Idol (VIP #1)

by Kristen Callihan

  “Back when my grandparents were young,” I say. “They farmed rotating vegetable crops. Same with the owners of the house you’re staying in. Now I just attend to the land nearest the house and let the rest grow free.”

  “Beautiful place,” Killian admits. “Kind of lonely, though.”

  Can’t say much to that. So I merely nod.

  We go back to work. Which is good, fine. Until Killian reaches behind his head and pulls off his shirt to tuck it in his back pocket.

  I’ve already seen the man naked. But that was different. I was too pissed and too busy trying to get him clean to fully notice the particulars. Now he’s in the full sun, his tan skin already glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. He’s lean and strong, his muscles a work of art. The massive tattoo that covers his left shoulder and torso is actually a vintage map of the world, like a spread-out globe.

  “You looking at my art, Libs?” He sounds amused.

  I meet his eyes and find them glinting, those ridiculously long lashes practically touching his cheeks. No fair that a dude has such pretty eyes.

  “I am. I figure you put pictures on your body, it’s fair game for anyone to study them.”

  His grin is quick, devilish, the little dimples on the sides of his mouth going deep then fading with his smile. “Didn’t say I minded.” He sits back on his heels so I can see it all.

  Unfortunately, I find myself wanting to study his lower abdomen, where the muscles are like stepping stones leading the way down to Mr. Happy.

  Damn it. I am not attracted to this guy. Nope. I’m just undersexed and need to get me some. Soon. But not with Killian. I cannot forget how I met him. Alcohol addiction is my hard line in the sand; it destroyed everything I loved.

  Ignoring my inner argument, I take in his tattoo. It’s done in clean, sure lines, more of an impression of the globe instead of being heavy with detail. And it is beautiful.

  “Does it have any meaning?” I ask. “Or was it for fun?”

  Killian tosses a dark lock of hair back from his face. “Started off as a way to cover up a mistake.”

  He leans in, bringing the scent of clean sweat and heady male pheromones with him. Hell. There really isn’t any good way to describe that fragrance other than delicious and addictive. I brace myself as he points to a spot above his nipple where there’s a compass rose. “I wanted to cover a name. Darla.”

  “Love gone bad?”

  He gives me a wry grin. “That would at least be romantic. But no. It was high school graduation. Me and…” His face goes blank for a second, a haunted look flashing in his eyes. But he blinks, and it’s gone. “My friends and I got wasted and hunted down one of our other friends who was practicing to become a tattoo artist. I was the guinea pig.”

  “And he put ‘Darla’ on you?”

  “Yep.” Killian sits back and starts to weed again. But he’s still grinning.

  “Who was Darla?”

  He laughs. “That’s the thing; she was just a name he thought would sound funny. I might have kept it. But, shit, it was ugly—all lopsided and fucking loopy.” Killian shakes his head. “Looked like some third grader did it.”

  I can’t help but laugh too. “Nice.”

  Killian’s expression goes soft, his gaze running over my face. His smile grows.

  “What?” I ask, thrown by the gleam in his eyes. It makes my breath catch.

  “You’re pretty.”

  He says it so matter of fact, I snort. “You sound surprised.”

  Killian leans in just a little. “Truth? I am. You’ve been scowling at me so much… Ah, there it is again. Glaring hate-fire at me.” The calloused tip of his finger traces the top of my cheek, and my lower belly clenches in shock. His voice grows thoughtful. “But when you smile? You kind of glow.”

  “Like a light bulb?” I retort, trying not to duck my head.

  His brow quirks, his eyes glinting with suppressed humor. “Fine. You’re radiant. That clear enough?”

  Words stick in my throat. It hits me that a man has never called me pretty before. Not once. How could that be? I’m not ugly. Objectively speaking, I know I’m pretty, or can be. I’ve had multiple dates, a boyfriend briefly in college. I’ve been hit on before, sure. But I’ve never been complimented in such a simple, honest way. The knowledge sinks into my skin like an itch, and suddenly I don’t want Killian to look at me.

