by Layla Frost
On top of that fail, there were dirty towels near the hamper, his bed was unmade and obviously used, and I’d filled his DVR with my own shows.
Worse still, my clothes were strewn around his room, and I was fairly certain there were a few pairs of dirty socks in his living room.
In the man’s living room.
I really was a monster.
If I was fast enough, I’d be able to finish classes, run errands, and be back in time to make the house perfect.
That still left the two weeks for me to panic about. If we were staying together, I’d have to be on my guard at all times. Meema would expect no less from me. Fail at any of my guest duties, and I might as well go to each of my ancestors’ graves and spit on them.
I couldn’t leave one crumb, one tub ring, one washcloth.
One lacy thong, that I belatedly remembered was on his freakin’ pillow.
I contemplated ditching classes to go move the thong because I knew it was going to haunt me all day.
“Nah, that’s okay,” Killian said after a long moment, confusing me until I realized he was referring to my offer and not my thong panic.
“No, really,” I found myself pushing, even though common sense was yelling at me to shut the hell up. “I’m at school most of the time, and like you said, you’ll likely be working a lot. There’s no reason for you to spend money on a room you won’t be using much.”
“You sure?”
No, I’m out of my mind.
“Yeah, of course,” I said instead.
“Aye, okay. But only if you promise me you’ll speak up if you change your mind.”
With the way words are spilling from my mouth like my lips have sprung a leak, that shouldn’t be a problem.
I didn’t share that, either, and only said, “I promise.”
“Aye. Then I’ll see you at home, Gus,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
Before I could convince my brain to jump start, Killian ended the call. I sat for a couple of minutes, staring unseeing out at the grass as I thought about whether us staying together would be no biggie or an epic disaster.
It wasn’t until I focused back on my laptop and saw my reflection in the black screen that I saw I was smiling.
And it wasn’t a little one.
____________________________
Later that night, my fingers were numb as I carried about a million bags up to the apartment. My feet ached, my eyelids were so heavy I looked stoned, and my back was preemptively sore at the amount of cleaning I needed to do. After which, I needed to haunch over my laptop and get six hours of homework done in two.
Dropping the bags to unlock the door, I groaned as I picked them back up. There was a slight chance I’d gone overboard, both at the store and with my attempt to carry everything inside in one trip.
I kicked the door closed behind me and walked the short hall before dropping half the heavy load. The half that contained food continued with me to the kitchen. As I set the bags on the counter, I turned to feed Nolan right away because I was already an hour past his scheduled dinner. When I saw his bowl was still full, and then noticed he hadn’t run over to greet me, my stomach dropped.
And it continued dropping straight down to my feet when I turned to see one of the floor to ceiling windows was open outward like a door.
“Nolan,” I whispered, my heart beating out of my chest.
Nothing.
“Nolan,” I tried again, slightly louder but not by much. I hadn’t even known the window could open, so there was a chance it was easy enough for Nolan, with his above-average intelligence, to figure out.
Or, alternate theory, there was a hockey-mask-wearing, chainsaw-wielding mass murderer on the balcony waiting for me.
I tried to step forward but yelped when something grabbed me, pulling me back.
Holy shit, they’ve got me!
That’s what I get for being the dumb chick in a horror movie. If I find a door open, I’m supposed to run. Not go farther into the apartment while I call out like a dumbass.
Not going down without a fight, I whipped around, ready to attack whoever had hold of me.
There was a loud ripping noise, and then I was free to move without resistance.
I looked at my assailant and bit back a curse even as my heart continued to race.
A drawer.
It was a freakin’ drawer that’d had me in its evil clutches.
The metal handle had gotten caught on my hoodie pocket, sending me into a panic attack like a dumbass.
My ripped pocket was quickly forgotten when I heard a scraping sound coming from the balcony. I was hoping against hope it was only Nolan. But the dark form I saw was much, much bigger than the dog.
As the form moved, I reached behind me and grabbed the first thing I touched. I brought it menacingly in front of me just as whoever filled the doorway.
“Killian,” I breathed, relief making my head swim. “You scared me.”
“Aye, I can tell.”
At the amusement in his tone, I looked to see I was wielding my large sub sandwich as a weapon. “Hey, I could’ve done some damage with this.”
As the last word left my lips, the sandwich flopped, the paper wrapper opening to spill the contents all over the floor.
Nolan literally drooled as he eyed the mess with more want than I’d ever seen directed at me.
Holy shit, I’m envious of the way a dog is looking at a sandwich.
I need to get laid in a bad way.
“Crap on a cracker,” I muttered, likely staring at the sandwich in much the same way Nolan was. “I was really looking forward to that.” I looked at Killian. “Is it okay for him to eat that? I don’t want it to go to waste.”
He scanned the mess before nodding. “Nolan.”
But Nolan didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as he looked at me. Waiting.
“Nolan,” I said, jolting back as the dog went to town on the food. “Well, at least cleanup is taken care of.”
Remembering all the messes I still needed to deal with, I wondered how long Killian had been home and whether he’d seen the socks, towels, and oh, I don’t know… the freakin’ thong on his bed.
