Chapter 12: Cruel Paradise: Chapter 12

He answers on the first ring, his rich brogue tinged with warmth. “Hullo, lass.”

“Hi.” I’m tongue-tied for a moment. He doesn’t make it any easier on me by remaining silent. “Um. Thank you for the gift.”

“You’re welcome.”

“This doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“I know.”

“My friend was the one who suggested I call. I didn’t want to.”

“I understand.”

I run out of things to say, so I sit in silence, chewing my lip, until he chuckles.

“Stop chewing your lip.”

I suck in a startled breath and look around in panic. “Are you watching me?”

“No. It’s just what you do when you can’t decide if you want to break something over my head or kiss me.”

The weight of his ego could cause entire solar systems to collapse. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. I don’t want to kiss you.”

“I know you can’t see my face, but my expression is one of extreme displeasure. We agreed on no lying, remember?”

I’m going to rip that damn unicorn pony to shreds. With my teeth. And send this smug bastard the video. “If I ever did kiss you, it would only be to satisfy a morbid curiosity about what disappointment tastes like.”

He roars with laughter.

It’s so unexpected, I simply sit and listen to it for a moment, enjoying the quality of the sound, but also confused. “Why do you like it when I say things like that?”

He’s still chuckling when he answers. “Because no one else would ever dare.”

Like so much else about him, that he has a sense of humor is a surprise. And yes, his ego is enormous, but he can laugh at himself, too. I also have to admit that his manners are quite good.

He’s obviously sophisticated, even more obviously intelligent, and—for a ruthless killer with a reputation for extreme violence—he’s oddly self-controlled.

My father would never deny himself a woman he wanted.

If she resisted, he’d laugh and take her anyway. His appetites are legendary. So is his hair-trigger temper and his exquisite sensitivity to anything that could even slightly be interpreted as an insult: he slit his own tailor’s throat for suggesting it might be necessary to let out the seams on his jacket.

But this man reacts to my insults with a laugh.

He reacts to my refusal to kiss him with acceptance.

He didn’t lay a finger on me, though his desire to lay all ten of them on me was more than apparent.

He kept his word not to harm me and also to release me when he brought me to his home, though keeping me captive could have been extremely lucrative for him. I have no doubt my father would have paid dearly for my safe return, if only because the family honor demanded it.

If I didn’t know better, I’d describe Killian Black as a gentleman.

A beautiful, dangerous, unconventional gentleman who can sear holes through a woman’s body with the heat of his eyes.

He says, “Uh-oh. She’s thinking. That never ends well.”

His tone is soft and teasing. Gentle and warm. I’m hit with the impossible thought that Killian Black has a tender side.

I blurt, “I don’t understand you.”

His voice grows even softer. “But you want to.”

“Yes.” Horrified that slipped from my lips, I backpedal as fast as I can. “No!”

We’re quiet for a moment, until I say, “I don’t know.” Aggravated, I close my eyes and draw a breath. “The truth is yes, but I don’t want to admit that, because it would make me like myself less. It would make me feel like I was going against everything I stand for.”

“Because…?”

“Because of who you are. What you are. What you do. All of it.”

In the following pause, I sense his ambivalence. He’s fighting himself about something, but I don’t know what. Then his voice comes over the line in a husky rumble.

“What if I wasn’t what you thought I was, lass?”

My answer is immediate. “But you are.”

“But what if I wasn’t?” he presses. His tone is gentle but intense.

“Okay. If we’re taking a trip to fantasy land, I’ll play along. If you weren’t who and what you are, I’d…well, I’d…”

Want to have sex with you, number one. Lots and lots of steamy hot sex, because you are one helluva beautiful beast, and I’d like to ride you like a stallion I’m breaking in until we both collapse from exhaustion.

“Lass? You still there?”

My cheeks pulse with heat. I have to clear my throat before I speak so I don’t sound like a phone sex operator. “The reason I called is to find out what your intentions are regarding the information you have about me and my friends.” I clear my throat again. “Also to find out how you knew I was at this hotel.”