  My spade plunges into the earth with enough violence to send soil flying. “So how did this Darla tat go away?”

  Killian frowns down at my spade for a second before he eases back to his usual cheekiness. “My mom was so disgusted with it, she gave me the money to get a new one to cover it.”

  “I’d have thought she’d want you to get it removed.”

  “Naw.” He tugs out a weed. “She didn’t object to a tattoo, just that it was poorly done. And there’d still be a scar. Mom isn’t big on scars. Anyway, I got the compass rose. The map came later.” He glances down at himself. “Kind of like, ‘Hey, Kills, here’s the world. It’s all yours if you don’t fuck it up.’”

  The regret in his voice, though he’s clearly trying to hide it, hits something in me. I take a breath, my gaze wandering to the clear blue sky overhead. The world. I’ve seen so little of it. Just this small blue corner of North Carolina and the slightly bigger swath of land when I went down to Savannah for college. Twenty-five years old, and I’m a hermit of my own making.

  My chest closes up, and I have to fight to breathe. I have an overwhelming urge to run into the house and curl up in my nice, cool bed where it’s dim and silent.

  “This is surprisingly relaxing,” he says.

  Killian’s comment catches my attention.

  “What? Weeding?”

  He glances at me from under the fans of his lashes. “Yep. I like doing something constructive.” Killian stops and rubs the back of his neck. “You got any fences to mend or wood to chop? Something like that?”

  “You need hard labor to forge you into a better person?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “Yeah, I think I do.”

  “And you want me to…what? Mr. Miyagi you?”

  His laugh is a rolling wave, deep and warm. “Fuck yeah. Paint the fence. Sand the floor.”

  “And when you’re done, we can go down to the sea, and you’ll balance on one leg.”

  “Shit, that would be epic.” Killian spreads his arms wide, doing a half-assed crane move. It does nice things to his torso, which I promptly ignore.

  I stand instead, dusting the loose soil off my knees. I grab my basket of veggies. “Come on, then. You can mow the law if you’re really serious. That’s about as Mr. Miyagi as I can get right now.”

  Killian hops up with ease. “Killian-san ready for duty.”

  I roll my eyes, pretending that I find him annoying. But I don’t. And that scares me.

  Chapter Four

  Killian

  I’m mowing Libby’s lawn. Sadly, that isn’t a euphemism for something more pleasurable than pushing an old mower back and forth over her vast and rolling yard. Out here in the hot sun, my muscles moving and sweat trickling down my spine¸ I realize I haven’t had sex in months. Six to be exact. I haven’t gone that long without sex since I started having sex. What really freaks me out is that I haven’t missed it much.

  During my travels, I met plenty of hot women ready and willing to rock my world. Willing isn’t even the right word. They were desperate to fuck me. It isn’t arrogance that makes me say that. It’s the truth. They knew who I was and did their best to be the girl who would blow me so away I would take them with me. Same old story for the past eight years. Fame equals dick chasers.

  Pushing the mower, I think back on all those women. God, some of them really did rock my world. The things they let me do, that they did to me, were unreal—as close to a high as I could get when not on stage. But it always ended as soon as my dick went limp. Eventually, sex with groupies became almost another form of masturbation. The excitement had long
since faded. No matter how good a chick’s technique, she never saw me as anything other than a means to an end. And those girls never expressed an opinion that contradicted my needs. I could send in a roadie, tell the groupies he was part of the band, and they’d fuck him raw too.

  I used those women just like they used me. Pump, dump, and go. Soulless encounters.

  Is that what Jax felt? Soulless? Off kilter?

  For the first time in years, I feel like I’m walking on solid ground. And I’m doing nothing more than yardwork. Libby gave me the side-eye when I asked to do more, and I made a joke out of it. But I was completely serious. I feel good. I want more of that— more of knowing I’m as normal and human as the rest of the world.

  Pulling my shirt from where it’s tucked in my back pocket, I wipe the sweat from my brow and head for the big barn-like garage at the back of the property. The lawn is done. It’s not perfect—my lines are slightly askew.

