Honestly, though, no serial killer could ever be this hot and get away with it. I mean, Ted Bundy was a good looking guy, but Cillian…?
“No,” I say. I hesitate, and then I toss my purse over his shoulder. Thankfully it flies through the gap in the glass sliding doors and not through the actual glass.
Imagine putting in that insurance claim.
He glances behind him and then turns back to me, a faint smile teasing his mouth. “Aye. Let it go to voicemail.” His eyes slide to the tumbler in my hand. “Now why don’t you finish your drink so we can take this inside?”
I toy with the glass as I duck my head.
Shit, I should probably have taken that call. What if she gets her panties in a bunch and sends the whole of ‘Police-Scotland’ out to look for me?
Cillian grabs my chin and lifts my head. “Something on your mind, princess?” His voice is anything but sympathetic. In fact, he sounds downright pissed that my attention isn’t focused solely on him.
“Fuck this,” he growls.
I open my mouth, but there’s no time to say a word.
His lips crush mine stealing my breath, my gravity, every single thought in my head.
Strong arms wrap around me, lift me.
My mind rejects the thought that I’m perched on a balcony railing five stories up, but survival instinct causes me to wrap my legs around Cillian’s waist.
A move he seems to take as an invitation. I’m dimly aware that I’m splashing my drink all over the place as he grabs the back of my neck and drags me into him for another crazy-hot kiss.
Suddenly, I couldn’t give two fucks about the fact that if either of us let go, I could be dead in however long it takes me to hit the ground below.
All that matters is his mouth. The taste of him. The way his body tenses against mine as if he’s barely holding himself back. My body melts against his.
My insides twist into a knot as he shoves a hand between us and grabs the hem of my dress. I hiss into his mouth when the ice-cold railing touches my bare ass as he pulls the fabric out from under me.
And then reality comes crashing back like a tidal wave, stranding me on a very small island.
Or, in this case, me perched precariously on a railing about to get fucked by a complete stranger.
His fingers delve between my legs, scraping so roughly over my dress I’m sure he shears off a few sequins on the way.
I grab his wrist a second before he can touch my clit. Tearing my mouth from his, I let out a breathless, “Peaches!”
His body tenses even more, and then he slowly draws back from me, frowning hard.
As soon as we lock eyes, I become fully aware of the massive ridge of his rock-hard cock pressing into my thigh.
“Peaches?” he repeats quietly, as if to himself.
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, and then clear my throat for good measure. My head’s swimming like an Olympic athlete on steroids, but somehow I manage to get out words.
Cillian laughs, a low deep rumble that I feel in my own belly. “Fuck, you’re actually adorable.”
“Uh...so...I’m going to use my Get Out of this One-Night Stand free card now, if that’s okay with you.”
I wriggle against him, trying my best to ignore his erection, but I can’t go anywhere until he steps back and lets me slide to the floor. I shove my glass into his hand, releasing it before I’m even sure he’ll take it. But thankfully he does, else we’d both have been covered in booze.
I make a beeline for the elevator before I can second-guess myself, only detouring to collect my purse from the floor.
Shockingly, he lets me go. I guess ‘peaches’ made an impression on him, thank God. It was honestly the first random word that came to my head.
But as I get halfway across the apartment, my pumps sinking deep into the lush carpet, he calls out, “You need a key for the elevator, princess.”
Fuck. I should have known it was too easy. I turn on my heel and hold out my hand. “Key, please?”
Cillian pushes away from the railing with his hip and ambles closer with an arrogant smirk plastered over his face, still holding the glass I thrust into his hand.
“Aye, I’ll give you the key. But first, finish your drink.” He comes right up to me and hands me back the glass. “This stuff’s expensive.”
Anger spikes through me. I get that this guy hasn’t had to deal with a lot of rejection in life, but what the fuck makes him think he can order me around like one of his floozies?
And I was going to sleep with this guy?
I cock my head at him as I hoist up the glass by my fingertips like a wine connoisseur considering a particularly fine vintage. Then I take a deep swallow, wincing as the booze hits the back of my throat.
“This tastes like shit.” I tip the glass over, pouring his expensive booze all over the expensive carpet. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
Cillian drops his head and lets out a dangerously low, deep laugh. Then he tips up his chin, staring at me with hooded eyes, his head tilted to the side.
“Aye, I’ll concede you may be right,” he says through another laugh. “But that’s because of the drugs I put in it.”
My heart tries to climb right up my fucking throat, and then plunges down into my stomach like it’s committing suicide.
Fuck!
Cillian laughs. “If you could see your face,” he murmurs, grabbing onto my chin and wrenching my head back. “You always this gullible?”
This guy’s assholery doesn’t know when to quit. I tear my face away from his grip and scowl up at him. “Now I get it. You have a really small dick, don’t you? That’s why you have to bring girls up here and get them drunk before they’ll sleep with you.” I push back my shoulders and yank at my dress, making my breasts brim from the bodice. “Find someone else to shove that small dick into.”
I turn, pick up my purse, and head for the exit with all the dignity I can muster.
Behind me, Cillian remains utterly silent. The elevator doors gleam at me from across a room that’s suddenly the length of a fucking rugby field.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Did I really get in the last word? I smile to myself, but the expression slips off my face when my feet tangle together a second later. Christ, I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.
Except...I didn’t.
I pause for a second and squint at the elevator. Why is it so blurry? I blink a few times, but that doesn’t help.
Shit, I have to get home.
Drugs.
No. It was a joke. A stupid one, but...what if…?
I surge forward, half-stumbling half-staggering in the direction of the now very blurry elevator doors.
“Slow down, princess,” Cillian calls out after me. “You don’t want to hit your pretty little head, do you?”
Hit my head? Why would I--?
The ground slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. It should have hurt, but for some reason I only realize I’m horizontal when I reach out and grab carpet instead of air.
Something clamps around my ankles. My dress hikes up my legs as Cillian drags me over the carpet. I see my purse pass to one side, and reach for it.
I manage to snag the wrist strap, but only with monumental effort.
My body’s growing heavy and clumsy.
Thoughts bob and weave through my fogging brain like veggies in a thick stew.