After a beat, he says in a throaty voice, “For the record, I’d like to do whatever it is you won’t say, too.”

I exhale a ragged breath, drop my head into my hand, and close my eyes.

He takes pity on me by not pursuing that any further. His tone turns businesslike. “The only thing I’m going to do with the information I have is help keep you safe.”

“Safe? What do you mean?”

“You’re in no immediate danger, but the Serbs will send more men for you—”

“I’m being hunted by Serbians?”

While my voice has gone up an octave, Killian’s drops one. “They won’t touch you. They’ll never get near you. I promise you, Juliet, I will keep you safe.”

His voice rings with conviction, but it doesn’t help my nerves. My hands have turned clammy. I grip the phone, trying to keep my breathing under control. “Why are they after me?”

“Apparently, your father has escalated a skirmish over drug trade routes into a war. The Serbs are looking for collateral.”

My mind struggles to make sense of this distressing new information. “But they shouldn’t have been able to find me. I don’t go by his last name. I haven’t lived with him in more than a decade. I’ve covered my tracks.”

He says gently, “Anyone can be found, lass. Everyone has a digital footprint, no matter how hard they try to erase it. Credit cards, internet use, cell phones, surveillance cameras, bank accounts, utility bills, airline manifests, satellite images, drones…I could go on. There are a million ways to find someone. Most of them are easier than you’d think.”

He pauses. “You did a good job of covering your tracks, though. I erased what was in your FBI file, but it wasn’t much.”

I spend a while blinking rapidly to try to clear my vision. “I’m sorry, did you say I have an FBI file?”

“Had,” he corrects. “It’s gone now.”

When I don’t say anything, he continues.

“I’m also working on wiping any other digital remnants of your existence, but we should talk about what you want to do with your bank accounts and driver’s license. A new name might be in order. You mentioned Seraphina, but personally I think that unless you’re a circus performer, it’s a little over-the-top.”

“I…I…”

“I know. It’s a lot. Think about it and let me know.”

He could be making it all up. This could be some kind of elaborate mind fuck, a way for him to gain my trust. Some weird game he’s playing.

Or maybe he’s just really good with computers?

“Killian?”

“Aye, lass?”

“Did you follow me to this hotel?”

“No.”

“Are there any other trackers on my clothing?”

“No.”

“Then how did you know I was here?”

“The card I gave you with my telephone number on it has a microscopic geo-locator device embedded in the stock.”

Of course it does. Because that’s completely normal. There are also probably tiny robot cameras swimming around in my veins. “I see. That’s very cool.”

“It is. I agree.” He pauses for a moment. “You’re freaking out again.”

“I think so, yes.”

“Open the door.”

Startled, I look at the closed hotel door. “Why? Is there another stuffed animal waiting for me?”

“Something like that.”

His voice is warm and amused, as if he’s enjoying a private joke. It makes me nervous.

“Did you get me a bunny rabbit or something? A potbellied pig? One of those fainting goats? Oh god, don’t tell me it’s an aardvark.”

“Open the door and see.”

He disconnects, leaving me hyperventilating.

I set the receiver back in the cradle and head to the door, feeling as if my arteries are about to explode from the extreme pressure they’re under. I peek through the peephole…but no one is there.

I glance up and down the hallway. There is no evidence of a person, a potbellied pig, or anything else. All is still and silent.

I crack open the door and look through.

A big hand reaches out from beside the door and flattens over it. Then I’m pushed back into the room by the large and imposing presence of none other than Boston’s mob king himself.

Before I can make even a peep of surprise, he kicks the door shut with his foot, grabs me by the upper arms, spins me around, and pins me against it.

“Ask me to kiss you, lass,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over my rigid biceps. My hands are flattened over the hard expanse of his chest. I’m pushing against it, to no avail. The man is built like a mountain.

I manage to eke out a No. Even he doesn’t think it sounds too convincing, because his smile turns smug and his eyes start to smolder.

In an attempt to gather my wits, I drag in a deep breath through my nose. Unfortunately, along with it comes the heady smell of his skin, some intoxicating combination of musk and spice and virile male in his prime.

