“Goof.”
“Only for you.”
Our peace is broken by a sudden slamming on the front door, followed by a familiar feminine bellow. “Killian James, get your trashy butt out here before I call the baby daddy police on you!”
I freeze, horror prickling my skin, as I stare down at Libby.
She’s gone still beneath me, her eyes wide as saucers.
Then they narrow. “I’m assuming you know the person trying to knock my door down?”
I give her a weak smile. “Yes. That’s Brenna James. My cousin and all around pain in the ass.”
Said pain in the ass is still pounding on the door and bellowing my name. If it wouldn’t upset my Aunt Anna, I’d kill the little brat.
Libby glances toward the door and back to me. “You knocked up your cousin?”
“Ha.” I glare at her and reluctantly pull away. “You’re a riot.” Grabbing my shorts off the floor, I haul them on and button them. “I’m letting her in before someone actually does call the cops. It’s happened before.”
When I’m greeted with silence, I turn and find Libby frowning at me. My back stiffens. “You’re not seriously questioning this.” I take a step back toward her. “Because I’m all for getting in that bed and demonstrating, in thorough detail, how you’re the only woman in my life.”
“Kiiiilliaaaaan!”
I swear Brenna’s screech could raise the dead.
“I think we’d have an audience,” Libby deadpans. She hasn’t moved from her spot. Less than five minutes ago, I was in there with her, warm and content. I’m cold now. I want back in.
“I don’t care.” Libby’s faith in me is more important. I need it.
I move to unbutton my shorts when my cell starts playing “Welcome to the Jungle.” Fucking hell. The pest is calling too.
Libby bites her lip but then bursts out laughing, a low, rolling sound. “Go open the door. I’ve gotta meet this girl.”
My shoulders drop, and I smile. “Your funeral, baby doll.”
“Killian Alejandro James! I just got a bug in my mouth, and it’s all your fault!”
Libby snorts. “Sounds more like yours.”
Shaking my head, I go to let the beast in.
Libby
Despite my teasing, I don’t want to go out and meet Killian’s cousin. I’m not even sure why. All I know is dread lies like lead in my stomach. This feels like the end, the happy little bubble that Killian and I lived in burst by the arrival of his relative.
The way his body jolted, his face freezing in horror, when he heard Brenna for the first time, knocked me clear out of Lust Land. For one heart-wrenching moment, the words baby daddy hung in the air, depriving me of mine. The pain had been so all-consuming, I’d wanted to vomit.
This doesn’t bode well for me. Do I trust Killian? Yes. He’s too impulsive, forthright to hide another woman from me. I don’t think he’s capable of that level of deceit. I don’t think he’d bother, truth be told. Killian says and does exactly what he wants.
The problem lies with me; I’m half in love with a man who will drift through my life like smoke in the wind.
I hate that my hand shakes as I apply mascara. Scowling in the mirror, I toss the wand down. Fancying up to impress another woman. New low, Liberty. New low.
Voices in the living room create a hum in the air, punctuated by the higher-pitched comments of Killian’s cousin. Just how many people are out there?
I turn the corner and stop short.
Killian stands, hands low on his hip, face twisted in a scowl, as he talks to what could arguably be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. I mean, wow. Glossy black hair, aqua eyes, tan skin—dude could be David Gandy’s twin. Dressed in a pale gray suit, he looks like he stepped off a runway in Milan and jetted over here for a chat. He also appears to be about as pleased as Killian.
“The fact that I am in this backwater burg ought to tell you how serious this is.” His British accent is as crisp as his suit. “Playtime is officially over, Killian.”
“Funny,” Killian drawls, low and irritated. “I don’t recall putting you in charge of my life.”
One cool brow raises. “It would have been the day you signed a contract allowing me to manage your band. More to the point, it would be when you bid me to get Jax back to work as soon as possible.”
Killian winces at that, glancing off, his jaw hard.
