by Annie Dyer
She added a smiley face with love hearts for eyes at the end of her text. I glared at Killian who was checking his own phone. “My client has asked me about my ‘date’,” I said. “Would you happen to know anything about how she knows, or may I assume that the Callaghan rumour mill has worked overtime this afternoon?”
He smirked and looked back at his phone.
“Fine,” I said, standing up and grabbing my bag. “I’m getting a drink and going to bed. Might update my profile on those dating apps…” I wandered out of the lounge and into the kitchen, counting Mississippis in my head until I heard footsteps at the doorway.
“Thirty-five,” I said, switching on the kettle.
“Thirty-five what?” Killian leaned against the doorframe.
“I counted to thirty-five before you got here.”
“How long were you going to give me?” I wasn’t sure if he meant seconds right now or something else.
“A minute. Before I stopped counting anyway. Did you come in here for me or for the whisky bottle for you, Max and my dad?” My hands automatically went to my hips and I felt myself revert to full on force mode.
Killian laughed and swung himself round to where I was standing. “You. And the whisky. But mainly you.” His hands went to my waist, the size of them enough to almost surround the circumference and then he kissed me hard enough to make my toes curl. “I told my brother I was taking you out. He must’ve told Katie. He’s not gossiping – he’s trying to keep her mind on lighter stuff. I’m sorry if you didn’t want your client to know.”
My mind tried to catch up with his words but it was still somewhere with his mouth on mine. “It’s fine.” I stood on my tiptoes and reached up to kiss him, needing to taste the mix of beer and whisky once more.
He complied. Briefly.
“I thought you were going to bed?”
“I was…”
“Don’t want you to be grumpy in the morning. Better get that sleep now,” he said, one hand on my waist, the other reaching for the whisky bottle.
“Oh, like that, is it?” I said, moving away from him. “Had enough of me tonight?”
His laugh was low and rumbling, blue eyes dancing in amusement. “Never. Spend time with me tomorrow after you’ve finished your day? Marie and your dad are away for a couple of nights…”
“They are?”
“I love the way you Callaghans communicate. Yes, they’re staying with Jackson and Vanessa as your dad has a function where he’s guest speaking and Marie is meeting friends who are over from New York. Why do I know this and you don’t?”
I shrugged. “This is how we roll. Max knew about us for more than thirteen years and didn’t say a thing until now.”
He leaned back against the kitchen units. “How do you feel about him knowing?”
“Relieved. Surprised. A bit stupid. And unsurprised because it’s Max.” I watched his expression, solid and ungiving but I knew his eyes well enough to be able to read them. “He doesn’t mind. If he did, he’d have said something back then. You know that.”
“Does he know why it ended?”
His words cut into me and I felt the effects of the alcohol only at that point when my legs felt weak beneath me. I reached back and held the worktop, shaking my head. “No. Shit, no.” I sighed, closing my eyes. “Marie does. Marie knew about us. I had to tell her.”
He nodded and stepped towards me, picking me up and lifting me onto the worktop. “Listen. Listen carefully because we’re not having this conversation again. You broke my heart when you stopped speaking to me, I won’t lie. But I knew you, Claire and I still do. There was a good reason behind it and I trust in that. Tell me when you’re ready to. But until then, let’s just get to know each other again because it seems clear that neither you nor I have ever moved passed those few months.”
“Okay.” It was one word to his soliloquy, but it was all I had. My fears weren’t erased but they were abated for now. “I should go to bed.”
“Will you think of me?”
“In bed?”
“Where else?”
I remembered being in bed with him, how he would sleep with his arm across me, palm over my breast and in the morning his cock would be pressed into my ass whether he was awake or not. He’d been my addiction, the way my body had responded instinctively to him, waking up and needing him like coffee. I didn’t think it would be any different this time. “Yes, I’ll think of you. But let’s leave the rest of that conversation for another time.”
“Slowly,” he said, backing away an inch, still holding me.
“Slowly,” I repeated, for my benefit as much as his.
***
I was just in bed when a knock sounded at my door, then a three second silence before Marie entered.
“No reason to wait for permission to enter?” I said with faux sarcasm.
“Killian’s still downstairs with your father and Max so I figured I’d be safe. You had a nice meal?” She sat down on the edge of the bed, dark hair that was laced with grey whipped around her head.
“Yes. I haven’t told him but he knows that there is something to tell.” It was hanging over me like the sword of Damocles but I wasn’t sure when the right time would be.
Marie shook her head. “This isn’t just about that. I wondered how you actually got on.”
I smiled, looking down at my bare legs that were visible under the short dressing gown. “Really well. Just like we did before.” I paused, studying her expression “Has dad said anything?”
“About what?”
“Killian? That we were, you know, at college?” My father had left most of the parenting to Marie; I certainly never expected him to go all protective and threaten to beat up my boyfriends – that had always been Marie’s role.
“He likes him, Claire. He always had. And yes, he did know about you being pregnant. He had no idea how to deal with it but he’s emotionally intelligent enough to realise that these things do happen. Your brothers are fine with it at the moment, too,” she said, standing and heading to the door. “And I say at the moment because I think if things look serious – and now’s too soon to be discussing it – then they might be a bit more protective.”
