Kept from You (Tear Asunder, Book 4)

by Nashoda Rose

  She did better than that. Savvy shrugged out of Luke’s hold and walked up to him. “I’d have to be dead before I worked for you.”

  “You’re going to end up dead if you hang out with him.”

  Fuck.

  Savvy didn’t even flinch, but then she had no idea he was referring to Emmitt and my mother.

  This was the side of Savvy I’d seen on the steps outside of school. Defiant, determined, and beautiful as a raging river glistening in the morning sunrise.

  “Better to die happy with him than alone and never knowing what an amazing man he is.”

  My father’s mouth opened in shock and before he could mention Emmitt or my mother, I stepped in and hooked my arm around Savvy’s waist. “Go with Luke, baby,” I whispered.

  She did, but several times she looked over her shoulder at me, as if making sure I was okay before she disappeared downstairs.

  Then I turned my attention to my father. “You’re not welcome here. I expect you to leave quietly and never show your face here again.”

  “You think because you’re in a famous band now that you can do whatever you want? You’ll never escape who you are.” He looked me up and down with a sneer. “Look at you. Tattooed. Pierced. You don’t deserve to have the Kane name.”

  I stared at the man who made my life hell for years. I didn’t give a shit how he treated me before Emmitt died as long as he’d treated my brother okay. But I didn’t need to take his shit anymore.

  “Are you done?”

  He pursed his lips together. “I can have it shut down.” He had a few judges in his pocket, but I had Deck, and Deck had a number of friends in the police department.

  It was probably why for years my father had the club district. He had others who tried to open clubs shut down before they even had a chance.

  He got right in my face, his finger pointing at my chest. “This is far from over.”

  “Nice to see you again, Seamus,” I said, then nodded at Luke who was back without Savvy.

  “Mr. Kane. If you’ll follow me,” Luke urged. He took his cues from me, and I knew he’d do it politely unless my father objected, then all niceties were thrown out the door along with my father.

  I picked up my Scotch and chugged it back in one shot. Then I called Logan.

  “You okay?” Logan asked since I rarely called him after midnight.

  “You up for sparring? My place.”

  “Meet you in thirty,” Logan said without hesitation. There were no questions as to why I needed to fight at midnight. It was my way to get rid of the anger, and he knew that.

  “Give me an hour?” I asked. There was no way in hell I was leaving Savvy here alone.

  “Sure,” he replied.

  I hung up then walked to the railing to make sure Savvy was okay. She danced in the cage, looking fuckin’ stunning and sexy and everything inside me wanted to run down the stairs and kiss her.

  I turned away, leaning against the railing, arms crossed and body tense.

  It was the longest fuckin’ hour of my life.

  As soon as Savvy was finished for the night, I made sure Luke stayed with her then escaped the club through the back door and went to the warehouse where I met Logan. We fought until neither of us could lift our arms anymore.

  “Kite,” the maître d’ said with a broad smile as we walked into the restaurant. “It’s been too long.”

  It was Saturday night and I hadn’t seen Killian all week. I wasn’t sure if it had something to do with his father showing up at Compass or not. He’d texted me though and called a few times just to talk, which was nice and unexpected from him considering it wasn’t like he had to or anything since the dating wasn’t real.

  And I liked that. God, I liked it a lot.

  I worked again Thursday and Friday night, but Killian hadn’t been there, although Luke was always within eyesight.

  “Good to see you, François,” Killian replied and shook his hand. “How have you been?”

  “The building has not been the same.”

  Killian chuckled. “Meaning it’s quiet.”

  François smiled. He looked about fifty and had strong, defined features, dark bushy brows with a speckling of silver that matched his thick head of hair. Attractive.

  “Quieter, yes,” François said with a broad grin.

  “This is Savvy. Savvy. François,” Killian said.

  François took my hand and kissed the back of it. “Lovely to meet a friend of Kite’s.”

