Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Killian
“I’m still a bit surprised you agreed to this.
” Amusement wound around Aria’s words as she allowed him to help her into a long peacoat the same shade as the dress she’d worn to dinner two nights before.
He’d decided he enjoyed the way she looked in jewel tones, his own priceless gem, and he’d possibly gone overboard buying her things, especially seeing as how both the seasons and her body were changing with every passing day.
But he couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to her, and so her closet grew increasingly more crowded.
“As you said, we need to make a statement.”
Turning in his arms, she quirked a brow up at him in a rather impressive mimicry of the look he so often found himself giving her. Either he was rubbing off on her or Reagan was giving her lessons. Both options seemed equally plausible.
“I did say that. I just wasn’t expecting the statement to be ‘Here we are, come take another shot at us and our child.’”
Despite the evenness of her words, fear rippled beneath them. Hearing it, he pulled her more tightly against him, dipping his head to capture her lips in a slow, comforting kiss.
“You have my word nothing will happen to you or our baby,” he murmured when he lifted his head again to stare down into her stormy eyes. “We have an army at our disposal, and every single one of them would lay down their lives to protect you.”
“You do realize that only pisses me off more, right? The thought that I can’t even leave my home without a fucking army?”
Did she realize she’d referred to his house as her home? He had a feeling she didn’t, and he wasn’t going to ruin the moment by pointing it out to her. “I know. But that’s good.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Anger, at least a little bit, keeps you on your toes. Too much and it can cloud your vision, make you sloppy. But just the right amount can help you stay vigilant, prevent you from getting complacent.”
Tilting her head, she raked her gaze over his face. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”
“It is. I’ve been angry every day of my life for the last decade.”
Grief darkened her eyes. “That pisses me off, too. Regardless of what you’ve done, of what your family has done, you didn’t deserve that. None of you did.”
Knowing how she felt about the things he and his family had done, those words did more to ease the grief he carried with him than anything else over the past ten years had. “We should get going. Don’t want to be late for our reservation.”
“For our assassination, you mean,” she muttered as he nudged her toward the front door.
It had been her suggestion to make a statement. But clearly she was having her doubts. And if he knew one thing about his princess, it was that she did not deal well with doubts.
Pausing just in front of the door, he looked down at her, weighing his options. He could continue to be logical, to attempt to soothe with facts and reassurances of her safety.
Or he could give her what every instinct in his body was screaming at him that she needed.
“Eyes on me, princess.”
Her head snapped up at the sharp command, fury and need twin flames in her stunning eyes. “What?”
Capturing her chin between his fingers, he forced her head to tilt back, and was rewarded with her sharp intake of breath as her eyes darkened even further. “Nothing is going to happen to you out there. I won’t allow it. And do you know why that is?”
“Why?” The word was barely a whisper, her voice breathless.
“Because you are mine. And nobody, not the DeLucas, not the Russians, not Richard Fucking Williams puts a goddamn finger on what’s mine. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah.”
He tightened his grip on her chin. “How do you respond to me, princess?”
Eternity stretched between them in the silence that followed.
He wouldn't force her to say the words the way he had the other night. This was different. This wasn’t just about her agreeing to certain stipulations while she lived under his roof.
This, right now, was about her accepting her role as his woman, his babygirl.
His everything.
If she wasn’t ready to accept that, then he couldn’t force her. But if she was…
God, he hoped she was.
Time itself seemed to slow to a stop around them as she stared up at him with those fathomless eyes. And then, at last.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Relief and joy swept through him, both so strong they threatened to send him to his knees. But somehow he managed to stay upright and reward her with a smile and the brush of his lips over hers. “Good girl. Now, let’s go to dinner.”
Aria
Standing out in the open two days after having been shot at didn’t sit well with her. But having Killian by her side, the comforting weight of his hand at the small of her back did help, at least a little bit.
Still, it was a relief to step inside the cozy restaurant he’d chosen for their date. The lighting in the old-fashioned pub was dim but not dark, enough to give the illusion of being alone as you tucked yourself away in a booth despite the fact the place was brimming with people.
