Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance Page 14

Killian holds up two paper bags. "I brought supplies."

  "What kind of supplies?" I take one of the bags from his hand as he follows me into the kitchen. Setting the bag on the counter, I pull out a bottle of whiskey, a glass jar of honey, and a lemon.

  "My grandma's recipe. Whiskey, honey, and lemon. Works for a cold or the flu – burns the germs right out of you."

  "You understand that it's my seven-year-old child who's sick, right?"

  Killian stares at me blankly. "Yeah. Whiskey helps them sleep." I gape at him for a second, mostly because I can't believe he really doesn't know the bare basics about kids. Then he chuckles. "I'm kidding, shit. There's chicken soup in this bag. The whiskey is for you. I do know enough not to feed whiskey to a seven-year-old." He pauses for a beat. "You have to wait until they're twelve, right?"

  I slap him on the arm.

  "Who is it, mom?" Chloe yells from the sofa.

  "My friend from the bakery," I call. "He brought soup."

  "Friend, huh?" Killian asks, standing beside me, far too close to be friendly.

  I clear my throat, trying to shake off the goose bumps that dot my arms just because I'm standing so close to him. "Friend," I repeat.

  What the hell else would we be? My mind immediately goes to Opal and her terms for her relationship with Bert: booty call, fuck buddy.

  Killian and I haven't had sex yet, so there's no fuck buddying involved. So we're friends. Just friends.

  He moves so he's right behind me and whispers in my ear. "Totally platonic."

  I swallow hard as heat surges through my body. "Platonic."

  "Platonic friends who are going out on a date."

  "Who were going out on a date," I correct. “We haven’t gone out on a date yet. And does going out on a date mean we’re not friends anymore?”

  He touches his fingertips to my arms, and I shiver as he traces them lightly across my skin. "Maybe I don't want to be your friend."

  "Hey! Guess what we're doing in math?" I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Chloe's voice.

  In a flash, Killian turns and moves an appropriate distance away from me. "What? Tell me."

  "Subtraction. I'm really good at it."

  "No doubt," Killian says. "You're a smart cookie."

  "I know," Chloe replies. "I'm sick."

  "So I heard. You like chicken soup?"

  "Does it have noodles? I don’t like it without noodles.”

  “What else would it have in it?”

  “Rice.”

  “This has noodles.”

  “Does it have carrots?”

  Killian shrugs. “It has whatever CJ’s Restaurant down in town puts in their soup.”

  “Okay. Can I eat it on the sofa, mom?"

  "If you promise not to get it everywhere. I'll put it on a tray for you."

  "Okay." She directs her attention to Killian again, her gaze falling first on him and then me. "Why are you here?"

  "I was bringing you soup."

  "Is that your job?"

  "No, that's not his job, Chloe," I say. "He's doing it as a friend."

  She crosses her arms over her chest and surveys us. "So he's your boyfriend?"

  Killian coughs.

  "No, he's not my boyfriend. He's a friend who happens to be a boy."

  "Yeah. A boyfriend."

  "But not a boyfriend."

  "Rowdy is my boyfriend."

  "He's your friend. . . who's a boy."

  "No, he's my boyfriend. We held hands during recess last week."

  "You did what?" Did my heart just stop beating? My just-turned-seven-year-old is holding hands with a boy during recess?

  "Is his name actually Rowdy?" Killian asks.

  "Yeah. His brother’s name is Tuff. They’re twins. They’re both in my class. Mrs. S had to tell their mother that they can’t wear the same thing to school because she can’t tell them apart.”

  Killian glances at me. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. Tuff and Rowdy?”

  “Language,” I warn.

  “You’re not supposed to say that word,” Chloe lectures.

  “You’re right. I should probably pay you a dollar every time I curse.”

  Chloe’s eyes grow large. “No way. For real?”

  Killian shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

  I shake my head. “You’re going to lose your shirt to her.”

  “Gross. I don’t want his shirt,” Chloe protests. “Can I watch Scary High?”

  “Is this a TV show?” Killian asks.

  I roll my eyes. “Don't even try. You know what shows you're allowed to watch."