“I can look after myself.”
“Yes. And they know that. They also know that you look after them too, so they just want to return the favour,” she opened the door and started to leave. “Sleep well, biggest girl. Find me at some point tomorrow to go through some of this nightmare case.”
“Goodnight, mum,” I said, the name causing her to grin broadly.
The door snapped shut behind her and I settled under the sheets, leaving the curtains open so I could see the stars. The windows were slightly ajar, trying to encourage some cool night air to circulate through the room. I heard voices carry through the night, familiar ones.
“You’d better not screw her over,” Max said, his voice low and matter of fact. So much for what Marie had said. “Even if you only take her out one more time, it’d better be her who dumps your fucking ass and not the other way round.”
There was a pause and I wondered what the expression on Killian’s face was like. “There’s no way I would. I wouldn’t have even taken her out today if I didn’t think there was more to it that a couple of dates. She’s your sister, I’m not even going to go there unless I’m serious.”
“So why did it end last time? What did you do because I remember her being a mess and not leaving the house for weeks and you constantly asking questions about her, thinking you were being discreet,” Max said, his tone now annoyed. I hadn’t given my brother credit for being so astute before.
“I don’t know. She stopped responding to my messages and emails and I had no clue. I hadn’t cheated on her and I thought I’d treated her like a queen. I was even thinking of not signing up with the Marines and doing a master’s degree like you so I could stay with her,” Killian said. I sat up in bed, hugging my knees to my chest, needing to hear what else he said. “By Sep
tember I realised that she wanted it to be over and I wasn’t doing either of us any favours by hanging on. She clearly didn’t want me and that was the end of it.”
There was a long pause and I wondered if one of them had left. An owl called in the distance, the response from its mate from closer by.
“She was fucking miserable,” Max said. “And then she did nothing but work for three years solid. We all though she had turned into dad.”
Killian laughed softly. “She can drink like him.”
I grinned at the compliment and realised then that I was crying. I knew at the time I would hurt him, and I knew now that I was going to hurt him when I told him the truth. Looking back, I knew the decision not to go ahead with the pregnancy was the right one for me, but it was one we should’ve made together.
“She can. She can also probably hear us right now,” Max said, his voice changing. “Hey, sis! We know you’re listening!”
“Shut the fuck up, Max, some of us are actually trying to sleep,” Callum’s voice from the room next to me yelled. “You’re worse than a pair of teenaged girls.”
“Let’s face it: you’re the one to know what teenage girls are like,” Max shouted up. “Given that your social media accounts are stalked by them. ‘Oh, Callum, you’re so dreamy. Please can you say hi to me on your Instastory?” Max’s voice had become high pitched and whiny. It was actually a fairly good impression.
I heard footsteps and the door next to me slammed. Sixty seconds later there was a holler outside and noises I recognised as my brothers about to fight, nothing actually serious, just the regression from being adults in their thirties back to pre-pubescent irritating boys.
I closed the window slightly and got back under the sheets, grabbing hold of the paperback I’d bought, a quirky romance set in a Boston architects’ firm. I was just at the point where the couple were starting to get to know each other better when another knock sounded at my door.
“Can I come in?” Killian said softly, as if I might be asleep.
I sat up, putting my book down. I was make up free and wearing what could only be described as a comfy shorts and vest set, and by set, I meant mismatched random clothing. “If I said no, what would your response be?”
The door opened as I imagined it would and Killian stood there, all six feet three of muscle, blonde hair and beard and blue eyes. His tattoos were visible on both arms as he wore a vest, biceps on show also. “Damn,” he said, staring straight at me. “I was hoping you’d have been naked.”
“No, just some very old…” I glanced down. “Never mind.” I smiled, partly with embarrassment, partly amusement.
Killian closed the door and leaned against it. “Did you hear me and Max?”
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it.
He watched me, blue eyes seeing straight into my soul, or so it felt. There was a brief nod and he moved to sit down next to me on the bed. “You’re okay about what was said?”
“Yes. There was nothing untrue to the extent of my knowledge,” I said, aware of the heat that his body exuded. I lifted a finger and began to touch the tattoos on his arm, tracing the curve of a rose’s petal, intricately inked onto his skin.
It was the only physical connection between us even though we were sat barely an inch apart. His eyes watched my finger move, making feather light touches following the lines. It seemed as if he was holding his breath, as if any exhalation would scare me away. I took my eyes from his arm and looked up at him, smiling. “I like the ink.”
He caught my hand in his and positioned it over his chest so I could feel his heart beating, the rhythm solid and strong. “I’m glad.” His lips touched mine and gave me the softest of kisses, lingering and full of promise. I hadn’t had sex in months and a good part of me, mainly between my legs, was aching for some attention other than my fingers and vibrator. I wished I could forget what had happened, why I had pushed him away and broken his heart, but my tensed shoulders told me that now was not the right time. I needed to give him closure on that sagabefore we could enter another.
Fingers stroked my hair behind my ear and he pulled back, his expression unreadable. “I need to take a cold shower and go look at business accounts or my email.”