They were greeted at the front door by an older man with a grin that shone so brightly it nearly ruined the intimate atmosphere he’d clearly worked so hard to create. He pumped Killian’s hand in greeting before shifting his attention to Aria.
“And who is your lovely companion?” the man asked, taking Aria’s hand and lifting her knuckles to his lips in a move that should have been gross but somehow managed to come off as sweet and charming instead.
Maybe a little too charming, judging by the way Killian moved even closer to her, the hand on her back sliding around to settle on her hip. Subtle, but possessive all the same. “This is Aria. My…” Killian hesitated, clearly weighing his words. “She’s mine.”
Mine. It wasn’t the first time he’d called her that, and every time was an unexpected thrill. Not simply the word itself, but the way he said it, as if it were both a claiming and a warning at the same time.
And perhaps it was.
Approval lit the older man’s eyes. “Welcome to our restaurant, Ms. Aria. We’ve reserved Mr. O’Rourke’s usual table for you.”
“Your usual table, huh?” she murmured as they followed the man deeper into the restaurant.
“Yes. I have a particular affinity for their bread pudding, so I come here often.”
His usual table, unsurprisingly, was nestled in a corner where he could sit with his back to the wall, his alert gaze roving over the crowded restaurant as they settled into their seats.
Seemingly satisfied they weren’t in any immediate danger, his focus once more settled solely on her, and the sheer potency of his gaze threatened to knock the air from her lungs.
Needing a distraction from all that male energy, she picked up her menu. “So, um, what’s good here?”
“Everything.” Was it just her imagination, or did he sound particularly smug about that fact? “What are you in the mood for?”
“Something greasy and fried and wholly unhealthy.”
His low, rich chuckle teased her senses, washing over her like a physical caress. Which did nothing to help the throbbing ache between her thighs that had been present ever since he’d growled at her to look at him.
Eyes on me, princess.
She shouldn’t like that. Shouldn’t enjoy being bossed around, especially outside the bedroom. But fuck if those four words weren’t living rent-free in her head while her body all but sat up and begged for more.
“If you’re looking for deep-fried and void of all nutritional value, might I suggest the Pub Chips or the Banger Bombs?”
Interest piqued, she scanned the menu. “Banger bombs sound… bangin’.”
Across from her, he groaned, his expression turning pained. “That was truly awful, princess.”
Delighted by his response, she grinned. “No way. It was the bomb.”
His brows furrowed, but the twist of his lips told her he was holding back a smile. “I should put you over my knee and spank your ass red for that one.”
Need flared to life between her thighs. “Maybe you should.”
Leaning in, he dropped his voice, the low rumble of it seeming to echo through her veins with every word.
“Would you like that, princess? For Daddy to take down those pretty satin panties and spank your naughty bottom until you’re a whining, whimpering mess over my knee, begging me to fuck you with your bottom burning red-hot? ”
Again, she had the fleeting thought that she shouldn’t want any of that. And yet… “Maybe.”
Now he let the smile come, full of wicked intent. “I’m sure we can make that particular fantasy come true. And more, if you’re a very good girl.”
“Killian?”
The blood in Aria’s veins froze at the familiar voice. Jerking her head up, she stared up at the stunning blonde with the impossibly blue eyes.
Portia Williams. Daughter of the infamous Richard Williams.
And Killian’s former fiancée.
Fuck.
“Portia.” Like the blood in Aria’s veins, Killian’s tone was cold as ice. “What are you doing here?”
If Portia heard the cold fury in his words, she did a damn good job of hiding it. A sly smile curved her full lips. “Can’t a girl come congratulate her ex-fiancé on knocking up another woman?”
A muscle in Killian’s jaw jumped. But before he could respond, guilt welled in Aria’s chest and burst out of her. “I’m so sorry.”
They both turned to blink at her, but then Portia did the absolute last thing Aria had expected.
She laughed.
Head thrown back, her loud, delighted laughter seemed to fill the restaurant. “Oh, honey. You have nothing to apologize for. Even if I’d been madly in love with our boy here, it wouldn’t have been your fault. But as it is, you did me a favor.”
“A favor?” What the hell was she talking about?