Chapter April
April
“I HEARD YOU,” HE SAID. “I’m listening.”
"Okay."
His eyes searched hers. "Okay," he repeated.
She shifted, sliding off him, and settled beside him on her back, staring at the ceiling.
The air on her skin felt too cool after the heat of him.
Killian rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow.
The room was quiet except for their breathing, the muted clink of glass from the living room, the faint smell of roasted garlic.
"Are you okay?”
April turned her head to look at him. "Are you?"
"I asked first."
"I'm fine." She paused. "Good, actually. That was—" She stopped, laughed. "I've never done that before."
"You were terrifying."
"Good terrifying or bad terrifying?"
"The best terrifying I've ever experienced." His hand found hers on the mattress, threaded their fingers together. "I meant what I said. I heard you. I understand."
She squeezed his hand, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Can I ask you something?" His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand.
"You're asking permission to ask. That's progress."
"Did you really call me emotionally constipated?"
She stared at the ceiling. Turned her head. "Yes."
He held her eyes.
"It made sense at the time." She swallowed. "I didn't realize that wasn't all of you."
"I am intense. I do schedule my life in fifteen-minute blocks."
"I know."
"I prefer structure."
"I've noticed."
He winced. "Yeah. I need to work on that."
"We all need to work on things." She turned on her side to face him. "I need to stop folding myself into shapes other people find comfortable. You need to stop announcing your way through emotional conversations. We're both disasters."
"Accurate assessment.” He pursed his lips for a moment and then continued. “I think I've wanted you longer than I let myself register. I categorized it as a distraction to resolve later. And today it stopped staying theoretical."
It wasn't romantic. It wasn't pretty, but it was honest.
"You didn't know?"
"I don't make a habit of interrogating impulses that threaten stability."
"Of course you don't."
He held her gaze. "That appears to have been an error."
April let out a slow breath.
"I didn't misjudge you," she said. "You are those things. You do operate that way."
"Yes."
"But tonight you didn't. That matters.”
He hesitated. "Can I ask—what was it like? For you. Just now."
“Terrifying. At first. I had no idea what I was doing."
"You seemed very sure of yourself."
"I was faking it." She smiled."But then it was—I don't know. Powerful? Not in a bad way. In a 'I get to choose what happens' way. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah. It does."
"What about you? You've never—?"
"Never." He swallowed. "I don't—I'm not good at giving up control. It's not something I do."
"But you did. With me."
"Because you asked. Because I trust you. Because I wanted to see what it felt like to just—" He stopped. Started again. "To let someone else decide."
"And?"
His laugh came out shaky. "Terrifying. And—"
"I wasn't prepared for how much I wanted it."
He touched her jaw, thumb brushing the side of her throat. "You do realize," he murmured, "I'm never forgetting that."
"Good."
"You're extraordinary, April Feuller." His hand settled at her waist.
"You're not so bad yourself. When you're not trying to acquire me like a subsidiary."
"I'll work on that."
Her eyes were getting heavy, the adrenaline of the day finally catching up. He leaned in and kissed her again, thumb brushing her cheekbone as he deepened it.
"We should probably get back out there. They're going to wonder—"
"Let them wonder." His hand traced lazy circles on her hip. "Though I'm fairly certain they already know."
"How?"
"Because we've been in here for—"
He glanced at the clock. "Thirty-five minutes. And the walls aren't that thick."
Her face went hot. "Oh god."
"You weren't exactly quiet." His mouth curved.
"Neither were you. The gag didn't work as well as you think."
He laughed, "Sexiest gag order I've ever been hit with."
April pushed herself up on one elbow. "Did you just make a joke about being gagged?"
"I contain multitudes." He sat up, running a hand through his thoroughly wrecked hair. "Come on. Shower. Before one of them sends a search party."
"A search party would require them to stop eating Mateo's food."
"Also fair."
Killian stood, completely unselfconscious in his nakedness, and offered her his hand.
She took it. Let him pull her up. He led her toward the bathroom.