  Killian put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed, then slid it down my bare back.

  I shivered as the callouses on his palm lightly scratched my skin, leaving behind a lingering path of heat. I’d been a yo-yo of emotions ever since I opened my apartment door to see Killian dressed in suit pants and a white dress shirt.

  He was perfection. Dark gray slacks fitted low on his hips with no creases, the material falling in all the right places. The top two buttons on the white dress shirt were undone, and his tattoos were barely visible under the luxurious material.

  But the tattoo of the bird of prey on his neck was vibrant against the stark white shirt.

  There was no tie and it was too hot for a suit jacket, but he looked classy, even with tattoos and a piercing in his brow.

  There was no question that anyone who saw him knew he had money. Not just because of his clothes, but because he owned who he was.

  Not showy, but with a quiet confidence.

  The first words out of Killian’s mouth when I opened the door tonight were, “So, beautiful.”

  “It fits perfectly. Thank you.” A package had arrived in the afternoon and in it was a note that read, ‘Please accept this gift. I’ll pick you up at seven. Killian.’ It was a sweet gesture and my heart raced and hands had trembled when I opened it. Not so much that it was a gift, but the fact that Killian had been thinking about me.

  The black dress was stunning and fit perfectly, the shoes gorgeous and they should be because I’d seen the label and knew they had to be at least five hundred dollars. I’d never worn anything so expensive in my life.

  “My pleasure.” His finger had slid over my bare shoulder to the spaghetti strap where he’d traced the length of the strap. A bundle of nerves swarmed into a tight knot in my core. “You have an incredible body, Savvy.”

  Heat burned in my cheeks under his intense gaze, and since the dress clung to every inch of my body, it felt as if he were looking at me naked.

  “Inside and out you’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You look really good, too, Killian.”

  He’d grinned, then slid his hand into mine. That’s when I felt the scab on his knuckle and when I looked there was bruising too.

  Now, we were being led to a table in a fancy restaurant by François. Killian thought it was a good spot for a more public appearance of us dating.

  He stayed close to me, his hand on my back as we weaved through the tables. Several people, mostly women, admired him as we passed. But I noticed men looked at me, too.

  “Sexy as hell,” he whispered, leaning into me. “You have every man’s attention in this fuckin’ place. I may have to start fighting again.”

  “You see guys watching me dance at Compass.”

  “No. I don’t watch you. Luke does.” No wonder I never felt his eyes on me when I was dancing. “When I watch you dance, Savvy, it will be for my eyes only.”

  Oh. Wow.

  François sat us at a corner table where the lights were dim, and no other tables were within five feet. On the center of the table was a silver oblong bowl with several candles floating in cerulean blue water with white rose petals. There was a hint of their fragrance drifting in the air that mixed with the sensual scents of spices from food at nearby tables.

  Killian pulled out the chair for me. “Thanks, François,” he said. “Appreciate the table.”

  “Always a pleasure, Kite. Mademoiselle Savvy.” He bowed his head to me, backed a couple of steps and then turned an
d hurried away.

  Killian didn’t sit across from me. He sat in the chair next to me, so we were close and intimate.

  I placed the napkin on my lap. “You know one another?”

  “When I lived with Crisis and Haven, we had a place around the corner. I came here for lunch sometimes. But I got to know François from our building. He had the other penthouse.” He continued, “He owns the restaurant.”

  “Oh. I thought he was the maître d’.”

  Killian sat back in his chair and straightened his legs under the table so they brushed up against mine and stayed there.

  I swallowed, wanting to shift my legs away and yet unable to move because I really liked the sweet torture of having his leg against mine.

  “He’s here every lunch and dinner looking after his guests and refuses to hire anyone else to do the job. He says this is how he gets to know his customers, and they him. This place is his pride and joy.”

  “I can tell,” I said.

  I’d noticed François nod and smile at patrons on the way to our table.