  "Bo-ring," Chloe sighs. "Hannah watches it."

  "Well, I'm not Hannah's mom." Killian's eyes meet mine and I swear he's trying to hide a smile. "I guess you must be feeling better if you're so bored. And if the shows you're watching are so boring, maybe you don't need to watch TV at all."

  Chloe wrinkles her nose. "Are you going to read the princess and the dragon book?"

  "Yes. Give me a minute to get your soup and I'll be in there."

  Chloe directs her attention to Killian. "You could read it."

  "A princess book?" Killian asks.

  "She's not a lame princess," Chloe says. "She has ninja-fighting skills. It has dragons, too."

  "I think Mr. Saint has to –"

  Killian interrupts. "The dragon breathes fire, right?"

  "Of course," Chloe says.

  "I'm in."

  "Yes!" Chloe cheers. "You can be the dragon. I know everything the princess says in the book already."

  "You don't have to –" I start, but Killian is already following Chloe. He looks over his shoulder and winks.

  "Oh. Is this a dramatic reading?" Killian asks.

  "I don't know what dramatic means."

  "You're doing the princess parts?"

  "Yeah, like a performance. Let me get my sword. And my tiara."

  "Oh good. Costumes," Killian says, a tinge of sarcasm evident in his voice. I stifle a laugh.

  When I get to the living room with the soup, Chloe is perched on the edge of the sofa wearing her tiara while Killian sits across from her in an armchair sporting a silver cape.

  "Silver is clearly your color," I note, setting the tray with Chloe's soup on the coffee table.

  "Hey now. Dragons can wear silver capes."

  "We're playing, mom," Chloe says, matter-of-fact. "He has a silver cape because he's a magic dragon."

  Killian looks at me, his expression impassive. "Obviously."

  "And because he's a girl dragon."

  "Now I'm a girl dragon?"

  "You need a wand," Chloe says. "Mommy, you can be the queen. But she's under a terrible spell, so you have to lay down and pretend to be asleep."

  "Why am I a sleeping queen? That's not even in the book," I protest, crossing my arms, acutely aware of the fact that I'm standing here in a tank top and no bra.

  Killian looks at me. "At least my character is alive," he says. "Chilly in here, isn't it?"

  I look down at my shirt. "Shut up."

  "I can handle the dragon thing if you want to change."

  "Yeah, mom. Your shirt has a hole in the side, you know."

  I look back and forth between the two of them warily. Killian shrugs. "Or not. I'm a fan of what you're wearing right now."

  "I'll be ten minutes," I say, clearing my throat to distract from the flush of embarassment I know is evident on my cheeks. "I'll be right upstairs."

  "I think she'll be alright for ten minutes," Killian says. "She's allowed to play with matches, right? And use a hatchet?"

  I narrow my eyes. "You better be kidding."

  "Am I?" Killian taunts.

  "I'm not allowed to get near fire," Chloe says. "That can burn you."

  "Bummer. When I was your age, I played with explosives."

  "Killian!"

  He looks at Chloe. "Don't play with explosives."

  "What are explosives?"

  "Nothing you need to know about," I int
errupt. "Ten minutes. Don't let her talk you into ice cream. And no matches. Or sharp objects. Please don't burn down my house."

  "Killjoy," Killian mutters teasingly.

  "I have a sore throat," Chloe protests. "I should have ice cream."

  "Uh-huh. Eat your soup before it gets cold."

  Upstairs, I scramble to pull on clothing a cotton skirt and an unwrinkled t-shirt. I even manage to find a set of matching bra and panties. I brush my hair quickly into a ponytail, then decide against it, surveying in the mirror the messy waves that tumble down to my shoulders. Butterflies flit through my stomach, my body a bundle of nerves since Killian showed up at my house.

  Killian is in my house. Interacting with my kid.

  I'm not supposed to let guys I date meet my kid. This is definitely not how it's supposed to go. I swore that if I ever dated someone, he wouldn't even meet Chloe until the relationship was serious. Really serious. Like long-term serious. Now Killian is just downstairs – and I'm not even dating him.

  Why is my stomach all tied up in knots?

