Caroline
“Do you have plans today?”
I’m sprawled out on the couch in the living room, still in my pajamas, with a romance novel in my hand. I look at Killian as he settles in the chair across from me.
“Are you serious?” I ask, waving down at my prone body. “I’m currently in the middle of my plans.”
“How do you feel about being a tourist?”
I lower my book. “Are you serious? You don’t have clients?”
Killian almost smiles. “No clients. Do you like catacombs?”
I swing my legs off the couch and sit up. “I’ve never seen catacombs, but I’m sure I can be persuaded. Give me ten minutes to get dressed.”
I rush off to my room before he can change his mind and pull on a pair of loose jeans and a fitted sleeveless top that leaves most of my back bare. I rub a brush through my hair and pull it into a loose braid, dab on some concealer, blush, and lipgloss, and I’m good to go.
We take the train into the city and arrive on Mulberry street in thirty minutes, just in time for the tour.
The catacombs are dark and gloomy. We’re handed tealights as part of the tour and I lose myself in the rich, creepy history.
Killian walks behind me, and I’m not sure if he’s interested or not, but I have the most fun.
“That was amazing,” I tell Killian, once we’re back in daylight. “Where do you want to be buried?”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” he says, as we start walking.
It’s a beautiful day. The sun’s out so the cool breeze isn’t chilling. I still pull on my sweater as we walk.
“Do you mind walking on this side?” Killian takes my arm and pulls me to the inside of the sidewalk. As if he’s less likely to get hit by a moving vehicle.
“I’m surprised you haven’t thought about it,” I muse. “A lot of people must be waiting for you to die.”
His eyes swing to me, confusion and outrage mixing together. “What?”
I laugh. “I mean, art appreciates after the death of the artist, right? You’re an artist. Surely there are some sickos who are waiting for you to drop dead.”
Killian nods. “This reminds me, I need to buy a lock for my door.”
I burst out laughing. He can easily tackle me to the ground if I decide to attack him. Not that I’m tiny, I’m just very selective with my work out routine and I’m not at my strongest right now.
Killian points out a lot of places as we walk. We’re walking close enough that the backs of our hands brush and neither of us pulls away.
As we walk through Bryant Park, under trees which are just starting to turn green, I turn to Killian.
“What’s your favorite part about living here?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” he says. Of course he hasn’t.
“You live here,” I say. “You must have given it some thought.”
He turns to assess me. “What do you like about it?”
“I can’t answer that, I’m basically still a tourist,” I say.
“If you had to guess.”
I twist my mouth to the side, watching a dog running across the grass. A light breeze plays with my hair, the scent of soil and freshly mowed grass fill the air. Car horns sound every so often, filling the breaks between conversations.
“I like the freedom. It’s not the city itself, it’s what it represents. Possibilities, choices, and freedom.”
The next day, he takes me to the Garment district for no reason other than I like clothes. Which is reason enough, if you ask me. I take out my phone and take a photo of The Garment Worker sculpture as we walk past.
“I like the areas of New York where you can feel the history,” I say. “The years, and years of work and effort to make this industry what it is.” I look at Killian. “Pick a color.”
He heaves a sigh. “Not this again.”
“Do it! You know you want to.”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “Yellow.”
“I will do green. Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes.”
I rush off before he can say anything else. I know he’s only playing tour guide to keep some distance between us and I’m fine with that. Mostly. I’d rather make out, but the man has his principles.
It’s definitely a good thing he’s not rushing me, right? His patience is a good thing for me because who doesn’t like a patient man? Still, making out sounds so much fun.
I find lots of green things to take photos of, graffiti, and awnings, faded words written on the side of a brick building. There’s a vibrancy of color in this concrete jungle, sometimes obvious, sometimes hidden away if you’re only willing to look.
“Let me know if you need to return to the Tower of Exhaustion,” I say to Killian, when we meet back up.
“The tower will survive without me,” he replies dryly. “These are for you.”
It’s only then I notice the bouquet he’s holding in his hands. I blink at the pretty pink and yellow flowers in confusion.
“For…me?”
Killian looks down at me, his face blank, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “Yeah, butterfly. For you.”
I accept them with some hesitation, holding them close to my chest.
“No one has ever gotten me flowers before,” I say softly.
“That’s because you’ve been surrounded by idiots your whole life,” Killian says. He drapes his arm over shoulder and starts walking. I have no choice other than to follow.