  I’m stretching out my shoulders when Libby appears on the back stoop. She’s holding two tall, icy glasses of lemonade. She meets me halfway, and I barely get out a heartfelt “thanks” before I’m gulping my drink down. Cold. Fresh. Perfect.

  I’m beginning to think this girl will never give me anything that isn’t fucking sublime. Then I catch a glimpse inside the shed and nearly choke on my last mouthful of lemonade.

  “You have a ride-on mower,” I get out while sputtering on my drink and glaring at the John Deere that would have cut my work time to less than an hour.

  Liberty, the little she-devil, just shrugs, taking a dainty sip of her lemonade. “Would Mr. Miyagi have let Daniel-san use a power sander? I think not.”

  She lets out a surprisingly girlish squeal when I launch myself at her, catching her around the middle, and haul her onto my shoulder.

  “You spilled my drink, fuck face,” she shouts, but she’s laughing.

  Thank God. Because I really didn’t think about the consequences when I acted. I rarely do. But I don’t want to piss her off or freak her out. Grinning wildly, I spin her in a circle and give her juicy ass a slap.

  She really squeals then, her feet kicking at my thighs, her hands beating my butt. “You will die for that, mister.”

  “Might as well enjoy myself then,” I shout over her protests and slap her ass again. Jesus. I need to stop because now I want to grab her round, firm butt and give it a squeeze. Maybe slip my fingers in between the crack and… Down, boy.

  I’d blame the heat and my lack of sex life, but I’m not sure. There’s something oddly appealing about prickly but oh-so-plush Libby.

  Reluctantly, I set her down and brace myself to be nutted. She swats my arm instead, her face red as one of her tomatoes.

  “Jerk,” she says without heat. “I have a total head rush now.”

  “Ah, those are the best.” Before she can totter, I touch her elbow just enough to steady her. Now that she’s not in my arms, I’m oddly hesitant to make contact again. Only yesterday we were at each other’s throats. And now I want to touch her as many times as she’ll let me.

  “You’re crazy pants, you know that?” Her scowl is kind of cute.

  “I’ve been told as much on occasion.”

  “Not surprising.” Libby rakes her fingers through her hair, and the sun glints off the strands. “I was going to offer to take you to the beach—”

  “We’re going.” I try to grab her hand but she evades me this time.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Liberty,” I warn. “Don’t make me toss you over my shoulder and haul your little ass there.”

  “Yeah, right. I bet you’re all bark too, buddy.”

  I step close, so quick that I neatly pin her to the side of the shed. We’re not actually touching but she goes still anyway. I take advantage and lean in until our noses nearly bump. “Oh, I bite, babe. But you’ll like it.”

  It then occurs to me what I’m doing. And that she smells like sunshine and lemons and brown sugar. Alarms start going off in my head, shouting danger and step the fuck back. But I can’t stop myself from looking at her lips. Mistake. Big fucking mistake.

  They’re pink and soft and parted, as if waiting to be taken. Heat surges to my cock, and I have to physically brace against the urge to thrust my hips forward. What the fuck? I’m losing it.

  Proof that this is a bad idea comes by way of Libby pressing those pretty lips together. “I bite back, Kill, and you won’t like it.”

  I give her a big, fake-ass smile. “So you say. Now get your suit on or I’ll bug the shit out of you all day.”

  She rolls her eyes but thankfully turns toward the house. “I’ll pack a lunch.”

  God, she’s gonna feed me. I’d like this girl just for that. But I’ve got to hold myself together. Because she’s not the type to fool around with. Any guy with half a brain can see that. She might be hard on the outside, but it feels more like a brittle shell. Christ, she reminds me of Jax in that way. The thought cools me. Maybe I should tell her to forget the whole thing and just go by myself.

  But then she pops her head back out the door. “Get in here. I got stuff for you to haul.”

  Like that, I’m hooked again. There’s just something about her I can’t ignore. I push off the side of the shed and bound to the stairs. “As long as you don’t forget lunch, I’m all yours, Miss Bell.”

