by Layla Frost
Blake’s eyes widened, and a flash of something resembling fear or pain—maybe both—flashed across his features. But then it twisted, turning into something ugly as he sneered. “If you’re so frigid that you won’t put out in two fucking months, you can’t be surprised when I’m not going to sit around and wait. Can’t be pussy whipped if I never got any damn pussy.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, the beast was at my back.
Literally.
“That’s e-fooking-nough.”
I craned my neck to look at the man, but his eyes were on Blake.
In response to the menacing glare, Blake went pale. Unfortunately, he wasn’t smart enough to stay quiet. “If you want to deal with her, be my guest. But don’t expect to get laid any time this century.”
I had the bad habit of being impulsive. Worse, I was petty. Back home, in response to Savannah Mills calling me trash, I’d rashly declared I’d go to MIT to make something of myself. I’d continued by predicting she’d be stuck in a dead-end marriage to the quarterback, who would inevitably grow fat and bald after being a serial cheater.
To my credit, I was attending MIT, partially because my pettiness had refused to let Savannah Mills be right. But it, and my impulsivity, were both qualities I needed to work on.
Just not right then.
A small, sexy smirk curled my lip. My voice was soft and lusty enough to make a phone sex operator jealous. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m going to fuck the hell out of him because two months is a long time for a woman to go with only her vibrator and a cheating asshole.” Strutting—though my lack of height and heels made it less effective than the woman’s earlier exit—I headed toward the opposite doorway. I paused and looked over my shoulder in time to see the beast’s hand engulf the knob and slam Blake’s door shut.
Inhaling deeply, I released the breath in a shaky rush. “I’m sorry about all the yelling. It’s way too early in the morning for that.”
His voice was low and gruff. “Not you who should be fookin’ sorry.”
Even the way he says ‘fuck’ is cool.
Fook.
Awesome.
“Still, I’m sorry.” My small smile was forced as the magnitude of what had happened sank in.
Goodbye, gorgeous apartment with the spacious living room and massive tub.
Hello, motels and couch surfing.
As if sensing where my thoughts were, the man gestured behind me. “I meant what I said. You should stay here.”
Oh, good. First, my dumbass wasted time with a dumbass cheater. Then, I drew a target on my back and put myself in the path of a beast.
I’m awesome at life.
Even with these thoughts, none of my warning sensors were going off. He may have been a massive man, but he didn’t scare me.
I could only assume that meant my stranger-danger instincts had joined my man-picking abilities in the garbage.
“Thanks,” I said, moving out of his doorway so he could get on with his life. “But I’m all set. I do appreciate the help. And sorry again about the noise.”
“Lass.” He reached into his apartment and pulled out a large suitcase. “I’m going out of town for three weeks. I’ve got a company coming that’s charging me a fookin’ arm and leg to walk my dog and keep an eye on the place. You wanna take care of those things, then you staying here is doing me a favor.”
My meema had fussed when she’d found out I’d be heading to Boston for school. She’d said I wasn’t tough enough to live in the city. Life in the south had made me sweet and trusting. Soft.
I’d sworn up and down she was wrong, her words stemming from her worry. Right then, though, her boasts of always being right were spot-on.
Because, insanely naïve as it was, I was considering his offer. Three weeks would give me time to find a new apartment. And the petty part of me liked Blake knowing I’d be across the hall.
Seeing my indecision, he pulled a wallet from his back pocket and handed me a license. “Text someone a picture of that. Between them and the himbo across the way, I’d be the first person they looked at if something happened to you.”
“Himbo?”
“A man who’s a bimbo.”
Wow, he really nailed Blake.
I studied his ID. Correct address. A picture that looked good and not like a mugshot after a week-long bender. A birthdate that said he’d turned thirty-two in May. “Killian Nox. Is that even a real name?”
“Aye.”
“Are you Irish or Scottish?”
“Aye,” he repeated.
My brows lowered. “One or both?”
“Aye,” he said for a third time.
I took his response to mean he was both.
Don’t do this, Augusta Allan. Don’t be a Dateline special in the making.
“My phone’s in my car,” I muttered, handing him back the card. For the entirety of the elevator ride down, I weighed the pros and cons.
Pro: I’ll have a place to live.
Con: He could be a murderer who plans to sneak back in the middle of the night to off me.
Pro: The building is close to school.
Con: Getting murdered.
Pro: The pettiness factor of making Blake’s life awkward for three weeks.
Con: I’m not big on dogs…
Oh, and the whole murder thing.
I unlocked my passenger door and opened it to set my box down before snagging my phone. Tapping it against the roof, I tried to figure out what I was going to do.
If I was a normal person, I’d have immediately gotten into my car and driven off into the proverbial sunset.
Instead, I was standing near the curb, contemplating whether having a place to stay was worth risking a giant of a man going Silence of the Lambs on me. I doubted I’d taste good with some fava beans and a nice chianti, and I knew lotion made my skin greasy, so I’d totally be getting the hose again.
It wasn’t as if him giving me his ID meant anything. It could be fake. Or maybe he didn’t care if people knew who he was because he’d be the one riding into the proverbial sunset after he went Dexter on my ass.