“He’s ready,” the man says. “They all are. Now you want to put that off and threaten the ground I’ve gained because you’re dipping your wick—”
“Don’t go there,” Killian snaps. Color paints his cheeks. “Not even a little. Understood?”
They glare at each other like it’s high noon, and I decide to show my face.
As soon as I enter, the tension snaps. Killian’s hard expression gentles. “Hey. I was wondering when you’d get out here.”
He holds out a hand, and I walk across the room, too aware of Mr. Stunning and Brenna James watching me. I don’t like being on display. Ever. And this feels like some odd test.
Because Mr. Stunning’s scrutiny bores into my skin like a laser, I glance at Killian’s cousin instead, who had been half hidden by the wing chair she’s sitting in.
She’s nothing like I imagined. I’d expected some punk girl version of Killian. But I don’t see a family resemblance. She’s tall and pale, with a smattering of freckles over her snub nose, and has hair the color of amber honey. It’s pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
Just like Mr. Stunning, she’s impeccably dressed, poured into a navy suit with a pencil skirt. Her sky-high heels are metallic, rainbow-colored snake skin, which ought to look ridiculous, but even I’m envious. I’ve never seen Louboutins in person, but the red soles make me think that’s what they are.
She peers at me from behind red cat-eye glasses. I resist the urge to stand straighter. Wouldn’t matter. Good posture isn’t going to change the fact that I’m in ratty cutoffs and a ribbed white tank. I’m a country mouse who’s walked into a den of lions. In my own damn house.
Killian grasps my hand in his warm one and tugs me to his side. “Libby, this is my manager, Mr. Scott, or Scottie as we all call him.”
The handsome man, who is even prettier up close, gives me a short not. “Miss Bell.”
So he already knows my name. He does not appear pleased.
Killian inclines his head toward Brenna. “And you’ve already heard the pain in the ass.”
Brenna rolls her eyes and stands to cross the room. “He’s just pissed because I know where he hides the bodies.”
“Just be thankful you aren’t joining them,” Killian says easily. His fingers steal under the edge of my shirt to caress bare skin. Mr. Scott’s gaze follows the movement, and his lips thin.
Flushing, I ignore this and smile at Brenna. “Anyone who can make Killian move that fast is okay in my book.”
“Ha!” Brenna wrinkles her nose at Killian. “See? I’m useful.”
Killian snorts but gazes down at me. “Brenna does our PR.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say to both Brenna and Mr. Scott. It isn’t precisely true, but I don’t want to alienate the people in Killian’s life. “Can I get y’all anything?”
“Thank you, but no.” Mr. Scott gives me a smile that could freeze water. “We were just leaving.”
He glances out the window. It’s then I notice a small moving truck and guys packing up Killian’s things. A guy walks out, carrying one of Killian’s guitar cases.
Panic hits me, and Killian holds me closer, as if sensing my fear.
“I’ll meet you over there in a bit,” he tells them.
Mr. Scott nods and, after bidding me a brusque “good day,” leaves. Brenna is slower, giving Killian a kiss on the cheek and me a weak smile.
“We’ll meet again, I’m certain,” she tells me.
My nod is wooden. I mutter some sort of farewell, but I don’t really know what I’m saying. Blood whooshes through my head, muting out sound. My hea
rt is in my throat.
The silence they leave us in is pained and complete.
Killian clears his throat and tries to wrap his arms around me. I draw away.
“You’re leaving.”
Sunlight slants through the windows and over Killian. Bathed in that golden light, he looks surreal. The chiseled planes of his chest and abs, the strong lines of his face, the dark power of his eyes—all of it highlighted in sharp relief. Part of me marvels that I’ve touched every inch of that body, that I’ve kissed his lips, taken him into me.
It doesn’t feel real anymore.
He stares down at me, and I see the pain in his eyes. Do I seem as fleeting to him?
“I don’t want to go,” he says, small, flat, final. “But Scottie has booked a couple of early shows before our fall tour. And the guys all want to do it.” He runs a hand over the bristles of his short hair. “I’m the outlier.”
“This is the first time you all will be together since…” I bite my lip.
