KNOX
Iopen the door and walk into a fucking nightmare.
The guest room is massive. So damn huge it’s bigger than my entire kitchen and living room combined. The floors are made of dark wood… which is stupid, considering most of the surface area is buried under three different mats.
On top of the largest mat sits a huge four-poster bed draped in thick curtains, and there is a sitting area circling a fireplace with an ornate stone mantel.
Ugh… It looks like Richie Rich puked in here.
I hate it.
I drop my duffel onto an antique chair that seems like it’ll shatter under the weight… hell, everything in this room feels like it’ll break if I touch it.
BZZT! BZZT!
I take my phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen. Logan.
“I haven’t run away,” I say the second the line connects, and Logan chuckles at my misery.
“You better not. I bet you’d last two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” I scoff, pacing the floor of this stupid room. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Hey, it’s better than Tae’s.”
“What did he bet on? Two days?”
“Two hours.”
I laugh, picking up a ridiculous little satin pouch that was resting on top of my pillow. I squeeze it, and a puff of artificial lavender hits my nose.
Blegh… I gag on the scent.
“Who knows, boss… I might die before that.”
“That bad?” he asks, way too amused.
“There’s fucking potpourri on top of the pillow, Logan. Fucking potpourri… I’m gonna choke to death on lavender before the night is over.”
“Well, you can always enjoy the perks.”
“There aren’t any,” I grumble as I throw the devil pouch into the trash can.
“Have you seen the bathroom?”
“How is that a perk?”
“Ollie has been to the house before. He told Damián the showers are so big even you’d look tiny in them.”
“I don’t know if I—” The words die in my throat as I push open the door at the back of the room.
And, oh… okay.
Never mind.
This… this I love.
And how can I not? The bathroom is a masterpiece. It’s spacious as hell, all wood floors and tiled walls, a big tub, a long-ass vanity, and—holy shit! Is that a built-in wooden bench inside the shower?
Logan laughs at my sudden silence. “I’ll let you enjoy the perks. Call if there is an issue.”
“Sure thing.”
I hang up on Logan, toss the phone onto the vanity, and crank the handle. A waterfall of warm water rains down from the ceiling.
Oh, my Lord!
“Awesome…” I gasp as the room fills with steam.
I strip down, step under the hot spray, and plant both hands flat against the tile wall, stretching my back. The hot water sinks into the knots in my shoulders, melting away my stress and exhaustion.
Not all of it, of course… I’m still living a fucking nightmare.
But at least this makes it bearable.
Once the smell of lavender is out of my nose and my muscles feel relaxed, I shut off the water and step out. I take one of the towels hanging next to the shower door and wrap it around my waist… or at least I try.
These towels are so small, it looks like I’m wearing a mini skirt.
Mental note: bring larger towels next time.
Feeling a bit calmer, I walk back to the room, open the French doors, and step onto the balcony. A cool night breeze washes over my skin, raising goosebumps, and finally, for the first time since I stepped onto that private jet, I can breathe.
I close my eyes and take it in.
Ahh, so good.
The relief is instant. It’s so peaceful. So—
“Holy fuck!” A scream shatters my beautiful zen moment.
My eyes snap open, and I stare at the destroyer of my happiness.
“You!”
Standing on the adjacent balcony, glaring right at me, is none other than the insufferable Cillian Harrington-fucking-Hale.
His infuriatingly sexy lips are pressed in a thin line, and his sandy-brown hair is tied in a ponytail.
Who the fuck designed this place? Gaudí?
Even though our rooms aren’t in the same hallway, the balconies are staggered, separated by five feet of air and a slight height gap.
Cillian’s grey-blue eyes dart from my face to the towel at my hips and back again. “Why are you naked?” he whisper-yells, looking panicked.
“It’s called taking a shower.”
“But what the fuck are you doing there?”
“Regretting my life choices…”
“I meant in that room!” he hisses, gesturing frantically.
“You mean the room you assigned to me?”
“The room I wha—? Oh, shit…” Cillian’s face pales. “I forgot to specify to take the room to the left. Because the one to the right…”
“…faces your room,” I finish for him, and he nods.
I sigh, glancing back into my opulent prison. Well, at least I didn’t unpack.
I turn around, but Cillian stops me midway.
“Don’t bother,” he says, as if reading my mind. “That’s also a guest suite. Just… stay there.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I curtsy, because I have a skirt and because I can tell it infuriates him.
“Are you always this pleasant to your clients?”
“We will sign the final contract tomorrow. So technically,” I say, leaning a hand against the balustrade with a grin, “you’re not my client yet.”
“Why don’t we keep it that way?”
“Sorry, little prince,” I smirk, enjoying the flush of anger on his high cheekbones. “Looks like you’re not the one making that decision. So, why don’t you go back to your silky bed and let the grownups handle the business?”
I smile, expecting a little banter or more of his glares, but Cillian does something I don’t expect. He grips his railing, vaults over it, and lands on my balcony.
He steps into my space and slams a palm against my chest, shoving hard. I say “hard” for him, because my body doesn’t move an inch, but hell if the skin he’s touching doesn’t feel like it’s burning.
“You think I don’t know that?” he growls, his face inches from mine. “Do you think I’m not reminded every single day of how much my life isn’t really mine?”
Cillian presses his hand against my chest, and I can tell he meant it as something intimidating, but it’s having the exact opposite reaction on my body… And to make matters worse, I’m wearing the tiniest towel known to man.
Please don’t get hard… please don’t get hard.
“And since I’m not a ‘forced client’ yet,” he moves closer. “I can happily ask you without any legal repercussion: who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me that way?”
“Who the fuck am I?” I ask, taking a half-step closer. Our chests are now almost touching. “I’m the unlucky bastard who got hired to protect your ungrateful, dickish ass.”
“Ungrateful? I’m sorry for not being thrilled to lose the last tiny shred of freedom I had!”
“Yeah, I can see how tough you have it.”
Cillian’s hand shoots up, gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his glare. “Don’t you ever assume anything about my life.”
We stand there, locked in a standoff, breathing heavily.
The space between us is an inferno.
Every professional instinct I have is screaming at me to step back and de-escalate. But my body is doing something else.
This rage is twisting into desperate want. I want to crush my mouth against his just to shut him up. To make him kneel, and watch his arrogance come apart as he takes me down his throat.
A wind current hits my skin, and the chills shake my stupid brain, breaking the spell. I slap his hand away and take a step back.
“Same goes for you,” I say, my voice rougher than I want it to be. “And be careful when you jump back. Wouldn’t want you to slip and die before we even get a chance to prove your uncle right.”
“Please,” he scoffs. “I’ve been climbing these walls since I was ten. It’s more likely you’ll learn to be a pleasant human being than it is for me to fall.”
With incredible grace, Cillian turns, grabs the balustrade, and hoists himself back to his own side. He then disappears into the darkness of his room, leaving me alone in the silence, more frustrated than I was before and with the biggest, most confusing hard-on I’ve had in my life.
CONTINUE THE ADVENTURE