“I didn’t think you’d be back until the middle of the night or tomorrow,” I said.
He moved into the kitchen to stand a few feet from me. There was a subtle hint of smoke, spicy yet sweet like honey, accompanying him, making me guess he’d been outside smoking. “I told you I was at the airport.”
“I thought you meant the one in Ireland.”
“I wasn’t able to call then.” His eyes narrowed as he spotted the bags near the hallway and on the counter. “Did you need me gone, lass?”
Yes, but only so I can clean up my mess because I’m a garbage person.
Wait, does he think I have someone coming over?
“No, not at all.” Before I could think better of it, I blurted, “But if you ever need me gone, let me know. Or, like, hang a tie on the door.”
His body seemed tight. Tense. I wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at the line of conversation—or maybe the mess I’d made of his home—but something seemed to be bothering him.
At my words, though, his lips curled up. “Tie on the door? Is this a frat house in a bad movie?”
“Is that not something people do?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know about other people, but no. It’s not something I do.”
“Oh. I really thought that was a thing,” I murmured.
“But it doesn’t matter because I won’t need you gone.”
His response had been innocuous, but as I stood in his kitchen with him only a few feet away, I couldn’t stop my lust-fueled brain from twisting his words into something more.
Something that made my heart pound, my body heat, and my breath turn uneven and quick.
Turning away before I did something I’d regret, I began unloading the bags, putting most in the fridge or freezer. When I finished, I moved to gather
the bags from the hallway, but Killian beat me, grabbing them all and setting them on the counter.
“Thanks,” I said, unused to the help. Reaching for the paper bag, I picked it up and handed it to him.
He glanced in at the wine bottles, his brow quirking as he looked back at me.
“I may have drunk some of your wine,” I admitted. “And by may, I mean I definitely did. And by some, I mean two bottles. I couldn’t find the exact brand to replace, but I replaced the kind.”
“You didn’t have to, lass. I told you to help yourself.”
“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t, my meema would’ve sensed it and flown here to lecture me.” I grinned even though my heart hurt a little from missing her. “There are a lot of stereotypes of the south, but the emphasis on manners is not one of them. In fact, I think it’s understated.”
“Noted.” He set the bag down on the counter and pulled out one of the bottles, making quick work of the cork. Pouring a glass, he set it in front of me before moving to fix himself something from the bar.
“You don’t drink wine?”
“Nah, never developed a taste for it.”
“Why do you have so many bottles?”
“They were a gift.”
“Oh.” I bit my tongue—literally—to stop myself from asking more.
Killian took a drink before sharing anyway. “I did a favor for a vineyard owner. He was grateful and sent me a small case of assorted wine.”
“That was nice of him.”
“It was a waste of twenty-k since I don’t like wine.”
I nearly choked on my sip of wine—a thirty dollar bottle I’d thought was a nice splurge. Coughing, I wheezed, “How many bottles did he send you?”
Killian patted my back to stop my cough. “Eight. But I’ve given half away for birthday or housewarming gifts.”
Which meant, after my two, he only had two left.
“I chugged that wine,” I admitted on a groan. “I chugged five-thousand dollars’ worth of wine.” Holding up my glass, I shook my head. “I owe you way more than this crap.”
He chuckled, and in that moment, I noticed how close he was standing because I both heard and felt the rumble of it. His hand was no longer patting my back, and instead was lightly rubbing.
My eyes went wide as I looked up at him. I knew there was confusion on my gaze. A question about what we were doing. But there was also hope. Want.
Killian seemed to realize his closeness shortly after I did. His eyes darkened, but I barely caught a glimpse before he moved away. “I’ve gotta take Nolan out. Since he ate your dinner, pick something and we’ll order in.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, I hauled ass through the house, doing a speed version of the deep clean I’d had planned. Crawling around the living room, I picked up every sock, scrap of paper, and dropped pen I could find. I gathered my laundry and shoved it into one of my bags. Towels and washcloths went into the hamper, shoes were pushed against the wall instead of flung in the walkway, and my thong was moved off the bed and hidden in my bag like illegal contraband.
I’d barely made it back into the kitchen before the door opened.
“Did you decide on dinner?” Killian asked.
Reaching into the drawer, I pulled out the first menu I touched and held it up.
Mexican.
Score.
Feeling good about my stealthy speed-cleaning skills, I took a long drink of my wine to celebrate my success.
A drink I nearly choked on when he said, “Once you’ve caught your breath from your mad dash around my house, let me know what you want.”
Shit.
If he’s going to be so eagle-eyed, these next two weeks are going to be even harder than I thought.
Double shit.
CHAPTER FOUR
BATMAN’S NOT MAD, HE’S JUST DISAPPOINTED
KILLIAN
“HE’S DEAD.”
Yeah, I wasn’t surprised. Had I found the bastard, I’d have killed him. And, if not me, his dad for sure. I’d bet there’d be a lengthy line of people ready to kill Ayden.
The twat.
“Didya hear me?” Dair asked.
“Yeah,” I said into my cell, “I heard. How’s his dad spinning it?”