  I try to shake off all of the doubts running through my head as I look in the mirror. I pick up a tube of lipstick and set it back down. Too much. A dab of lip gloss is good enough. At least I showered and shaved my legs today.

  When I get to the living room, I stop short. Killian is still in the armchair slouched over and angled to the side, and Chloe stands in front of him with her back toward me.

  Holding her makeup case out to the side like an artist's palette.

  Oh, no.

  "Chloe, what are you doing to Mr. Saint?"

  "He said I could, mom." She doesn't turn around. Instead she finishes applying whatever she's putting onto Killian's face.

  "I'm a girl dragon," Killian explains. "Who needed makeup."

  "It's perfect," Chloe declares, turning around and stepping to the side.

  Killian sits up. "How does it look? Am I pretty? I feel pretty."

  "It's mah-velous," Chloe says, affecting an accent.

  "Marvelous, right?" Killian asks, looking at me. Purple and green eye shadow is plastered up to his eyebrows and across his temples. His cheeks are an unnatural shade of pink and his lips are fire-engine red. The makeup makes him look more like a deranged clown than a girl dragon.

  "That's one word for it." Laughter bubbles up in my chest at the sight of Killian gruff, bearded, built-like-a-linebacker Killian covered in Chloe's makeup, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand, my chest shaking so that Chloe doesn't see me laughing.

  "It's beautiful!" Chloe decrees.

  "At least someone appreciates the effort I've put into my appearance," Killian deadpans, and I actually snort, covering it up by doubling-over and coughing loudly. "Did you just snort?"

  "Oh yeah, she does that when she sleeps, too," Chloe says.

  "Oh, really?" Killian asks.

  "Yeah, she's really loud sometimes."

  "I do not snort! Or snore."

  "Your kid just ratted you out," Killian points out.

  "Oh be quiet, fashionista."

  "You're jealous of my beauty."

  "The dragon needs her nails done too," Chloe interrupts.

  I look at Killian, my eyebrows raised. "That sounds like a great idea. Nail polish would really tie the whole thing together."

  "I don't know about that "

  "I have all different colors!" Chloe exclaims. "They’re in my room."

  She dashes off to her room and Killian looks at me. "Don't pretend you're not turned on, cupcake."

  "I'll try to maintain control over myself." I pause for a second. "Thanks for letting her do that."

  Killian shrugs. "What's a little makeup? It washes off."

  I look at him blankly.

  Now he looks worried. "It does wash off, right?"

  Chloe bursts back into the room, two hands full of mini nail polish bottles in a rainbow of colors. "You can even use all of the colors!"

  "All of the colors?" Killian asks. "Lucky me."

  25

  Killian

  "She's already asleep." Lily rounds the corner from the stairs and stops short when she sees me. "It's been like two minutes since I said goodnight to her." She giggles. "You're still looking mah-velous."

  "I tried to find something in your bathroom to clean up with, but all I saw were white towels." I suddenly feel awkward standing here in her house with her alone, despite the fact that I should have felt a hell of a lot more awkward an hour ago when Chloe was applying layer after layer of makeup on me.

  "I should have told you where to find a washcloth. There are some in the linen closet."

  I follow Lily down the hall. "I didn't want to go poking around in your stuff."

  Lily opens the linen closet, turning toward me to raise her eyebrows. "I thought that's exactly what you wanted to do," she says, her voice laced with innuendo.

  And there it is. The second she says anything remotely sexual, my cock twitches, reminding me of exactly what I want to do with her. "You know me well."

  Lily laughs as she steps into the bathroom, holding the washcloth under the tap. "Actually, that's not true at all. I know you hate Brussels sprouts, do the crossword, and have three brothers. And that you’re not an ex-convict. And that you look good in lipstick."

  "You know more about me than most people." That's the honest truth.

  She looks at me over her shoulder. "Actually, I do believe that."

  "I hate mushrooms, too. A lot." I reach for the washcloth, but Lily steps close to me. "And I like building stuff. And working with leather.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Leather, huh? I thought you said you weren’t springing any weird fetishes on me.”

  “I said I wouldn’t spring them on you,” I remind her. “I’m going to ease you in gently.”