  The place was classy with expensive chandeliers and intricately carved woodwork on the chairs and bar, but it had a personal feel to it. As if we were all guests in François’ home.

  He opened the folder and scanned the contents. “Red or white?”

  “Red, please,” I answered.

  The waiter arrived, and Killian ordered wine and sparkling water. We then chatted about the band and the tours. I wanted to ask him about his father, but it wasn’t the place, and Killian seemed so relaxed, I didn’t want to ruin that.

  I did notice his knuckles had cuts on them and wondered if he had fought his dad after I left.

  He asked me about Mars, what movies I liked and the plays I’d been in. I talked and he quietly listened.

  And when Killian listened, he did it completely. He never appeared bored and his eyes never wandered. He focused on me and nothing else.

  It was unnerving to have someone’s attention like that, yet it made me feel as if every word out of my mouth was important, and he wanted to know more about me and what I’d done for the last eleven years. I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t real. But God, it felt real.

  We hadn’t even opened the menus when the waiter asked what we’d like. Killian looked at me. “Is there anything you don’t like?”

  “Oysters. But that’s about it.” David had liked them and ordered them all the time when we’d gone out. I’d tried one of his once, but the texture bothered me.

  He nodded and turned back to the waiter. “Tell Chef Fredrick it’s Kite, and we’ll have whatever he suggests, except oysters.”

  “Of course, sir.” The waiter nodded. “He will be pleased to hear that.” The waiter hurried away.

  “You know the chef, too?”

  “François and Fredrick are a couple.” He reached for the bottle and poured me more red wine and he refilled his sparkling water.

  We ate and chatted about everything except his father and what happened at the club. There was something there though. I’d tasted the animosity in the air and it was obvious Killian owning the club wasn’t just an investment opportunity. Then there was the issue of him paying someone in his dad’s stable to get proof of the abuse to the horses.

  After we finished, Killian asked the waiter to bring Chef Fredrick’s best dessert to share.

  “Oh, my God, I don’t have any room for dessert,” I said, laughing.

  “He’d be offended if we didn’t,” he replied, then leaned back in his chair. “And I’m not ready to stop watching you lick your lips,” he drawled.

  I resisted the urge to lick my lips as my core heated and tightened, and tingles sprinkled everywhere.

  A shadow cast over our table. “I’m so sorry, but can I get your autograph? I’m a huge fan of Tear Asunder.”

  I lifted my eyes to the twenty-something girl standing beside Killian, a cocktail napkin and pen in hand.

  My gaze shifted to Killian who wasn’t looking at the girl but at me. Bold, intense green eyes observing, no doubt for my reaction because a girl stood beside our table in a fancy restaurant asking for Killian’s autograph.

  I smiled, brows lifting. It was kind of cute, especially since he wasn’t the type to bask in the attention of fans.

  Killian politely took the napkin and pen from the girl and placed it on the table. He glanced up at her. “What’s your name?”

  “Veronica, but just Vee is good,” she replied, her hands clasped together in front of her, expression awestruck.

  She briefly met my eyes, and I smiled because her voice quaked and hands shook. She was really nervous.

  He scribbled something on the napkin and passed it back. “All the best, Veronica.”

  “Thank you so much. I can’t wait for your new album.” She pranced away, her eyes glued to the napkin, and since she wasn’t looking where she was going, she ran into a waiter who nearly dumped his tray of drinks on the elderly man and woman.

  “Does this happen often?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “For Logan it does. For me, not as much.”

  The waiter arrived with the dessert, a crème brûlée with raspberries and blueberries.

  He set it between us with two spoons. “Coffee, sir?”

  Killian raised his brows to me, and I shook my head. He looked back at the waiter. “No, thank you. Please tell Chef Fredrick everything was outstanding.”

  He moved off, and I picked up a spoon, cracked the brown sugar topping with the tip then scooped out a spoonful of sweet whipped deliciousness.

