Claimed: The Complete Short Romance Series

by Nichole Rose

  He's striding toward the door before I can say anything. I watch him go, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Part of me wants to gather my things and make a run for it before he sends all my walls tumbling and gets too close.

  In my life, there is no permanence. People are temporary. They come and go, and I should be used to that by now because it's been that way since I was little…but it still breaks my heart a little bit every time it happens. Dom and Summer are the only ones who have ever stuck around.

  I want Killian to stick around too, with a desperation that's completely foreign to me. But I'm terrified he'll be temporary too. And that makes me feel vulnerable as hell.

  He's going to break me…own me. I'm going to let him do it. Because even though getting close to him scares the hell out of me, not getting close scares me even more. I barely even know him, but I know instinctively that I'll regret not getting close to him more than anything. Even if he breaks my heart in the end, I want to know him, and I want him to know me too.

  My phone buzzes with an incoming text from a number I don't recognize. As soon as I click on it, I know immediately that it's from him.

  Stop overthinking it, baby girl.

  I hesitate for a long moment and then fire off a simple response.

  Okay.

  When Killian returns with lunch, I'm hard at work on the code, trying to tweak it to his specifications. He sets lunch up at his desk before pulling me out of my chair to eat.

  "I need to finish this one line first," I object, but he completely ignores me, leading me to his desk with a hand on my back. "Killian, I need to finish it."

  "After you eat."

  I glare at him.

  "Dom said you forget to eat."

  "I do not…" I trail off when he shoots me a look full of authority. "Fine, maybe I forget sometimes, but it's not that big a deal. I'm not starving. Obviously."

  His brows wing together. "What does that mean?"

  "I'm a big girl, Killian. I'm obviously not missing many meals."

  "Big girl? What the fuck?" He scowls at me, looking for all the world like a pissed off devil. "Who the fuck told you that?"

  "The mirror? Life? Everyone?" I shrug a shoulder. "I know what I look like. Society doesn't let you forget what you look like when you look like I do." They all assume that you're big because you eat too much or because you're lazy. I stopped caring about their opinions a long time ago, but it's doesn't change the fact that I'm curvy. It might not bother me, but it bothers a lot of people who express concern about my health like it's any of their business. I may be overweight, but I'm healthy. I eat well and exercise.

  That doesn't stop them from making assumptions.

  "They're fucking idiots," Killian growls, getting all up in my personal space. One big hand goes around my waist, yanking me up against him until my body collides with his. He tips my head up with a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to face him. "You're a knockout, Liberty."

  Jesus, he's hard everywhere. The bulge in his pants is obvious. So is the fact that his entire body is ripped. A shudder wracks my body, a quiet moan escaping my lips. A forest fire flares to life inside, burning me up.

  He studies me for another minute and then presses his lips to mine in a hard kiss, one big hand gripping my ass. "Dreamed about this body all night," he says against my mouth. "You've got me all tied up in knots, baby girl."

  My core clenches at his honesty, at the way he grips my ass so possessively, like he knows it belongs to him. "Me too," I whisper, touching my tongue to his bottom lip.

  He bites mine in return. I grasp onto his shirt and practically mewl into his mouth.

  "Fuck," he rumbles before his hand delves into my hair and he really kisses me. His tongue touches mine, a low groan rumbling against my lips. He kisses me like he can't stop himself, using his hand in my hair to tilt my head the way he wants it.

  One kiss, and I know I'm in serious trouble. Every cell in my body screams for relief, pleading for him to touch me like no one ever has before.

  "Goddamn, baby girl," he growls, biting my lip hard enough to make it sting. He pushes up against me, the hard ridge of his cock digging into my hip. "That sweet mouth tastes like heaven."

  "Killian."

  He breaks away from my mouth, leaving a trail of kisses across my cheek. His stubble scratches, but it feels so damn good. It feels even better when he rakes his teeth down the tendon in my neck before moving back up to my ear.

