Page 36 of Pretty Threats

His brows rise as his mouth forms a soft smirk. “What are you talking about? You can reach me whenever you want, Raine. That never changes.”

My fingers stretch toward him, but I pull them back just in time. No touching. Not even when his sociopath speak is accidentally charming.

17

RAINE

Killian kept his promise.

When I wake at eight-thirty, after a night of no sexual activity, he’s already gone out and is coming back into the room, wearing shorts and a t-shirt that are damp with sweat.

“Did you go to the gym?”

“No, Jamie and I had rowing practice. We’re trying to blend in, so we decided not to quit.”

Blend in? As though they’re aliens? What is really going on? I don’t get a chance to ask questions because he strips and strides out.

When he comes back from showering, I close my eyes. It’s not that I don’t want to see him nude. I have tons of fantasies involving him exactly that way, but I’ve told myself it’s a bad idea to get that image in my head. In the past, seeing Killian shirtless when he cut the grass or was poolside instantly became burned in my mind. His muscles look like they’re sculpted from modeling clay. It’s too much.

“Breakfast is on. You can come out, or I can bring it to you in bed.”

Breakfast in bed? Like on a room service style tray in a hotel? What is he talking about?

“I’ll come out. Is there yogurt and granola?”

“Probably. But I doubt you’ll want that when you see the spread. There are better things to eat.”

When I open my eyes, he’s dressed in jeans and a damp t-shirt. The shirt is molded to his muscles, and my, God. Even dressed, he’s physical perfection.

My body would like to have Killian for breakfast.

He starts to walk out but turns back. “What are you going to wear today?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Reaching down, he catches the edge of my unzipped suitcase and raises it. With his other hand, he rifles through the contents until he finds a faux suede wrap dress. “Wear this.” He drapes it over the end of the bed before leaving.

Until now, the only time he’s ever expressed an opinion on my clothes was the first day I met him. And that was only because he didn’t like the video game advertised on my t-shirt.

The funny thing is I was planning to wear that dress today. I packed it specifically for film seminar because there’s a rumor an award-winning cinematographer might drop in. Without makeup, I look twelve, so I try to dress up whenever there might be a professional networking opportunity.

After I shower, I put on black tights, the dress and makeup. I realize I don’t have the boots I like to wear, so I opt for platform Mary Janes.

I check out the outfit, and it looks good. Normally, I would film a look like this for the vlog. I have no idea if Killian and his dangerous friends plan to let me out of the house for anything other than class, but they might not want me filming indoors, either.

In a bid to continue acting like being a kidnap victim is just par for the course in my life, I decide to float the idea.

As I leave the bedroom, sweet and savory scents hit me full force and my stomach growls. Among the things I smell, cinnamon is the strongest, and without even meaning to, I hurry to the kitchen with my Mary Janes click-clacking across the tile floor.

There’s a tray of iced cinnamon rolls with a cloud of steam rising above it. Straight from the oven? What is happening?

War and Jamie are already eating. Killian has one on his dish, but he stands at the stove until a timer goes off. Using an oven mitt, he takes some kind of egg casserole out of the oven.

On the end of the island’s table ledge, there’s a place set for me, complete with knife and fork sitting on a linen napkin. What in the actual F?

“What’s happening? Who made all this?”

“People who like us,” Jamie says. “I like your fit. Those little shoes could inspire a foot fetish.”

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