The space was massive. White marble and chrome and a shower that could fit six people comfortably.
Like someone had looked at a normal bathroom and thought, 'But what if we wanted to host a small conference in here?’ He turned on the water, tested the temperature, then stepped aside.
"After you."
April stepped under the spray. The hot water hit her shoulders and she groaned, tilted her head back, letting it soak her hair.
Killian stepped in behind her, reached for a bottle of something expensive-looking.
"Turn around."
He poured soap into his hands and started washing her shoulders, working the tension out with steady pressure. The tension eased under his hands, the knots of the day slowly unwinding. The water pounded against her collarbone, hot and rhythmic.
"You know," Killian said conversationally, working the soap down her back, "I'm fairly certain there's a mob boss in my living room."
April's eyes snapped open. "What?"
"Don Dante," he said as his hands slid to her sides. "He's either mafia or a terrifying lawyer. No way that guy’s just a bouncer. I haven’t decided which. He's in my living room because of you."
"Are you complaining?"
“No, I’m observing that my evening went from 'normal gala' to 'hosting what appears to be a criminal organization's leadership' in the span of six hours. Also a pop star. And Mr. Christmas. And Liam Sterling, who I'm fairly certain could buy and sell half the people at that gala."
"You're the one who fake-proposed to me in a supply closet."
"And you're the one who turned it into an eight-man operation." His hands moved to her hair, working shampoo through it with careful fingers. "I'm impressed, honestly. That level of coordination usually requires a project manager."
She laughed despite herself. "Are you analyzing my sex life like a business acquisition?"
"I'm a CEO. It's what I do." He rinsed her hair, fingers gentle against her scalp. "Though I'll admit this particular merger has some unusual stakeholders."
"Killian." She batted his chest, a soft laugh in her voice.
His hands stilled. He turned her around to face him, water streaming between them.
"I'm joking because if I think too hard about the fact that you chose to be here—with me—after everything I fucked up today, I'm going to—" He stopped. "I don't know what I'm going to do. But it won't be dignified."
She reached up and touched his face, water dripping from her fingers. "You're here now. That's what matters."
"Yeah. I am."
She grabbed the soap. "My turn."
She washed him with the same care he'd shown her.
Shoulders, chest, the defined muscles of his stomach.
He stood still and let her, eyes never leaving her face.
When she was done, they stood under the spray together, water streaming between them, until he turned it off.
"Come on, before Mateo decides we need a welfare check. "
They stepped out. He grabbed a towel and dried off with the efficient speed of a man who'd probably timed his morning routine down to the second.
April took her time, wrapping the towel around herself and using a second one on her hair.
When she walked back into the bedroom, still rubbing the towel through her damp hair, he was already dressed in fresh clothes—dark jeans, a simple black t-shirt with his name tag attached.
But on the bed, he'd laid out two options. In one corner: a white button-up shirt. Boxer briefs.
The rest of the bed held the emerald dress laid flat. The wrap folded beside it. The necklace arranged carefully. Dante's tie laid across the foot of the bed. Her power panties set carefully to the side.
April stepped closer. Let her fingers brush the dress, wrinkled silk cool under her thumb.
"I thought you might want to be comfortable?"
Her hand stayed on the fabric a second longer, then she reached for Killian's shirt. Pulled it on and buttoned it halfway. Enough for modesty, not enough to hide. The boxer briefs sat low on her hips.
She walked over to him. Barefoot, his shirt soft against her skin, still clinging slightly where it touched damp hair. "Thank you.”
Killian's hand came up to cup her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone. "You're extraordinary."
"You said that already."
"Bears repeating."
He leaned in and kissed her again; his thumb brushed her cheekbone as he deepened it.
The distant sounds of the living room filtered through the walls. Laughter, conversation, the rhythmic clatter of Mateo cooking.
"They're waiting.”
"I know."
She took his hand, about to walk into a room full of seven men in borrowed clothes and damp hair, carrying the knowledge that she'd tied up a CEO and made him beg.