  Libby

  The swath of beach near the house is narrow, butting up against wild dunes. I set up my blanket, umbrella, and chair while Killian looks on, as if perplexed.

  “It’s like you’re getting ready to camp,” he tells me when I take the cooler from his hand and plunk it in the shade behind my beach chair. “You gonna pull out an air mattress next? The kitchen sink?”

  “I like my comforts. And I’d rather not crisp in the sun like a tater tot.”

  Killian snickers. “I’ll be the tater.”

  I pull off my tee and ease out of my jean shorts. “You do that. But don’t come crying to me if you burn. I’m not rubbing aloe on your back.” Lie. I’d be far too happy to rub him.

  “You will, Libs.” His voice is oddly faint, distracted. “You’re all bark, babe.”

  “Babe? That’s no way to get me to…” I glance up to find him watching me. Not leering, but definitely looking.

  And I have the urge to pull my top back on. My black bikini is made for comfort rather than sexiness, and it covers as much as my bra and panties would. But I’m not used to a man seeing so much of me. I’m not ashamed of my body—though I wouldn’t cry if I suddenly had a smaller butt and bigger boobs. I’m a B-cup, so I don’t have to wear a bra every day, and I’m not exactly filling it out when I do. Something tells me Killian has seen his fair share of spectacular boobs. It annoys me that I fear I’ll be found lacking.

  I catch his gaze, and the air around us seems to take a pause. Killian’s dark eyes narrow, his expression hooded. I wonder what the hell he’s thinking, and my heart starts to pound, little zings of heat going haywire low in my belly.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, looking at each other as if we’re strangers who happened upon each other on this beach. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Then he blinks, cutting that cord, and makes a pretense of looking all around the beach. We’re alone here. Though, far in the distance, a few people are walking along the shore.

  “I’m going for a swim,” he says. “Want to come?”

  “You don’t want your sandwich?” Something in my chest squeezes tight because he’s kind of twitchy now, as though he wants to take off.

  Killian eyes the cooler and lets out a breath. “Right. Forgot about that.”

  He plops down next to me on the beach blanket, close enough that his thigh nearly brushes mine, and I can feel the heat of his body. He’s got nice legs, muscular and dusted with dark hairs, his skin already deeply tanned.

  I shouldn’t be noticing his damn legs. I shouldn’t be fidgeting with plates.

  “You come here a lot?” h
e asks.

  “I visit the beach almost daily.”

  “With your friends?”

  I wipe my hands down my thighs. “No. By myself.”

  He takes a bite of his sandwich, his gaze on the sea. “No friends?”

  God, the man is like a bloodhound. Or an annoying rat, chewing away at all my weaknesses. With that lovely image floating before my eyes, I set my sandwich down. “Not much of a social life here. Most of my friends are online.” And when was the last time I talked to any of them? It’s a slap to the system to realize I haven’t emailed anyone in months. And no one has emailed me either.

  I’m not shy. But I am an introvert. Going out has never been my thing. But when did I grow so isolated? Why hadn’t I noticed? Or cared?

  “Anyway, I like my privacy, doing my own thing…” My neck tightens, and I take long gulps of my lemonade.

  I have no idea what Killian is thinking. He just nods and eats his BLT in neat but big bites. A sigh of contentment leaves him before he peers down at the cooler, a little frown between his eyes.

  “Here.” I pass him another sandwich. “I packed you three.”

  His grin is quick and wide. “I knew it. All bark.”

  I won’t smile. I won’t. “Eat your sandwiches.”

  “I see that smile, Libs.”

  “I can take back the food.”

  He grabs the third sandwich and sets it on his lap, hunching protectively over it as he wolfs down the second one. “You grow up here?” he asks me after swallowing a huge chunk.

  “No. I grew up in Wilmington. The house was my grandmama’s place. She left it to my parents when she died, and they left it to me.” There. I said it. And it only hurts a little. A dull pain, like a boulder crushing down on my ribs. “I was living in Savannah, but after… Well, I just wanted to go home. This was the closest place to it for me.”