“You were also a part of my life for a long time,” I remind him.
“I’m possibly the biggest idiot of all.”
“I can’t deny that.”
Killian lightly pinches my side and I giggle.
“What do you think of these?” Killian gently rests his chin on my bare shoulder as he whispers in my ear.
His body is pressed against mine, and for a man who insists we should take things slow, he sure does touch me a lot. Not that I’m complaining. All I want is for him to lose all that well-oiled control and take me against a wall. A bed. A couch. I’m not picky.
I use the brochure I’m holding to fan myself.
It’s humid in the greenhouse and my salacious thoughts aren’t keeping me cool.
We’re visiting the Bronx Botanical Garden today which is just coming to full bloom as we creep towards the end of May.
The greenhouse is empty except for the two of us, though there was a big group in here earlier.
“It’s a plant, Killian,” I whisper. “What am I supposed to think of it?”
“You always have an opinion on everything,” Killian says.
“Are you calling me opinionated? Should I be offended?”
“I like to hear your opinions.”
His hand comes to rest on my back partially on my bare skin since I’m wearing a halter sundress which dips low in the back. The heat of his palm seeps into my body. I need a cold bath. Ice cold.
“Are you okay?” Killian asks, peering down at me. “You’re all red.”
“It’s hot in here,” I say.
Killian rests his hand on my forehead to check my temperature. He lowers it to my cheek, down to my neck. My lips part on an exhale. He’s standing so close his woodsy scent mixes with the scent of the soil. I feel like I can’t breathe properly.
“Killian,” I whisper, as his fingers trace my collar bone.
“You might be having an allergic reaction to something,” Killian whispers, his eyes focused on his hand as he trails it across my bare skin.
“I’m having an allergic reaction to you being an absolute tease,” I reply. My whisper seems somehow too loud.
I swear the corner of Killian’s mouth flickers up into a smile. “I’m only trying to make sure you’re okay.”
I point an accusing finger at him. “You know exactly what you’re doing, and it’s not making sure I’m okay.”
His arm snakes around waist and he pulls me against him so suddenly my breath catches in my throat. His blue eyes burn like fire as he lowers his head until our lips almost brush.
“Maybe you’ll remember this the next time you’re walking around the apartment in flimsy little sleep shorts and a top that barely covers anything and can be ripped off with a tug,” he growls.
Okay, so maybe I started the whole teasing thing. It’s not like I went out and bought those clothes for him. I’ve always had them and never gotten the chance to wear them until now.
“I’m not the one stopping you from ripping them off,” I say.
Killian places a searing kiss on my neck which has me biting off a moan.
“So innocent, sweet Caroline,” he says. “Do you know why I’ve been eagerly playing tour guide?”
“Because you want me to have fun?” I ask, blinking up at him.
Killian’s lips curl up into a smile, though he’s not amused.
“Because there’s a very big part of me that wants to keep you locked up in the Tower of Exhaustion, as you call it.
No one will see you or touch you. You’ll always be mine and I’ll have endless hours, days with you.
To listen to you talk, to paint you, to feel your body beneath mine. ”
As someone who’s felt trapped and left exactly the kind of life Killian is painting, I don’t know why his words don’t scare me. Maybe it’s the humidity in the greenhouse, but all his words do is turn me on more.
“I’m not going to do that,” he says, pressing a soft kiss on my cheek.
“You’re my beautiful butterfly and I want you to fly from flower to flower.
I don’t want to pin your wings and keep you on display.
The beauty of a butterfly is, it appears when you least expect it and it always makes you happy.
I don’t want to keep you as a memory in a box. I want to live you every day.”
Ugh, how does he say so many beautiful things all at once? Kissing my other cheek, he pulls back slightly to look at me.
Of course, the door opens behind us and a group of people come in just as things are starting to get interesting.
Killian steps back as if nothing happened. Taking my hand, he leads me through the rest of the conservatory. Meanwhile, I’m reeling from his words and trying to keep my wits about me.
Two days later, I’m lying on my bed on my front, my legs up in the air behind me when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
Killian pushes open the door and leans against the doorframe. We haven’t spent any time together the last two days and a part of me thinks he’s avoiding me because of the greenhouse confession. Which has starred in my fantasies since then and I haven’t been able to think about anything else.