I had come here in search of my true self. To figure out who Leah Watson was without Taylor Mason. Without the cameras, the bullshit promises, the expectations and the carefully planned out future. I wasn't even a week in and already the new life I was trying to lead had been destroyed, due to an inconvenient assignment and a devilish soccer player. The media here didn't know who I was, only identifying me as "an unknown blonde." And no, I hadn't been reading article after article under my covers for two hours.
Pretty soon, someone from back home would happen across the story and send in a tip, or a comment on social media. I'd be lauded as the next athlete chasing jersey slut. I'd seen it happen to so many girls before me, those who truly deserved the title and those who didn't.
And then what? The job, the school and everything I was trying to put in place for me and only me here would crumble. I shoved my head into my pillow as big salty drops welled up in my lower lids.
My phone began to ring, again a London number I hadn't given my own cell to. What was with this?
"Hello?"
A gruff voice came through. "Yeah, hi love. It’s Jimmy. Listen, I need you to get over to Killian's ASAP. He's having some sort of crisis, I don't know..." Jimmy cut in and out as he talked, making it almost impossible to hear him. "I'm....in..Scotland. Text you...address. Gotta...go."
And then the line went dead. Jeez, for all the times for Killian's manager to be out of the country, it had to be now. I couldn't go over there. Not only could I not risk being seen by the press anywhere near him, but there was still the matter that he'd kissed me silly and then sent me extremely expensive shoes.
And the matter that I knew he was a man I should stay far away from. I could see it in his eyes. He was danger, fiery, hot, scalding danger.
But this was my job, the future and the identity that I was fighting so hard for. Was I really going to throw it all away as soon as it got tough? He’d been right when he’d schooled me on what I would have been doing at 73Bulbs. The experience I could get while working as his personal publicist would be priceless. Look, there was already a crisis I needed to handle.
The old Leah was beaten down, she would have gone to hide in a corner. And I was waving her goodbye, right god damn now.
Pulling myself out of the bed, I slipped into the nicest pair of pants I'd brought and a simple maroon sweater. And because I was still stubborn, and didn't want him to see my feet in them, I forewent his gift and slid on simple black flats.
The flat was quiet, thankfully, as I made my way out. It took about half an hour in the cab and midday London traffic to get over to Killian's apartment, which sat in a big building near the river. I hadn't yet ventured to this side of the city, actually I hadn't ventured anywhere, and found it wholly consuming. The architecture, the different style of clothing people wore. The classiness and old-world vibe that London gave off was something that this Midwest girl was definitely getting used to.
Nervously, I walked to the front desk, not quite knowing what to do.
"Yes, I'm here to see Kill...uh, Mr. Ramsey?"
"Ms. Watson?" The concierge regarded me, not quite friendly but not unpleasant.
"Yes..."
"Mr. Finch called ahead and told us you'd be coming. You can go right up, we'll buzz Mr. Ramsey that you're on your way as you go."
I nodded, walking to the chic wall of mirrored lifts across the marble lobby. This building's entryway was more expensive than any place I'd ever been in my life.
My stomach filled with butterflies and a sinking nervousness as the mechanical box rose, bringing me one level to Killian every time it passed a floor. And then we were at the penthouse and I rolled my eyes, because where the hell would I have thought Killian lived in this building? Of course, the penthouse.
Stepping out, I knocked on the ornate, black metal door twice before I heard a "Come in!" from somewhere deep within. I twisted the knob, treading lightly into what had to be the most modern, sleek living space I'd ever seen.
Every surface was either white, grey or stainless steel, and everything was open except for the wall on the back end which I assumed housed a bedroom and bathroom. It was cold, no feelings of warmth or home emanating from any corner of the space.
"Jimmy, do you think the black or the grey suit, because seriously I don't want to come off as one of those stuffy old wankers who-"
Killian halts short, coming to stand only a few feet from me in only pajama pants with tiny soccer balls on them. I find it oddly adorable, yet can't take my eyes off of his naked, sculpted chest. The same chest I saw yesterday, when I was trying to avoid searing his backside and nether regions into my brain. To say that Killian Ramsey was a masterpiece was an understatement. He put all other human bodies to shame.
His hair, the color of a moonless night, spikes up in different directions
"You're not Jimmy." It was half a statement, half a question.
"No, I'm not." Killian still stood there, a mix of desire and confusion on his face. "He's in Scotland, I thought he told you I'd be coming..."
"He didn't, no." He did a slow perusal of my body, leaving my cheeks heated and the spot just above my tailbone tingling with pulsing arousal. "Well, now that you're here, you can help me pick out a suit. Or we can pick up where we left off last night?”
His voice was gruff, the tie he had in his hand now fisted into a jumbled mess. A cocky smile ghosted his lips. Apparently, I wasn't the only one thinking about our kiss last night. For some reason, that made me both happy and afraid.
"That's your big crisis?" My voice was all sarcasm as his words hit me.
