He says through gritted teeth, “So that’s your offer. Five days. Then we go our separate ways forever.”
“Yes.”
Standing to tower over me, he grinds his molars together. Getting a full look at his body and height for the first time, the woman next to him at the bar gasps softly. I wouldn’t be surprised if she toppled unconscious off her stool.
He leans down until we’re eye to eye. He growls, “No deal.”
Then he brushes past me and strides out of the bar, leaving a trail of swooning females in his wake.
I throw my hands into the air and shout, “For heaven’s sake, pull yourselves together!”
Then I storm out in the opposite direction Killian left.
Back in my motel room, I order room service and try to watch TV. After ten minutes, I turn it off impatiently. I try pacing again, but it doesn’t help. I’d tear out my hair, but that seems unnecessarily dramatic and painful. So I wait, sitting on the edge of my bed, until the food arrives.
I shovel it down without tasting a bite. I take a bath in scalding water. I don’t feel the heat until I get out and look at myself in the mirror. Steam rises from my skin. My entire body is red. I look like a freshly cooked lobster.
I leave a message for Fin and Max, then start to pace again. When I check the clock on the wall, I groan out loud when I realize that only an hour has passed since I left the bar.
At this rate, I’ll be in a straightjacket by morning.
I start pacing again, wringing my hands, but some intuition makes me stop in the middle of the room and look at the windows. The gauzy white curtains are drawn. Beyond them, evening has taken the marina.
There’s no reason for me to notice the windows, but I feel a pull I can’t describe. I drift toward them almost unwillingly, my heart in my throat.
I stand to one side and draw back a corner of the curtain, peeking out to the street below.
And there, pacing back and forth like a man possessed, is Killian.
I drop the curtain and flatten myself against the wall.
“Don’t look again, Juliet. Don’t you dare open those curtains and look at him again. Get drunk. Go to sleep. Knit a fucking scarf if you have to. Whatever it is, don’t look at him.”
Closing my eyes, I stand there against the wall, holding my breath and listening to my pulse roar in my ears. Then I exhale in a giant gust and open the curtains again, this time sliding them apart.
Back and forth he goes, from one streetlight to another, flexing his hands open and closed, until he spots me in the window. Then he stops dead in his tracks and stares up at me.
All the longing, frustration, anger, and desire is right there on his face. All of it.
And I’m even more of a fool than I thought I was, because before I know what I’m doing, my fingers are finding the way of the buttons on the front of my dress.
Even from across the street, I see his eyes flare. I feel his attention sharpen. Sense his focus shift the way a predator’s shifts, catching a whiff of his prey on the wind.
He stands perfectly still and watches me as the bodice of the dress parts under my swiftly working fingers, exposing me to my waist. I’m wearing a bra, the outline of which I trace slowly with my fingertips.
He mutters something. An oath, no doubt. His eyes are two burning coals, frighteningly intense and piercing.
I know it’s a dangerous game I’m playing, but there’s a thrill in my blood and the sound of crashing waves in my ears. I’m not sure if I could stop, even if I wanted to.
I slide the dress off my shoulders so it pools around my waist. I reach behind my back and unhook the bra. I slide it down my arms, drop it, then stand with my hands cupped over my bare breasts, gazing down at him.
Then, trembling, I back away from the windows and sit on the edge of the bed.
He doesn’t make me wait long.
In less than sixty seconds, he crashes through the door.
21
Jules
He pushes me to my back on the mattress, straddles me, and pins my arms over my head.
“Okay, thief,” he growls, his eyes blazing with anger. “We’ll do this your way. Five days it is. But just remember when it’s over that I would’ve given you anything you’d asked for if you’d only given me your heart.”
He crushes his mouth to mine.
And oh, god, the sweet thrill that runs through my body. He’s furious with me, I know he’s going to be rough, yet I’m so turned on I’m almost vibrating.
He breaks the kiss, rolls me onto my belly, shoves my dress up to my waist, and yanks my panties down. I hear him tear open the fly of his jeans. Then he pins my wrists over my head again, using only one of his hands.
He thrusts inside me with no preliminaries, without seeing if I’m ready, without uttering another word.
I cry out, arching.
“Aye,” he rasps. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s all you want from me. And you’re gonna get it, thief.” His voice drops dangerously low. “You’re gonna get it all.”
He grabs my hip, holds me down, and starts to fuck me. As he does, he speaks to me in Irish through gritted teeth.
These don’t sound like love words. It’s a torrent of harsh fricatives, grunts, and growls, like an animal’s language. Like one long, complicated curse. He thrusts into me, over and over, his hand gripped tight around my wrists, his breath coming in rough pants.
I come so hard I start sobbing.
He instantly freezes. Releasing my wrists, he leans down over me, planting his elbows on either side of my head.
Sounding anguished, he whispers, “Oh god. Oh fuck. I’m so sorry. I’ve hurt you.”
“N-no. You didn’t. Please don’t stop.”
He brushes my hair off my face and tenderly kisses my cheek. His breathing is hard and irregular. “Promise me I didn’t hurt you. I couldn’t stand it if I did.”
“I promise. I swear.”
“You would tell me?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t—you’re not afraid right now? You’re not just trying to placate me?”
I roll my hips, softly moaning. “Killian. I adore it. You feel amazing.”
He whispers, “Then why are you crying, love?”
Love. Oh, how that hurts. It hurts like a sword shoved straight through my heart.
I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face to the sheets. My voice strangled, I say, “You know why.”
He’s still except for his ragged breathing. Buried deep inside me, his cock throbs, but he ignores it. He kisses my cheek again, nuzzles his nose into my hair.
Then he slides out of me, rolls me over to my back, and pushes into me again, framing my face in his hands. His eyes blazing with emotion, he whispers, “No. Tell me.”
That look in his eyes is overwhelming. That need. That desperate longing. I turn my head, sucking in a hitching breath.
He kisses my neck, my jaw, my temple. He tangles his fingers into my hair. He presses deeper into me, watching my face like his life depends on it.
I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his back and close my eyes.
“Tell me,” he says next to my ear.
I roll my hips and stay silent. I know if I opened my mouth, all that would come out are more sobs.