  "I'm not good enough for you, but you're mine, Liberty," he says, his tongue touching my earlobe. He releases my head, skimming his hand down my body.

  I moan when his fingers touch my bare thigh. And then moan again when he drags my skirt up, his callused fingertips sliding against my bare skin as he goes.

  "This is mine now too, baby girl," he breathes in my ear, cupping my sex through my panties. His touch is rough and possessive, but somehow so right at the same time. He grinds his palm against me and then presses a kiss to the pulse beneath my ear. "You going to let me ruin you for anyone else?"

  "Yes," I whisper.

  "Good." He grinds his palm against me again, touches his mouth to mine once more, and then reluctantly releases me. His eyes smolder with desire. He breathes deeply, like he's trying to catch his breath, or maybe he's trying to smell me. I'm not sure.

  I bring my hand up, touching it to my lips. They feel swollen.

  "Don't regret it," he orders me.

  "I…Okay."

  Chapter Four

  Killian

  I spend the afternoon running around the building, dealing with problems. The plumbing in the showers is backed up. There's a scorpion in one of the rooms in the east wing. And somehow, an order for fifteen industrial sized washers turned into a delivery of thirty stackable washers. They won't last a month around here.

  By the time I've got everything sorted, it's already close to six. I'm worried Liberty may have snuck out without waiting for me. And I'm still pissed about the fact that she doesn't know how beautiful she is. People are assholes for making her think that way, for making her doubt herself. She's the prettiest little thing I've ever seen.

  Being around her is doing a number on my cock. The hard bastard won't go down. Every time my erection abates, I remember the way she moaned or the feel of her soft body colliding with mine and he perks right back up, desperate for relief. I'm beginning to worry I'm going to end up as one of those cautionary tales about what happens when an erection lasts longer than four hours.

  I practically run back to our office, only to exhale in relief when I find her behind her desk, squinting at her computer. Her pretty bun is long gone. So are her shoes. She's got her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail with her feet propped up on the footstool I bought her.

  "Hey," she says, looking up at me through tired eyes.

  Has she taken a break at all since I left after lunch? It doesn't look like it.

  "You done yet?" I ask, prowling toward her.

  She furrows her brows like she doesn't know what I'm talking about. She's been so caught up in her work, she doesn't even know what time it is. Irritation floods through me. Not with her, but with myself. I should have realized she'd get lost. Alessi tried to warn me that she does it, said she gets so hyper-focused the world could end and she wouldn't even realize it.

  I'll take better care of her tomorrow.

  "Come on," I murmur, stopping beside her and holding out a hand. "You're done for the day."

  "I need to finish this last bit of code," she says, stubborn as hell.

  "No."

  "Killian."

  "No, Liberty."

  She narrows her eyes on me.

  "You work for me now," I remind her. "I decide when enough is enough. You can't win a war in a day, baby girl."

  "I thought we were trying to help them recover from war," she mutters, rolling her eyes at me.

  If she were a recruit, I'd be making her sweat for that shit. Lucky for her, I know enough about women to kn
ow I can't treat her like she's enlisted, not if I want her to fall in love with me. Instead, I turn her chair around and wrap my hands around her waist, picking her up.

  "Killian, put me down!"

  I sit her on the edge of her desk. "You're not used to being cared for," I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple. "You'll learn."

  "Learn what?" she says, scowling at me when I grab her purse and phone before handing them over to her.

  "That I make the rules now. When you obey, you get rewarded. When you don't, you get punished. You'll enjoy it either way." I fish her heels out from under the desk, turning them around in my hands. No wonder women are forever kicking off their shoes. There's no way there's enough space in these things for their delicate toes.

  "I'm a big girl."

  A growl erupts from my lips.

  "I mean, I can take care of myself," she says, rolling her eyes at me again. "Jeez. You're a caveman."