Think of it like an Airbnb. Only it’s free, minus taking care of the dog roommate.
When I thought about it like that, especially given my lack of options, I closed my door and headed back. I pushed the doorbell for 7B and waited, hoping he hadn’t changed his mind.
A moment later, there was a quiet buzz and click as the door unlocked.
Riding up the elevator again, I wasn’t filled with the same nervousness I had been earlier. Doubt and panic weren’t niggling at me.
I wasn’t sure whether that was a sign I was making the right choice, or if it meant I was a complete idiot with the instincts of a dead catfish, but I was going with the former.
When I reached the seventh floor, I didn’t hesitate before stepping off.
I turned toward the apartment and jolted, startled to see Killian leaning in his doorway. His back was against the frame with his body facing me.
“You came back,” he stated, his face not giving me any clue as to whether he considered that a good thing or not.
I held up my cell, giving it a little shake. “I told you my phone was in the car.”
“Aye, you did. I just assumed you’d be joining your phone in the car as you drove away.”
My eyes narrowed as I studied him. “Should I have?”
“Nah.” His lips curved up on one side. “I’m the one leaving my dog and possessions with a lass whose name I don’t know. What if you clean me out the second my ass hits the plane seat?”
My shoulders went back as I narrowed my gaze at him. “I’d never—”
“I’m teasing you.”
“Oh. And my name is Gus. Gus Allan.”
“Gus?” He shook his head. “Odd name for a flah lass.”
“A what?”
“A woman,” he said.
“My real name is Augusta. But everyone calls me Gus.” I fought the
urge to glare over at Blake’s door, since he’d always refused to call me Gus. “Well, almost everyone.”
“Gus it is.” Holding his ID between his index and middle finger, he offered it to me before leaning back.
It amazed me that, for such a massive guy, all his movements were deliberate. He was in complete control of his body and he used that control to make sure he never crowded me. Other than when he’d had my back earlier, he’d kept his distance. Even then, he’d never touched me. He’d been closer, yes, but still hadn’t grazed me.
If his good guy thing is all an act, I’m gonna be so pissed. Probably dead, too, which will make me extra pissed.
I took the ID from him and snapped a picture, sending it quickly to my best friend and former roommate, Rosie.
Not even thirty seconds later, my phone vibrated multiple times.
Rosie: Who’s that?
Rosie: Do you know him?
Rosie: OMG, is this like a Tinder date safety text?
Rosie: What about Blake? Actually, I don’t care. Go home with this Killian Nox. Even his name is amazing.
Rosie: Call me immediately after.
Rosie: But seriously, go home with that man.
I skimmed the texts and rolled my eyes.
“Everything okay?” Killian asked.
When I met his gaze, my face heated but I nodded.
“Let me show you the place.” He stepped inside, leaving me the freedom to choose whether to follow.
It’s now or never.
Airbnb.
Airbnb.
Free.
Inhaling, I walked into his apartment and nearly choked as I gasped sharply with already full lungs.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed.
Although I was familiar with the layout since it was the same as Blake’s, the style was so different, the two didn’t look like they belonged in the same building. Blake’s was colored in black, white, and chrome, and filled with flashy décor.
Killian’s was more effortlessly masculine. His hardwood floors were polished and clean, not covered by an ugly white rug that’d somehow cost thousands of dollars despite being painfully scratchy. A balcony could be seen through two floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls were light gray, and his ceiling was a stark white that contrasted with the exposed dark wooden beams. His couch looked as though it might swallow me whole—the plush cushions well-worn and broken in, but in a good way. Dark mahogany bookshelves lined his side walls, each packed with so many books that some had to be stacked horizontally.
I almost expected to see a lit cigar, a decanter of brandy, and a woman in a negligee.
Since my quota for seeing scantily clad women had already been reached that morning, I was relieved that wasn’t the case.
His kitchen also had an exposed beam ceiling, but with the addition of a brick backdrop and dark counters.
It was such a cool apartment, I began to feel like I was taking advantage of him by staying there with only my very questionable dog sitting skills as payment.
I glanced at the beast of a man. Tattoos covered most of his muscular arms and at least one curled from beneath his collar up his neck. Adding in his overgrown hair and beard, I suddenly wondered what job he had that gave him the freedom to look as he did while also paying enough to afford his apartment.
My meema would’ve come at me with the dreaded wooden spoon had she known I was being so judgmental. It wasn’t that I thought he was ugly—it was actually the opposite—he just didn’t look like the stereotypical professional.
Your time with Blake has rotted your brain. He’s proof that clean-cut doesn’t make you a good man.
Anyway, you’re here to watch Killian’s dog, not analyze how he looks, no matter how nice his rear is in those black jeans.
At that thought, I asked, “Where’s your dog?”
He gave a small whistle, which was followed by the rapid clicking of nails against the floor.
I looked over and braced, biting back an alarmed shout as a large dog ran full force at me.
“Nolan,” Killian said in an even tone.
The one word was enough for the dog to sit, his butt skidding along the floor as he stopped.
Kilian whispered a few words of praise to the dog before turning to me. “This is Nolan.”