He grinned sheepishly. “I’m a very important figure here, if you haven’t gathered that. I need to look my best at every premiere or opening. Not that I think an American, especially you, can help with this. Jimmy always helps me. He may not look like a fashion bloke, but he knows his way around Savile Row."
He was still playing me so hot and cold. Killian was all gentleman and protective one moment, and then bastard took over, spewing cockiness and jerk remarks. I chose to ignore it.
"Speaking of fashion, thank you for the shoes. It was not necessary and I'll have to return them, but thank you nonetheless. My roommate Emma was very happy. She won’t be returning them." I said with as little emotion as I could muster. I was not going to let him think he can buy me off. I might be an American with little fashion knowledge, but I knew those were too expensive to simply be a nice gesture. They were attached to something. An agreement, a promise, a favor? I didn’t care to find out.
He frowned. “Don’t be daft, you won't return them. It was my fault you broke them in the first place. Also, I need my publicist looking tip top, which, let’s face it, you need some help. Consider them a necessity for the job."
My heart sank a little at his words. I was only an employee to him. Of course I was, those weren't a gift. I was stupid and such a female to think that. We stood in silence for what felt like minutes, before I tried for a jovial, workplace conversation.
"Your apartment is very nice. The view is spectacular."
Killian walked over to a wall of windows as I inched closer to join him, wanting to see the expanse of London as if it were at my fingertips. From his place I could see the River Thames, the top of the spires on London Bridge, the Gherkin building, and off in the distance the London Eye. All places I wanted to go and explore, but I hadn't even managed to unpack yet.
I saw my breath fogging up the glass window, and looked over to see Killian eyeing me, those icy baby blues going straight through me and sending delicious shivers down my spine.
"Sorry, I must have been drooling all over your glass. It’s just all so...beautiful and historical."
He tilted his head, standing way too close to me. "Have you done the whole “tourist, fish and chips, ride the Eye” thing yet then, love?"
His words were a whisper next to my ear, and I had to shake my head, trying to knock the fuzz he’d created out of my brain. I turned back, looking
greedily over the landscape that seemed like a Lego city from up here. Without a word, Killian began to move toward what I assumed was his bedroom.
“Wear a grey or dark blue one.” I shouted over my shoulder, my eyes still glued to the river below and the way it wound through the ancient empire. Those colors would bring out his eyes, making them glimmer and spark like the world’s most expensive jewels.
"Scrap the crisis. The appearance can wait.” I felt his breath just graze beneath my earlobe again, sending my already hyper aware cells into overdrive. The lightning bolt of desire that hit me square in the gut almost had me sagging back into him, grinding myself against the pelvis that I knew contained something very large. But I held my threadbare composure, if only barely.
“Today love, I’m going to give you the Killian Ramsey Tour of London."
9
Killian
For the third time since we'd gotten into my car, she burst out laughing.
"Will you stop?" I pulled the brim lower onto my head, reveling in the sound of her laughter.
Leah's laugh wasn't tinkling or feminine. Her real laugh, not the one she used in polite situations. It was a full boom, something that shook her entire core and puffed out in loud gasps. I'd only heard her do it within the confines of this car, but I was already becoming addicted.
"Okay, first of all, if you wanted to go about undetected, you probably should have left the rich boy wheels at home. Second, I just can't get over that thing. I mean, where did you even get this?"
She fingered the fake mustache I sported, curling her delicate fingernails into the hair and accidentally brushing my cheek at the same time. I would wear this stupid thing every day if it meant she would touch me like that.
I eyed my getup in the rear view mirror as I drove us toward Trafalgar Square. A baseball hat, pulled low, sunglasses hiding my eyes, and a mustache for extra coverage. It might just fool the paparazzi, or at least that's what I'm counting on.
"I got it off the set of one of the movies I appeared in. Had to wear it for my character and thought it might come in handy. The prop girl let me keep it."
Leah smiled wickedly. "Uh huh, and what did you have to give her to take it?"
Nothing got past this one. Sure, I'd encountered other whip smart women in the industry, focused on their careers and lives and not what pretty boy's pants they could get into. I'd just never given them much thought. Not until Leah, at least.
Driving with her on my day off, going on a tourism bender with this American who knows nothing about my city? I don’t know why I’d proposed it. Seeing her glance out my window, looking at my city like she was a kid window shopping at the candy store, I’d wanted to give her something. Do something just for her. It was the first time in forever I’d wanted to do something solely for another person.
And I felt better than I had in years, like that arse anchor I constantly beared like a cross around my neck and been taken off for a day. I only have to peer over at her, sitting on the edge of her seat like she might miss something as we drive on the busy streets of London, to know that this was a good decision. Her excitement is washing over me, and I can't help but get swept up in what the day holds for us.
While fixing it so that she would work for me was meant to lead to some heavy flirting, loads of sexual tension and eventually a hot fuck, this had turned into more. In just a few short days, I found myself intrigued not only with Leah’s body, but also with her personality. Her mind. Just…her. I found it harder and harder to maintain my asshole stature around her, instead playing along with her and indulging in a…friendship. Which was strange yet exhilarating for me.