  When it comes to her, she's probably right. I want to be the man she leans on, the one who takes care of her, the only one who gets to be intimate with her. I want to be the one she trusts with every piece of herself. The one who gets to take care of her like the treasure she is.

  Christ, if my men could see me now, they wouldn't even recognize me. I've always been a hard-ass, more than willing to hand out an ass chewing or launch an attack on our enemies. I'm still more than capable of doing both, but she has some long dormant instinct bubbling to the surface. The one that says she's mine to protect and provide for. The one that wants to alternatively fuck her raw and spoil her rotten.

  "Never said you couldn't," I mutter, slipping her shoes on her feet. Her little toenails are painted a sparkly purple color. She has a mole on her ankle. I run my hand up her leg before curving it around her hip and tugging her closer to me. "You've been doing it for a long time, baby girl. Now I'm going to be the lucky motherfucker who gets to do it for you."

  "Killian," she whispers, her irritation vanishing. Her expression softens, melting like butter.

  "You want me to cook for you or do you want to go out?"

  "We can go out." She hesitates. "Unless you don't want to."

  One day, this infuriating, beautiful woman is going to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd go anywhere so long as I was with her. Getting to spend time with her and show her off is not a hardship. Fuck everyone who ever made her think it was.

  The Italian restaurant is packed by the time we get there. The hostess takes my name and promises they'll have a table for us in fifteen minutes. I take advantage of the time and pull Liberty into a corner before wrapping my arms around her. She's tense at first, but within moments, she relaxes and lays her head against my chest, letting me hold her.

  A few people shoot us curious glances, but most are too wrapped up in their own conversations to wonder how a scarred son of a bitch like me got lucky enough to be with a goddess like her. She feels so soft in my arms. I instantly become addicted to cuddling her. Which is surprising. I've never been one to cuddle.

  Affection wasn't normal in our household. Our parents were too busy with their own lives to spare me and Sebastian much attention. It was our nanny who comforted us when we were sick or afraid, who kissed us on the cheeks and sent us off to school. She died of a heart attack twenty years ago. I don't think I've been held since then.

  Holding Liberty is nice though…better than that. It feels a little like coming home.

  I hope like hell she feels it too.

  Eventually, the hostess motions for me, silently letting us know our table is ready. I reluctantly release Liberty, only to put my hand on the small of her back to guide her. Touching her is quickly becoming my favorite thing to do.

  "This way," the hostess mutters, casting furtive glances in my direction, a mix of pity and curiosity on her face. She leads us through the restaurant toward the back, sneaking looks at me every couple of seconds.

  People have been staring at my scar for years. It doesn't bother me anymore, but Liberty doesn't seem to appreciate her looking at me like she is.

  "It's rude to stare," she tells the girl, her voice firm.

  "I'm…so sorry." The girl blushes bright red.

  "He's a decorated war hero," Liberty says, still bristling on my behalf. And fuck if that doesn't turn me on like nothing ever has before. The fact that she comes up to my chest but thinks she needs to stand up for me is sexy on levels I can't even begin to comprehend.

  One way or another, I'm going to make her fall in love with me.

  I know I'm already there with her. Why else does my heart feel like it wants to crawl up my throat and take up residence inside her? It belongs to her now. So do I. If she doesn't come home with me tonight, I'm going to be a miserable bastard.

  Neither of us speak again until we're seated at the back of the restaurant. Our table is situated behind a low retaining wall, offering privacy from the main dining room. We're close enough to the bay to see the lights of the city reflecting off the water in the distance.

  "Do people always stare at you like that?" Liberty asks once our waiter brings out a basket of bread and glasses of ice water before disappearing again.

  "Usually."

  "That's rude."

  "Used to it, baby girl." I offer her the basket of bread, waiting until she takes a piece before I grab my own. Her cheeks are pink, though I don't know if it's because she's angry on my behalf or because she's feeling shy again.

  "It's still rude."

  She's not wrong.

  I watch her nibble on her bread.