It’s quite possible I have just become pregnant through osmosis.

Get it together! Kick him out! More firmly, I say, “No. Why are you here?”

“Because I want a kiss.”

I pretend his look of intense longing directed at my mouth doesn’t affect me one bit. “Don’t you have an evil empire you should be out running?”

“Aye.” He adds softly, “This is more important.”

Oh no. He’s decided to be charming. Where’s a chastity belt when you need one? “I want you to leave.”

He shakes his head and tsks. “One more lie, sweet little thief, and I’ll take you over my knee.”

He’s threatening to spank me? Heat floods my face. My heart starts to bang around inside my chest. I stare at him in outrage. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He looks like there’s nothing he wants more in the world.

Then he leans down and inhales deeply against my throat. As I stiffen, he says hotly, “Fuck. You smell like heaven.”

He nuzzles his nose into my hair and inhales again. His hands tighten around my arms. His voice drops to a growl. “I bet you taste like heaven, too.”

My mind, easily distracted under the best of circumstances, wipes blank. I forget all about hating him, asking him to leave, or anything else for that matter, and simply cling to his suit jacket and try to remain standing upright.

He presses the full length of his hard body against mine, fists one big hand into my hair at the nape of my neck, curls the other around my throat, and pulls away to stare into my eyes.

In his own is a raging inferno.

“Go ahead. Lie to me. Tell me you don’t want me to bury my face between your legs. Because it’s all I can think about.”

He strokes his thumb slowly back and forth over the pulse in the side of my neck, no doubt feeling how wildly it’s throbbing.

I whisper, “Aardvark.”

His eyes flash. He moistens his lips, and holy fuck, that’s the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

Against my hip, his erection throbs.

Though I try to project strength and cool self-confidence, my voice comes out shaky when I speak. “I have something I want to ask you.”

He stills, coiled to spring. His unblinking gaze focuses on mine. His breathing goes ragged.

“I want to ask that you take a step back. This is too overwhelming for me. You’re too overwhelming. I can’t think.”

He examines my expression in silence. Heat bristles like an electrical current between us. His stare is so hot and intense I feel burned by it. Then, once again, his gaze drops to my mouth.

“Killian. Please.”

His eyes drift shut. A muscle in his jaw jumps. He exhales slowly through his nose, then releases me.

When he steps back, my knees are so rubbery that I nearly slide to the floor.

Adjusting his tie, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. You make me…I get a little…” He stops and draws a breath. His laugh is low and faintly bewildered. “I’m afraid you make me go slightly crazy.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling.”

Our gazes lock and hold. He’s standing only about a foot or so away, and the air between our bodies feels supercharged. Magnetized. Like there’s a powerful, invisible pull drawing us together, no matter how hard we’re both trying to stay apart.

Our breathing falls in sync. My ears turn hot. Hanging by his sides, his hands flex and unflex, as if he’s deliberately forcing himself not to reach for me.

I say, “This is very strange.”

“Aye.”

“Like, beyond strange. Like UFOs and haunted houses strange. Like supernatural.”

“Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen.”

“But it shouldn’t happen. It can’t happen. I’m me, and you’re you.”

“Aye, there’s some baggage there. We don’t have to unpack it all tonight.”

His eyes are blistering with desire, but his voice is velvet soft, husky with emotion. The combination of animalistic lust and raw vulnerability is intoxicating. Especially coming from a man like him.

Still. I can’t for the life of me figure this out.

“Not to be rude, but maybe you only like me because I’m always saying no. Maybe you’re the kind of guy who loves a challenge. Maybe my appeal for you is only that I’m—”

“Your appeal is that you’re you,” he interrupts, his voice still that same velvet glove stroking over my skin. “You’re brave, and smart, and tough, but also kind. And funny. And beautiful. God, you’re just a pleasure to look at. And you don’t even try.