“Jax,” he finishes for me. “Yeah.”
He shifts his weight onto one foot and then back to the other, as if his body is warring between staying here and heading out the door. I’m being fanciful, I know, and yet I also know he’s torn. I can see it in his pinched lips and pleading eyes.
“Well then,” I say slowly. “You need to join them.”
He blinks as if I’ve sucker-punched him. I don’t know what else he expected me to say. He has to realize I’d never keep him from his life.
When he speaks, his voice is rough, as though he’s been yelling. “I thought I had more time. I wanted more time.”
I’ve suffered no illusions that this summer was anything more than Killian’s escape from reality. It doesn’t stop me from hurting, though. But I don’t let that show. “That’s the thing with endings in real life. You never really know when they’re going to happen.”
“Endings?” His head snaps up. “Is that what you think this is?”
I frown. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me? Goodbye?”
“No!” He tugs me against him and holds on tight. Anger tightens his features. “You want to get rid of me, you’re going to have to try harder, baby doll.”
Unable to resist, I smooth my hands over his chest. Beneath his warm skin, his heart beats hard and fast, matching the pained rhythm of mine. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” I admit quietly.
He kisses me then, as if he’s drawing me into him, memorizing my taste. Despite his words, it’s a kiss that feels like goodbye. He’s breathing hard when he draws away to rest his forehead against mine. “So don’t.”
I stroke the sides of his neck. It’s like trying to ease steel. “You’re going on tour. How long is that? Four months? Five?”
He pulls me a little closer. “Counting practice and these pre-tour concerts, I’d say five and a half.” He ducks his head to meet my eyes. “So what? Out of sight, out of mind? Is that how it is, Libs?”
My fingers curl. “I’m trying to be realistic. I know what goes on during those tours.”
He huffs, his eyes narrowing to obsidian slits. “Do tell.”
A flush of anger races over my skin. “Don’t be thick. ‘Sex, drugs, and rock and roll’ is a cliché for a reason.”
“Oh, I know better than anyone, honey.” He lets me go with a sound of annoyance. “But if you think that’s what will happen when I tour, you don’t know me at all.”
“I’m trying to do the grown-up thing here,” I tell him, struggling not to yell, “and let you go without worrying about me.”
“Oh, well, thanks for being so helpful. How about instead you give me some sign that what we have means more to you than a summer fling?” He tosses a hand up with a snort. “Fuck, you’ve got me sounding like a clinger.”
I bite my lip. Even when I’m pissed at him, I love him. It scares the hell out of me.
“What do we have, Killian?” I ask softly.
His eyes meet mine. “I don’t know. But it’s real. It’s the only real thing I have right now.”
“You have the music—”
He cuts me off with a fierce look. “I don’t want to walk out that door feeling like the second it closes it’s the end of us. Because I won’t do it, Liberty. As far as I’m concerned, we just started. No fucking way will I—”
I wrap my arms around his neck and tug him down to me. His words end in a muffled grunt as I kiss his lips. But he doesn’t resist. He leans into me, opening my mouth with his, slipping his tongue in deep for a taste. With a moan, he grabs my butt and hauls me up. I wrap my legs around him and cling as he walks us backward, kissing me as we go.
We end up on the couch, Killian kneading my ass. He breathes into me, his lips sliding down to my neck, and a shudder runs over his big body. “Libby.” Soft lips nuzzle that spot behind my ear that makes my body tighten. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”
I kiss the crest of his cheek, the corner of his eye. “How did you picture it?”
He rubs my back as he continues to explore my neck and shoulder with his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually.”
“You have?” I try to pull back to face him, but he won’t let me.
His hands drift back to my butt and squeeze. With a sigh, I rest my head on his shoulder, and he gives my cheek a kiss. “Yeah, I have.” For a long moment he stills, just cradling me against him as if he’s reveling in the act. And I do too. He’s strong and warm, his heart a comforting beat in my ear.
Its rhythm picks up as he takes a deep breath. “Libs… Come with me.”