“And not me in my tatty pyjamas?” I smiled, feeling like that eighteen-year-old virgin and needing that feeling, the peace it provided.
He chuckled. “I’d rather you in those tatty pyjamas than any underwear model.”
“You say the sweetest things. So, I couldn’t be an underwear model then?” I teased, portraying the character I’d hid behind these past few years.
“Claire, you’ve been my everything. Do you understand that?” He didn’t touch me. He didn’t need to.
“Back at you, K,” I said. “And if you stay here, right now…”
He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine, tentative, tasting. I reached to touch him, needing the heat of skin under my fingers. My hands travelled under his top, over the corded muscles of his abs and the firmness of his chest. I remembered the first time I explored his body with hands that were unsure. The response I’d had from my body back then had surprised me. I wasn’t entirely innocent; I’d had boyfriends with whom I’d done everything but, yet I’d never had such a need just from touching them or being kissed. It was the same now: I needed him.
I heard a moan I didn’t realise I was making and he pulled away from the kiss, chuckling. “I guess I don’t need to worry about whether you still find me attractive,” he said.
His cock was hard when I brushed it with my hand. “We can make good use of this,” I said. “I know somewhere it would fit just nicely.”
Killian moved away completely, looking wickedly at me. “I don’t put out on the first date,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning at the cottage. ‘Night.” He backed away to the door, his eyes never leaving me.
I gave him a nod, elation and nerves festering in my veins. “Bastard. I hope your balls are blue and they drop off.”
“Then I wouldn’t be able to serve one of my purposes,” he said. “I’ll think of how hard your nipples are and that wet patch between your legs while I jack off.”
“Bastard.”
He closed the door softly and I lay back in bed, thinking of him, his hands, how his lips felt. My hand slipped into my panties and I thought about what he would be doing now and how I’d missed him and needed him. After I’d came, I thought of how I would tell him about that summer, thirteen years ago, without breaking either of our hearts a second time around.
Chapter Nine
Killian
Leaving Claire alone in her room was the difference between the man I was thirteen years ago and the man I was now. Back then, I would’ve stayed, even if we hadn’t had done anything physical, I still would’ve taken my place in her bed and had her sleep next to my skin. Now the bigger picture was clearer and I could appreciate the complexities of the details within a wider context.
I needed to know why she’d ghosted me. Even when I’d come back to London and we’d spent most of our time together casting insults like crumbs before sparrows I’d never sensed she was genuinely hating me. Sometimes I’d caught her watching me when she thought my attention was elsewhere and she’d looked sad, which I’d fucking hated. Throughout our relationship, we’d not argued. Even though everything had been in secret and I could’ve flirted or even fucked other girls under the lie of it being cover, I never had because I didn’t want to and I wouldn’t have inflicted any pain on her. To be honest, I’d have put my hands around the neck of anyone who did.
In old pyjamas and without make up, she didn’t look much different to how she had at nineteen, only her eyes contained something different to what they had then. She had a story to tell, and I knew it was one where I should’ve played a central role but for whatever reason I hadn’t.
That summer I should’ve pushed harder to find out why she’d refused to take my calls or respond to my messages. Whatever it was, I should’ve
been there to help her, to carry her through whatever it was that had caused her pain, even if it was me. But maybe I hadn’t been enough back then for her to want to need me. The thought near killed me.
Outside of Claire’s parents’ house, summer bloomed. The sky was bright blue and clear of clouds. In the distance, fields of barley coloured the landscape. There was no noise except the distant calling of the swallows who were flying high.
I had been a country boy, and this scene felt like home. Wide open spaces without skyscrapers or cranes smearing the horizon. I envied my brother, getting to spend time here with his girls. I had a couple more nights here before I had to get back to London for more client meetings and a couple of jobs that I couldn’t send a representative to, but for now I could enjoy the lack of claustrophobia and soundwaves that weren’t marred with the ever-present burring of engines and exhausts.
Running for ninety minutes had cleared my head. A hot shower had made me feel awake. The walk to the cottage to see my brother made me feel heavy. I knew enough about Katie Worthington’s ex to know he was scum, just rich scum that wore a suit. I’d come across him before when a client was having issues with security breaches in their database. I didn’t have the skillset of a modern day white knight: I wasn’t a hacker, but I had employees who were. We found an employee had been retrieving information that was sensitive, and could’ve been used to sabotage the business. Through a bit of hacking of our own we’d linked the employee back to one of Dean Lacey’s companies. Our client had gone cold when we’d told him, taking the information and telling us he’d deal with it in his own way. We’d left him to it and stepped away, job done. Except it wasn’t, because I’d needed to know more about Dean Lacey, just in case I came across him again. And now I had.
The cottage should’ve been the picture for a jigsaw. Flowers framed it and ivy cluttered the stone walls. I heard the keening of a swing and saw bare feet flying up in the air as I turned round the side to the front door.
Nick pushed one of the twins, Margot I think, with screams of what I figured were delight puncturing my eardrums. Katie was sitting on a blanket with Kitty, a couple of puppets that looked like they’d been made from my brother’s socks on her hands.