  She touches the cloth to the side of my cheek. “I can’t tell when you’re joking.”

  “I know. It helps me maintain an air of mystery.”

  She goes silent, dragging the cloth across my temple. "Chloe really did a number on you."

  I close my eyes as she wipes off the eye shadow that has to be caked on an inch thick. "She's a pretty alright kid."

  Lily laughs. "Yeah, she's not so bad. I think I'll keep her." She pauses for a second. "You didn't have to let her paint you up."

  "I know." I stand still as Lily wipes the other side of my face and my eyelid. When she finishes, I open my eyes to see her right in front of me, the edge of the cloth in her hand.

  "I bet this is the last thing on earth you thought you'd ever hear someone say to you, but you have lipstick on your beard," she says, laughing.

  “I’ve heard it before,” I deadpan.

  “Are you just waiting for me to beg you to tell me about the leather thing?” she asks, putting the edge of the cloth to my beard.

  “I’m waiting for you to beg me in general.” My hands slide around her hips, and I pull her against me. “I’ll show you the leather stuff. It’s less kinky than it sounds.”

  “I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.”

  “I do leatherworking – custom saddles, that kind of thing. It’s always been a hobby. And, don’t worry. I don’t need leather to be kinky.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Uh-huh.” I bring my lips down hard on hers, the way I’ve been thinking about nonstop since she left my cabin. Hell, I've been thinking about it pretty much nonstop since I met her, if I'm going to be honest about it. I haven't been able to get my mind off those lips.

  Or the way her body melts against me. Or how her tongue responds to mine and she presses against me, her hips on my hardness.

  When she moans, the sound half-muted by my mouth, it's my undoing. In an instant, I'm pulling her shirt over her head as her hands slip underneath mine. She yanks at my shirt, wordlessly demanding its removal, and I toss it onto the floor behind me. I slip off her bra, my mouth quickly replacing it as my tongue circles her nipples one at a time.

  Her han
ds are at the back of my head and she moans softly as her nipples come to attention. When she pulls me up, demanding my mouth on hers again, there's nothing soft about it this time. I kiss her hungrily, my need for her unrelenting, and I have to tell myself to slow down because what I want to do is rip off her clothes and fuck the hell out of her right now.

  Sliding my hands under her ass, I lift her easily, setting her onto the bathroom counter. She looks down at me, her hair tumbling forward and brushing against my face. Her face is flushed already, her lips smudged with bright red lipstick.

  "I want you," she whispers, her eyes trained on me. The rumble that comes from my chest at her words surprises even me.

  Those words. The ones I've been wanting to hear.

  "Are you sure?" I ask, my voice clouded by my lust for her. I can hardly think rationally, but I know this girl deserves more than a frantic quickie in a bathroom.

  But then she reaches for my jeans, pulling me forward as she flicks open the button and pulls. "I want you," she repeats.

  "Here?" I should carry her upstairs and fuck her slowly on the bed in candlelight or some shit.

  "Now."

  Hell. How am I supposed to argue with that? I slide my hands underneath her skirt, along the outside of her thighs until I find her panties. "Your panties are wet," I note, dropping them onto the floor. "If I put my fingers between your legs, how wet am I going to find you?"

  "Very." She tugs on the side of my jeans, demanding their removal. "But I don't want your fingers."

  "No?" I reach for a foil wrapper in my back pocket before yanking my jeans down my hips. We’re both clean, but I don’t ask if she wants me bare. It seems too presumptuous somehow.

  "Now, Killian," she demands and I practically come imagining her speaking those words when I'm inside her. I roll the condom onto my length, my jeans pooled around my legs, and pull her to the edge of the counter, her skirt up to the top of her thighs, pussy barely visible under the edge of the fabric.

  "Tell me what you want, Lily," I say, reaching between her legs. She's soaked, wetness on her inner thighs. "Not my fingers?"

  When she speaks, her voice is breathy, her words punctuated by sharp inhales as she pulls me to her. When I bring my cock to her entrance, she slides her hands to the back of my neck, her forehead against mine. "I want your cock," she whispers. "I want you to fuck me now, and fuck me hard."