  Casually lifting my chin and tilting my head, the spoon midway to my mouth, I said, “So, I guess word will spread that you were having dinner with a redhead?”

  Killian grinned. “Yes. It was probably on social media the second we walked in.” His grin faded and in its place was a smoldering, heated intensity in his eyes as he watched me slide the silver spoon into my mouth.

  The thin sweet crunch mixing with the light, airy cream tickled my tongue.

  Indulging was rare. Indulging in something like crème brûlée was heaven on a spoon.

  But what made it even more like heaven was that Killian watched me with desire blazing in his eyes.

  I swallowed, then with the tip of my tongue, I slid it over my lower lip, licking the remnants of cream.

  “Fuck,” he growled.

  I secretly smiled, heart pumping wildly.

  I’d never been sexy or tried to be sexy, but I wanted to be with Killian. He made it easy for me to be brave.

  Lights dim, candles flickering, the soft jazz music in the background, skin tingling from the sexy-as-hell man next to me, yeah, I was brave.

  I dipped the spoon in again, but Killian’s fingers spanned my wrist, stopping me.

  I met his eyes and without a word, but knowing exactly what he wanted by the silent exchange of his steady expression, I released the spoon to him.

  His attention went to the dessert where he tapped the light thin sugar shell before breaking through and sinking into the airy lightness.

  He lifted the overfilled spoon at the same time as his eyes.

  I thought he was going to take a bite himself, but he held the spoon out to me. “Open.”

  I nervously laughed, thinking he was kidding; it was a huge mouthful. “It’s too much.”

  “I know. Open, Savvy,” he said.

  Oh, God, my belly dropped and my sex clenched. I swallowed, licking my lips again.

  “No,” he said with a firm voice. “I didn’t ask you to lick your lips. Although that is fuckin’ delectable as hell.” His tone lowered further. “I asked you to open your mouth.”

  My eyes widened. Holy. Fuck. That was hot. Demanding and a little scary because him using that voice I’d pretty much do anything he asked.

  I opened, and he slid the dessert into my mouth, and since there was so much, it hit the roof, sides, and back of my throat. He didn’t remove the spoon right away and watched as I struggled
not to pull away.

  When I was just about to say screw it, he said, “My cock will fill your mouth a hell of a lot more than this.”

  I nearly choked. And I would’ve if he didn’t slowly remove the spoon, my lips dragging over the cool, smooth surface of the spoon to make certain I took the entire dessert.

  His elbow rested on the table, spoon in his hand, eyes on mine as I swallowed little by little until it was gone. The entire time I thought about his cock.

  Was it possible to have an orgasm with no touching? Because if it was, I was going to come right here at the table with people all around and Killian watching.

  God, why did I find this so hot?

  Okay, I’d never had a man speak to me like Killian.

  But it was more. He was polite and casual yet intense and demanding. He also obviously liked to get his own way.

  “Open,” he said.

  I did, and he fed me another mouthful watching my every movement.

  After the third spoonful, he dropped the spoon on the dish, and it made a loud clatter. My breath hitched and heart jumped at the sound.

  He’d done it on purpose. It was as if he wanted that reaction. A contrast from the slow and gentle to the loud and abrupt noise.

  “Good, orchid?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Thank you. Aren’t you having any?”

  “No. Watching you was my dessert,” he drawled before catching the eye of the waiter and offering a nod. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I uh, just have to go to the ladies’ room first.” Because I was flushed and my panties were wet, and I so needed a minute to collect myself before I sat in the car with him.

  His brows lifted as if he knew exactly why I needed an escape. “To the right of the bar.” He gestured with a nod.

  The escape to the ladies’ room was a relief to be out from under Killian’s attentiveness.

  There was no question he desired me and giddiness filled me to know the confident, sexy, smoking-hot Killian was interested.

  But that giddiness also had a layer of uncertainty. There was something dangerous about him. Not fighting dangerous. That had been tamed. Maybe it had shifted to something different.