I looked down at the dog. His fur was almost the same color as his owner’s hair. Also like his owner, the longer length didn’t equal unkempt. The fur was gleaming and wavy, especially on his droopy ears. Without thought, I reached out to see if it felt as soft as it looked. I caught myself in time and paused to give the dog the chance to sniff me.
It wasn’t necessary, though, because as soon as my hand got close, the dog went wild, alternating between licking me and rubbing his head all over my arm.
I jolted from the onslaught, startled and nervous he’d decide I tasted good enough to eat.
“Nolan,” Killian said, making the dog stop at once and sit. His attention shifted to me. “You don’t like dogs.”
“I’m not used to them. My grandmother was allergic, so I don’t have a lot of experience.”
He turned and headed into his kitchen, returning a moment later with a dog biscuit. Handing it to me, he said, “Say his name and put it right in front of his nose.”
My eyes darted to the dog then back to Killian. “Are you crazy? I’ll lose my fingers.”
“Nah, lass, trust me.”
Holding the very edge of the biscuit, I said, “Nolan,” before tentatively holding the snack out.
To my surprise, Nolan didn’t make a move for the treat. He followed it with his eyes, but he didn’t budge.
“Now drop it and repeat his name,” Killian ordered.
I did as instructed, and the dog fell on the treat with the same enthusiasm I had around chocolate.
“He’s well-trained,” I muttered. “What breed is he?”
“Irish setter.” He stroked the dog’s head. “Us lads have to stick together.”
“So, you’re from Ireland?”
“Born in Scotland, moved to Ireland when I was a lad but spent time in both places. My ma was Irish, my dad a Scot. A few years after he died, my ma and I moved to the states.”
I hadn’t expected him to be so forthcoming, but I was happy he had. It was interesting. He was interesting.
Tilting my head toward the front door, I asked, “Is that where you’re heading? Ireland?”
“Aye, but not to visit family. Business.”
“Oh.” I once again wondered what he did for a living, but decided I’d been nosy enough.
“Freelance work,” Killian offered, answering my unspoken question before glancing at his large watch. “Make yourself at home. There’s not much food in the fridge since I’ll be gone, but you can eat whatever you find. Fully stocked bar by the window, have at it. Takeout menus are in the drawer next to the stove, add your orders to my accounts. There’s a tub in my master bathroom. Cleaning person comes on Thursdays. Nolan’s schedule and the security info are written on the pad on the fridge. There’s a spare key on the counter. Anything else?”
He’d said so much so quickly, it took me a moment to process it all. “Uh, where’s your TV?”
“Don’t have one.”
I couldn’t hide my shock and outrage. “What? Then what’s your furniture aimed at?”
He didn’t answer verbally, but he smiled, his hazel eyes amused.
“Do you have WiFi?” Noticing how panicked I sounded at the idea he didn’t, I added, “I’m a student. If you don’t, it’s no big deal, I can do my homework in the library.”
“The login info is on Nolan’s schedule.” He shook his head as he headed for the door. “I’m not a complete savage.”
“I dunno,” I muttered when I thought he was out of earshot, “you don’t even have a TV.”
His laughter caught me off guard. It was full and deep—and more appealing than I cared to admit.
“Your keys,” he said, still laughing as he held up his
hand.
Lost in both his laughter and the way it changed his face, I tossed him my key ring without thinking. Only when he was heading out the door did I snap out of my daze. “Where are you going?”
“I assume you have boxes, lass.”
Even with the storage unit I’d gotten for my furniture, there were boxes. A lot of them.
“I’ll take care of them later,” I said.
“Nah, I got it. Keep an eye on Nolan.” Without giving me the chance to argue, he closed the door behind him.
I dragged my eyes from the door to the dog who was sitting patiently at my feet. “So… you like… stuff?”
His tail wagged, which I took as an affirmative.
Since my conversation skills left a lot to be desired, I went into the kitchen and found the notepad that held Nolan’s schedule. I was reading through it when the door opened, and Killian came in carrying a large stack of boxes.
“You don’t have to bring them all in,” I said, rushing over to help. “I can get them later.”
His only response was to give me a look before turning and leaving again.
After his second trip and my millionth offer to help, it became obvious I was only getting in his way. I gave up and sat on the floor to pet Nolan, trying not to think about how awry the day had gone. As I’d tossed and turned the night before, my restless mind listing the ways things could go south, none of my possibilities had come close to the truth.
While it would’ve taken me about fifty trips to unload my car, Killian did the job in four. Since I couldn’t exactly keep my boxes in the living room, no matter how awesome of a fort they’d make, he began stacking them in a room down the hall. My duffels and totes that held my everyday items were left in the hallway for me to deal with.
When the last load was set aside, Killian grabbed his suitcases before stopping in front of where I sat. His face was blank as he looked down at me. “Not what you were planning, but you okay with this?”
I smiled my gratitude. “I really appreciate you trusting me enough to let me stay here.”
As he stroked Nolan’s head, his lips curved into a smirk. He turned and was almost to the door before saying, “It’s not like you’re gonna steal my TV.”