin. “Fuck you, Killian. You didn’t care then, and you don’t get to care now.”

“I never stopped caring, princess. Believe it or not.” His stupid lips tug up on one side, and he drops his hold. “Noah and Maddox both think you need a new level of security, and according to them, so do your parents.”

“Oh my God,” I yell. “Why the hell do you care? Jesus, I hate you.”

When I shove him away this time, he lets me, and I hop down from the counter, desperate for space. But of course, that’s not Killian’s way. He immediately crowds me against the counter, refusing to let me escape. “Yeah well, you used to love me. I hope your acting is still top-notch. Because we have a plan, and it’s going to require you to fake it till you make it, princess.”

“I swear to God, if someone in the house doesn’t start making sense tonight, I’m going to kick everyone’s asses,” I yell and smack his chest, his big, broad, solid chest that just absorbs my hit without a single move. I used to love falling asleep on that chest.

Stupid fucking muscles.

Stupid fucking man.

“I’d like to see you try.” He brings his face down to my level, and his breath smells like a mix of mint and bourbon. He smells delicious. That’s it. God hates me. I must have tortured kittens in a past life or something. Because there is no other reason this man should look this good this close.

“Just spit it out so you can go the hell home, St. James. I’m tired.” Not a lie.

Killian wraps two strong arms around me, and for a second, I drop my forehead to his chest. This was us. The old us. The comfortable us.

I think I must be losing my ever-loving mind. Because I swear this man—the one I’m still considering kneeing in the balls—sniffs me. He inhales, and his whole body loosens. Relaxes. And mine wants to do the same. But there’s no way I’m missing my chance.

I slide under his arm and dart across the kitchen, then spin on my heels, because there’s no way in hell I’m giving this man my back. “You done yet?”

His responding smile is slow and wicked and so damn sexy, I’m pretty sure my panties get damp and my knees get week.

Fuck my life.

“You need a bodyguard, princess. One you’ll let inside your home. One who can stick close. One who can make the whole world think you’re taken.” Then the bastard lifts a brow, and a dimple pops deep in his stupid cheek. Just one dimple. Because when God gave this man anything, he gave with both freaking hands. “One who doesn’t have to rely on a gun to do it. And who can make a man shit his pants just by his reputation alone.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I’m not even yelling now. Nope. I’m screaming. Like a banshee, my mother would say. A crazy, wild, fucking banshee. “Get out.”

I march back to the front door and thank the stars above that his big black boots make even bigger, louder noises as he follows me. “You do not get to tell me what I need. And you certainly don’t get to be the answer to anything I may want or not want. I’m the only one who makes decisions about my life. I’m not that sixteen-year-old girl begging you for anything, Killian, and I haven’t been for a long time. Now. Get. Out.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of a hunter-green wool coat that looks unfortunately good on him, and damn, if his ridiculously cocky smile doesn’t double in size. “We’ll see about that, princess.”

I watch in shock as he finally walks through my door and of course manages to get a foot in the way when I attempt to slam it in his ugly—how I wish it was ugly—face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lilah.”

“In your dreams, Killian.” He moves his foot and pulls the door closed behind me, robbing me of the chance to slam it. And as my blood absolutely boils, his voice echoes through the door.

“Lock up, Lilah.”

Ahhhh . . .

I throw the deadbolt and set the alarm, then throw my head back against the wall and close my eyes.

“Good girl,” comes through the damn door, and I want to curse him out all over again, but that would mean admitting I was still here and heard him in the first place. “’Night, princess.”

I slide down the wall to my ass and almost silently whisper back, “’Night, champ.”

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.