“I like that you seem as if you have more important things to do than dress a certain way or act a certain way or pretend to be anything other than what you are to impress a man. You just go around being unapologetically you. Living by your own rules. Trusting your own instincts. You let yourself take up space. You refuse to shrink to fit in. So many women don’t do that. You’re just…free. It’s refreshing. You make me feel…”

He searches for a word for a moment, before blinking slowly, as if coming to an unexpected—and not entirely welcome—understanding.

Then he shakes his head and looks away, swallowing.

He stands there like that, tense and silent, while I watch him struggle with everything he won’t allow himself to say.

It’s incredibly appealing, damn him.

“Hey. Gangster.”

Without turning his head, he glances back at me. His eyes are guarded.

I find myself unexpectedly smiling up at him. “I like you like this. It gives me hope that somewhere deep down underneath all that hard black armor, you might actually have a heart.”

“I’d say thank you, but I’m not sure that was a compliment.”

We gaze at each other for a moment, neither of us moving, until I exhale a breath. “Is it safe for me and my friends to go back to our apartment?”

He doesn’t hesitate when he answers. “Aye.”

I examine his face, intuitively understanding what it is he left unsaid. “Because you’ll be watching out for us.”

“Aye.”

“And you won’t let anything bad happen.”

“Aye.”

“Because you…inexplicably…like me.”

He reaches out and gently brushes his knuckles over my cheek. His gaze follows the path of his touch. He says softly, “It’s not inexplicable. I like you the way Newton liked gravity.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Once he found it, everything else in the universe made sense.”

I sit with that for a moment, allowing myself to feel all the things that sentence made me feel. Allowing myself space to take it in and sit with it.

Killian gives me time to work it over and simply waits.

He doesn’t insist I respond. He doesn’t push for any kind of reaction. He just stands quietly and watches me with no expectation.

I could laugh at him. I could rage at him. I could shower him with scorn. His gift to me is that he’d accept any of those things, and he’d still be glad he said it because it’s his truth.

It dawns on me like the sunrise over mountains: he doesn’t want to lie to me. He doesn’t want to play games with me. He only wants to tell me his truths.

If my life were a movie, it would be co-directed by Alfred Hitchcock and Woody Allen.

I say gently, “Do you think it’s possible you’re having a midlife crisis?”

He throws his head back and laughs.

“I mean, we haven’t even kissed.”

Still chuckling, he says drily, “Not for lack of trying on my part.”

“You have to admit, though, this pursuit of yours is over-the-top. It’s practically fictional. Romeo himself would be impressed by your single-mindedness.”

“If you think I’m over-the-top, you should meet my brother. He sat in the same section of a shitty diner for an entire year staring at his future wife and obsessing before ever speaking a word to her.”

The moment he says it, he looks like mentioning his brother was a mistake.

I smile at him, strangely glad he did. “Don’t worry, gangster. I won’t tell anyone you’re human. We’ll just keep letting everyone think you got here when Pandora let you out of that box.”

He sweeps his thumb thoughtfully over my cheekbone, then cups my chin in his hand. He gazes at me steadily for a moment, then says, “I’ll give you a week to think about it.”

“It?”

“The kiss. If you decide when a week’s up that you really don’t want to kiss me, I’ll let it go. You’ll never hear from me again.” He pauses. “To clarify: I’ll still be making sure you’re safe. This isn’t blackmail.”

Incredibly, I believe him. But I can’t admit that, so I go with sarcasm instead. “How gallant.”

“Just because I’m the leader of an international criminal organization doesn’t mean I can’t be honorable, too.”

“Funny, I was under the impression that’s exactly what it means.”

That sly, I’ve-got-a-secret twinkle returns to his eyes. “Where I’m concerned, lass, you should get used to being wrong.”

He ducks his head, brushes his lips against my cheek, then takes me by the shoulders and moves me a few feet to one side. Then he leaves, letting the door slam shut behind him.

I stand unmoving where he left me for a long time, my hand to my face, feeling the ghost of his lips burn my skin, trying to convince myself that when Max said my collision with the elemental force that is Killian Black was fate, she was dead wrong.

Trying but not quite believing it.