“Tragic story, that. The innocent and angelic wee lad was taken by his enemies, aye? It’s his cross to bear for all he’s doing to protect the people.”
“Gotta respect his way of weaving a tale.”
“That ya do.” He paused for a minute, and I could hear him light a smoke. “Any word on our entrepreneur?”
I gripped my glass so hard, it was a testament to its craftsmanship that it didn’t shatter. I’d still have side armed the fooker against the brick wall of the balcony, but I didn’t want to risk waking Gus.
“Not a damn thing, and it’s pissing me off,” I growled.
A member of my team—well-compensated and trusted—had decided to expand my business efforts without my knowledge. He’d pyramid-schemed it, linking me to filth I had no interest in working with.
I had zero tolerance for lies, greed, or betrayal. Rick had managed to do all three in a short time.
That meant his time walking the earth was even shorter.
“We’ll get ‘im.” Before I lost my hold on my temper, Dair changed the subject. “Conor said there may be another job coming up.”
I thought about Gus.
Like she was a fookin’ snake charmer, just the quick visual of her sleeping in my bed hardened my dick, bending it along my thigh painfully. And since I’d been jerking it in the shower every damn chance I got, the thing was already used and abused. If I didn’t get away from Gus soon, I’d end up with permanent calluses and a right arm that was twice the size of my left.
If I was a smart man, I’d jump at the chance to put some distance between us.
But I wasn’t a smart man when it came to Gus.
“I’m not—”
“It’s local,” Dair interrupted.
“Have him send me the info. I’ll decide,” I lied.
That was the advantage of what I did. I took the jobs I wanted and left the rest. Since I only had Gus for another week, I knew I wouldn’t be taking it, local or not.
Plus, if the info was coming from Uncle Conor, it involved the Irish. We may have shared a nationality, but I held no loyalty to them. They knew I wouldn’t lie, cover anyone’s ass, or be swayed.
That’s what made me in demand.
I only cared about myself and my crew.
And Gus.
Beyond that, every job was about the money and whether it fit my beliefs.
My moral compass may be skewed to hell and back, but it was what I lived by. That meant that, Irish or not, if the job didn’t line up correctly with it, they could fook themselves with their own balls for all I cared.
Dair chuckled. “Aye, right. So tell him to ask yer bullocks?”
Since that was the Irish equivalent of telling someone to shut up, it was exactly what I’d say to my uncle. Lucky for Conor, Dair had more tact than I did, but the message would be the same.
I wasn’t interested.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said. “And I’ll aim for later than three in the morning next time.”
“I was up.”
“Aye, I’m sure you were. How’s the dote?”
Cute wasn’t the right word for Gus.
Gorgeous. Beautiful. Smart. Funny as hell. Messy. Maddening. Tempting.
A walking wet dream.
Since sharing any of that with Dair would’ve had his ass on the next flight to see for himself, my answer was to hang up on him.
Taking a drink of scotch, I absentmindedly tapped my phone against the arm of my chair. My mind should’ve been on catching Rick before he fooked me over any worse. Instead, it kept wandering to who was in my bed.
And the best way to keep her there.
Nolan moving caught my attention, and I looked over to see the subject of my thoughts standing on the
balcony like I’d fookin’ conjured her there with my need.
Her feet and shapely legs were both bare. I wasn’t sure if she was wearing any bottoms, but if she were, they were small enough to be hidden under the hem of her thin tee. Her tits pressed against the practically nonexistent material, her nipples hardened by the cool night’s air.
Wide-eyed, her blond hair blowing in the wind, she looked wild.
A wet dream.
My wet dream.
She took a step forward, giving me a better look at her in the light. Her eyes may have been wild, but they were also panicked.
Seeing it wasn’t insomnia that’d brought her outside like me, I set my shit down and stood. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t need to make that decision.
Gus made it for me.
Moving without hesitation, she rushed forward, slamming into my front. Her face pressed against my chest, her thin arms wrapping around my waist.
I curled my own arms around her, rubbing her back and cupping her head. “What’s wrong, mo chuisle?”
“Nightmare.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “Dunno. Woke up freaked and needed air. Like the walls were closing in. Does that make sense?”
Being caged in was a feeling I knew too fookin’ well.
“Yeah,” I muttered.
We stood like that for a while, me selfishly soaking in the feel of her. When I felt her shiver, I shifted her body away so she didn’t feel what that shiver had done to me.
I was sick.
I didn’t fookin’ care.
Hoarsely, I whispered, “You should get back inside, lass. You’ll freeze out here.”
Tilting her head, Gus looked up at me, her mouth opening slightly so her tongue could dart out and swipe across her full bottom lip. My control was close to snapping, but before it could, she pressed her lips together and nodded. With a muttered goodnight, she headed back inside.
To sleep, nearly naked, in my bed.
I went inside, too.
Climbing into my bed after her, I stripped her bare, ate her pussy like I was starving, and slammed into paradise.
At least in my mind.
In reality, I took my spot on the couch, stroked my dick, and shot my load into my tee, trying to ease the need so I could sleep.