“What?” I sit up straight.
Killian’s hands fall to my thighs, slowly rubbing them as he meets my gaze head-on. “Come with me on tour.”
“No.”
“No?” His short laugh is incredulous. “Not even a moment’s thought? Just no?”
“You’re reuniting with your band after a year. No way in hell am I showing up on your arm like some countrified Yoko.”
He laughs again, this time with more humor, though his expression is strained. “You know, the whole Yoko thing was wildly exaggerated. The Beatles were already drifting apart.”
“The fact that you called it a ‘Yoko thing’ proves my point. Truth doesn’t really matter. Perception does. And your bandmates will not appreciate me showing up in tow.”
His fingers grip my thighs. Not hard, but firmly enough to show his agitation. “You don’t know that. You haven’t even met them.”
“I know people.” Using his shoulders as leverage, I rise off him and sit on the couch at his side. “Mr. Scott looks at me like I’m a problem he needs to take care of.”
“Call him Scottie, and he looks at everyone like that.” Killian turns to face me. “Besides, I don’t want you to come with me as arm candy. I want you to play with me.”
I think my mouth falls open then. I know I can’t do anything more than gurgle like a fish out of water as I stare back at Killian’s expectant face. It takes me a minute to find my voice, and it’s a pathetic squeak when I do. “Play? As in, go on stage with you?”
“Of course.” A wrinkle forms between his straight brows. “What else would I be talking about? I’ve been writing those songs for us.”
“Killian…I’m not…” I lift my arms, searching for the words. “Were you even listening when I told you about my spectacular failures? I am a stage fright queen.”
“Lots of people have stage fright.” He doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. “And if I hadn’t seen the regret in your eyes when you told me those stories, I might be inclined to let it go.”
I ball my fists, wanting to stomp my foot. “Never mind I’m an amateur. I play music on my porch in my underwear, not in front of eighty-thousand people. People,” I add, when he tries to talk, “who wouldn’t be there to see me anyway.”
Killian crosses his arms over his chest. It isn’t fair that he hasn’t put a shirt on. All that raw strength ripples under his golden skin and makes me want to
cave just so I can touch him again.
“Are you finished?” he asks.
Ogling him? Never. But I realize he means my rant. I give him a sour look, which he returns with a raised brow.
“First,” he says, “if you played in your underwear, eighty-thousand people would definitely be watching you.”
He ignores my eye roll.
“Second, this is rock. All of our success is part talent, part luck, and crazy determination.” His lip curls. “Jax used to joke that we’re all amateurs up there. Lucky-ass dilettantes.”
A sigh leaves me, and I slump against the couch. Outside, Brenna is marching around, ordering moving men. Scottie stands on the porch across the way, his gaze on my house. I know he can’t see me, but it feels like he can. It’s a matter of time before he comes back over here.
Killian’s deep voice is low, persuasive, pulling me back to him. “All I’m asking for is three songs: ‘Broken Door’, ‘In Deep’, and ‘Outlier’.”
The songs I’ve worked on with him. They’re beautiful, relying on harmony and vocals over power. And they’re nothing like Kill John’s usual sound.
“How do you know the band will even like those songs?”
He won’t meet my eyes. “They will.”
“Which means you don’t know.”
“It’s my band.”
“It’s theirs too.”
The man actually growls. It would be kind of hot if I wasn’t so annoyed with him. Killian surges to his feet and spreads his hands out wide. “Why are you fighting this? The truth. Not the excuses.”
“Because I’m not impulsive like you! I need to think things through.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “You tell me you dreamed of this life. You tell me you tried but were encouraged to walk away. You asked me how it felt to perform in front of an audience, to be adored. Let me show you. Let me give you the world, baby doll.”
If anything, I feel worse now. A horrible, crawling sensation invades my belly, and I have the urge to run to my room to hide. I pick at the fray on my jean shorts. “That was just…pillow talk.”
“Pillow talk?” He blanches.
I wince. “You know, tell me about your life. Getting to know you.”