  "You grow up around here?" I ask, curious as hell about her. She knows a lot about me, but she hasn't shared much in return. All I have are the little tidbits I've been able to piece together on my own. I don't like not knowing everything about her. Ordinarily, I'd just call up a buddy and tell him to get me everything there is to know about her…but I don't want to do that. I want her to trust me with the pieces of herself she keeps hidden behind those walls.

  She flinches and then shakes her head. "I grew up in Los Angeles. Um…in foster care."

  "Your parents are gone?"

  She nods, staring at her water like it holds the answers to the universe. "Yeah. My dad was in the military. My mom died while he was overseas. Aneurysm. He didn't handle losing her and his PTSD well and got hooked on drugs. Um, he lost custody of me when I was six." She looks so fucking sad. "He overdosed a little over a year later."

  Shit. No kid should have to lose both their parents so fucking young. I don't know why she wasn't ever adopted, but it kills me a little bit to know just how long she's been alone, trying to hold it all together. I'm also proud as hell of her. She's made a life for herself despite everything.

  I feel like an ass for thinking she accepted this job because of Sebastian. She did it for her dad, so no other little kid had to lose a parent to the wounds war leaves behind like she did. She's been through hell in her life, but she's still standing. She's got a warrior's spirit.

  "I'm sorry, baby girl."

  "It was a long time ago," she says like that means it should hurt less. Some wounds don't ever heal though. They just scab, breaking open over and over again.

  "You have any other family?"

  She shakes her head, confirming what I already knew.

  "I think Sebastian and Alessi would tell me something different," I murmur, resting my elbows on the table and then tenting my hands together to rest my chin on them.

  She looks up at me, confusion on her face.

  "They may not be blood, but they consider you family." They're both protective of her. I don't like it because she isn't theirs to protect, but I get why. She's the kind of girl you can't help but want to watch over. I'm guessing that's why Alessi hired her so young. I'm also guessing she doesn't realize he watches out for her like an older brother. He put me through the third degree before agreeing to let me meet with her yesterday.

  "They're just nice," she says.

  "To you. They both threatened me
with bodily harm if I hurt you."

  The doubt in her eyes is obvious.

  My lips kick up in a rueful grin. "Sebastian wasn't thrilled when I accused him of sleeping with you."

  Her nose wrinkles. "I've never slept with Sebastian."

  "Know that now. Didn't know it yesterday." I hesitate and then admit the truth. "I was jealous as hell he got to you before I could make you mine."

  She looks at me like I'm some foreign species, speaking a language she doesn't understand. It's both adorable as hell and frustrating as fuck that she doesn't realize how goddamn perfect she is. That she doesn't know men fight wars over women like her. As much as I like to think I would have walked away and let Sebastian have her had they slept together…my gut says different.

  "Sebastian's just a…"—she hesitates like she isn't sure what he is and then settles on a descriptor—"nice guy. I barely even know him. He barely knows me."

  "He knows you better than you think, baby girl."

  She opens her mouth to respond and then snaps it closed when our waiter appears.

  I barely look at him or the menu, instead watching Liberty. She doesn't look at me, but I know she senses me watching her. Her cheeks are pink and she's jumpy again.

  "Um, I'll have the chicken Florentine and a glass of Pinot, please," she says, holding out her menu for the waiter, a young kid with a gap between his front teeth and acne.

  "I'll have the Caprese stuffed chicken." I hand my menu over to the kid too. "And a bottle of the Yuengling Gold."

  Liberty's nose wrinkles like she finds my choice gross. Guess she's not a beer girl. I'll have to teach her how different good beer can taste.

  "I'll have it right out," the kid says, grinning at her. Or grinning at her tits, rather.

  "Her eyes are up higher," I snap at him.

  He jumps like a young recruit caught acting up.

  Liberty flushes bright red. Fuck. I didn't mean to embarrass her.

  "Sorry," the kid mumbles before hurrying off. Little prick.