I took her to Trafalgar Square, where she posed with a lion as I snap her picture. We made our way into the National Gallery of Art, where Leah stood in awe of the first hall of paintings, but then became bored when we kept walking through walls and walls of boring portraits or religious scenes.
I got her a cup of sweet corn with cheese as we walked the Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Walk to Buckingham Palace, where she whistled like an obnoxious American as the guards changed and the horses snickered. She marveled up at the giant golden gates, ornate in their making, disclosing to me that this was the first real live palace she’d ever seen in her life.
We traveled back to London bridge and went through the royal jewel exhibit as Leah oohed and awed at the gigantic gems and stones. And then I ended our tour at The London Eye, where I paid the attendant extra to give us our own pod that ascended just as the sun was setting over the London skyline.
I had only been spotted a couple of times, shrugging people off as she giggled like a giddy school girl as we raced out of wherever we were.
As I drove us back to my apartment, fish and chips at her feet making our mouths water, I realized it was the best day I’d had since Eve died. And then I grimaced, feeling guilty thinking about something like that. Having this much fun with another woman and thinking about her in the same mental space, it felt wrong. Like I was doing some kind of disservice to her memory.
“What’s wrong?” Leah must have noticed my grim expression, because she looked concerned, her perfect, snowy eyebrows pulling together.
I feign stupid, not wanting her to know the true emotional hurricane ripping through me. “We never did pick out my suit. You’re clearly not doing your job right.”
She laughed, a tired but content sound that lets me in on just how great today has been for her.
I lead her once more back up to my apartment, which she informs me is beautiful but cold. I don’t tell her how much I agree. I especially feel it now, with her warm and down home presence sitting at the metal dining room table, devouring the fish and chips I serve her from The Golden Hind.
“These are French fries, not chips.” She looks at me like I’m hilarious for mistaking them, and I stare back at her just as incredulously.
Out of all of the women I could have taken interest with, Leah Watson had to be the most peculiar one. American, young enough to be taboo for me, and with a mouth on her. I was excited to explore that mouth with her under me, writhing with need.
Alcohol. That was what we needed. Because while I wasn’t into forcing myself on women, Leah was beginning to shy up again, getting quieter and quieter as the meal went on. I wouldn’t even be able to hold her hand right now, much less try and seduce her the way I wanted. I needed her to loosen up like she was when we were out today.
“I’m going to get us a bottle of wine. If we’re upgrading your taste from Oklahoma fried chicken, we might as well get started on an appropriate drink lesson too. God we have so much work to do.” I stood, walking over to the small liquor closet I had built in the apartment.
“Oh no, that’s seriously okay. I should be getting home, and I don’t even drink.”
“Come on, you’ll like this,” I shouted out the closet door. “It’s a sweet red dessert wine from Italy. I’ve been aging it for about 10 years. You’ll have some. Even an American with a terrible palate will appreciate this wine.”
“Could you even drink 10 years ago?” Leah teased out at the table as I rounded into the kitchen in search of my automatic wine opener.
I cocked a brow, knowing I was about to share some information she hadn’t already known. “Well, the drinking age on this continent is 18, and I am 30-years-old, so technically I’ve been able to drink for 12 years.”
Her jaw dropped open in a funny but adorable way. “Well I’ll be! You’re 30?! I would have sworn we were almost the same age.”
She was still shaking her head when I set the two full wine glasses on the table. “That’s what dashing good looks and great stamina will get you.”
I winked at her and I swear I saw her press her legs together, causing the veins in my dick to expand with blood and heat. She took a small sip, making a satisfied hum between her lips.
“This tastes great…like juice. If I’d known there was stuff like this to drink out there, maybe I’d like alcohol more.” She took
another large gulp and I laughed, finding pride in her positive reaction. I’d been able to show her this. “So…what else you got to do around here?”
Gazing around my apartment, the only thing I could think that I really wanted to do involved her and my bed. “I could show you my bedroom. There are really interesting things that I have to do in there.”
My wolfish grin was back, and while her eyes fixated on my mouth, her own lips curved down. “Nice try. I don’t have quite enough wine in my system for that to happen.”
“Although you let it happen last night.” We hadn’t spoken about our kiss, not until I’d just brought it up.
She shifted uncomfortably, finishing her entire glass before I’d had more than three sips of mine. I could already see the grapes swimming in her eyes and knew I should slow her down.
“About that…it shouldn’t have happened, Killian. You’re my boss, and I’m in absolutely no head space to even consider guys at this point. And I’m new to this country, and you, well, you’re too old and…”
“Stab the knife a bit deeper then, love.” I smiled, but an annoying tick hit my jaw at her rejection of me. Jeez, it wasn’t as if I wanted a relationship. I wanted to fuck her, badly. But obviously I couldn’t say that to her.
“We’ll be friends.” She smiled, wandering over to the entertainment system against the wall of my living room space.
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