6. Ellie #3
He looks like he wants to argue. To fight for what we have.
And I stand there thinking, what is it exactly? Scheduled affection, polite dinners, and the way he always corrects my posture when we’re out in public. Stability dressed up as love while I slowly suffocate under the weight of his expectations.
"If this is what you want," he says, grabbing his coat, his expression shifting into that same mask he uses in court, "then we need to reconsider everything."
It's an ultimatum. I should care. I really, really should. But all I feel is a sickening wave of relief as I listen to him walk down the hall, followed by the heavy thud of the front door closing.
I lean back against the wood until it catches my weight, then slide to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, letting out a long exhale.
Eighteen months gone in an instant. The only thing I feel is the hollow realization that I chose Killian over Nathan before I even consciously made the decision.
I don't know how long I sit there. I don't hear footsteps or the creak of the floorboards. But when I look up, Killian is filling the hallway arch.
He watches me from the shadows for a long moment. Then he steps closer, perfectly silent, and holds out his hand.
My fingers close around his. He hauls me to my feet, his grip completely resolute, the calluses on his palm rough against my skin. The moment I have my balance, I pull my hand free and take a deliberate step backward, putting distance between us. Even then, the warmth of his touch stays on my palm.
"Are you alright?" He eventually asks.
"Fine," I say, brushing off my trousers. "Just a disagreement."
He takes another step forward. I hold my ground. "He's worried about you."
"Yes. I know."
"He should be."
I look up sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Killian tilts his head, studying me. "You're playing with fire, Dr. Hart. And I'm not sure you understand how badly you could get burned."
He says it casually, but the warning is absolute. I know exactly how dangerous he is, and yet the only instinct I have left is to lean into it.
"Dinner," I say, turning abruptly toward the kitchen. "We need to start dinner."
Holy fuck.
He follows me. As we move around the island, he is always exactly where I need him to be. He slides a knife across the cutting board before I can reach for it; he hands me the salt without being asked. He’s already catalogued my habits in a single day.
When we both reach for the pepper grinder, his knuckles brush mine.
I jerk my hand back instinctively. Killian doesn't react. He finishes grinding the pepper, completely unbothered by the fact that the brief contact just sent a jolt straight up my arm.
"Tell me about Nathan." Killian takes a piece of chicken, his focus on his plate.
"That crosses professional lines."
"Does it?" The corner of Killian's mouth twitches. "Because from where I was standing, he was just here to piss on his territory. How long have you been together?"
I weigh the risks, deciding basic facts won't hurt. "Eighteen months."
Killian finally looks up, pinning me with a flat, judging stare. "And you call that love?"
The question stops me. I care about Nathan, I really do. I like the safety he represents. But love? We’ve been together eighteen months, and I’ve never said the word to him once.
"That's not appropriate," I say, looking back down at my plate.
Killian doesn't let it go. "Strange. A man who claims to love you, leaving you alone with someone he calls dangerous." He sets his knife down. "If you were mine, I wouldn't let you out of my sight."
A hot flush spreads straight across my chest.
Shit.
"He didn't leave me alone. You're monitored—"
"By an ankle bracelet and some cameras. Dr. Hart, you know as well as I do that those wouldn't stop me."
It’s an open threat. A terrifying one at that. I look at the massive wall of muscle across the island, then at the monitor pulsing on his ankle. It's a toy. He could have me pinned to the floor before the first alarm ever reached the station.
"But you don't want to hurt me," I say. My voice wavers.
Killian holds my gaze. He doesn't move. "No." The word is cold and utterly sincere. "I don't want to hurt you at all."
We finish the meal without speaking. When we clean up, his hand brushes mine. He pulls away instantly, but the rough scrape of his skin against mine lingers long after he steps back.
"Good night, Dr. Hart."
"Good night."
I watch him disappear down the hallway. He doesn't look back.
Upstairs, I lie awake, listening to the house creak. Somewhere below, Killian is in his room. I picture him moving through my space, existing entirely within my walls.
Nathan was right. This is dangerous. As I stare up at the ceiling, I can't stop imagining Killian's hands on my skin. The weight of him pressing me into the mattress. I am vividly aware of exactly what a man like him could do to me.
I just can't bring myself to be afraid of it.
And somewhere in this house, Killian is probably awake. Listening to the same settling sounds. Knowing exactly what I'm thinking.
Fuck.