Page 12 of Only for You
A long second passed, but then woodenly, he turned his head, his hazel eyes dark, the pupils dilated. He stared at her, but somehow she doubted he saw her. Not with that sharp, almost brittle emotion blackening the depths.
Panic. She recognized the shell-shocked, almost animalistic fear. After her mother had been raped by one of her johns under a bridge, she’d been petrified of crossing one. Each time they’d travelled over Longfellow or Tobin Bridge, her mother would seize up, the air would whistle out of her nose, and her knuckles would pale from the death grip on the door or her purse. Killian wore that same sense of terror. But from what? What had triggered it?
With those questions ringing in her head, she didn’t allow pride or fear of rejection to keep her on her side of the elevator. The gut-wrenching thought of him—this powerful, strong, dominant man—enslaved by terror had her eliminating the small space between them. She slid between him and the wall, cupped his face and tilted his head down so he had no choice but to meet her gaze.
“Killian,” she repeated his name, smoothing the pads of her thumbs over his cheekbones. Her touch was firm as she tried to ground him in the here and now with her, and not in that place of lonely, dark, paralyzing panic. “Baby, look at me. Please.” Triumph winged through her when his gaze lightened. It was only the tiniest degree, but at least he was listening to her, seeing her. “Breathe me with me, okay? In.” She inhaled through her nose. “And out,” she ordered, exhaling through parted lips. “Do it with me, baby. In. Out. In. Out.”
Gradually, he followed her example, all that intense focus trained on her, her face, the pattern of their breaths. When the elevator gently bumped to a stop and the doors slid open, the shadows had cleared from his gaze, and the harsh lines around his mouth and eyes had eased. His body remained strung tight, but he’d come back to her.
He’d come back to her.
Jesus. She had to be careful. Too easily she could forget the landmines that lay between them, and convince herself they could have…what? A relationship built on the past? A past riddled with betrayal, resentment, and lust. Yeah, that would make a solid foundation. She’d sold him out years ago to save his life, and now he couldn’t ever trust her again.
It didn’t matter.Couldn’t matter.
In three days, she would leave Boston again, and they could both return to the lives they’d pulled together out of the wreckage. But at least she would have him. Even for a few hours, she would have him.
His hands covered hers and lowered them, striding forward and backing her out of the elevator, his fingers still clasped around hers. The stark darkness had completely dissipated from his eyes, and the frenetic tension had seemed to shift to something else—something calmer, but heavier, hotter. Whatever had happened to him in the elevator had passed, leaving behind the indomitable, invulnerable man who had stalked her across a club then thrown down a dirty, naughty bargain that had her on her knees…literally.
He released her and, with a palm on the small of her back, guided her down a dimly lit hallway. Apparently, the “upstairs” comprised another section of the club. A more private one from the lack of traffic and noise in the empty corridor. She glanced at the old-fashioned sconces that cast a low light over the walls and the floor, as well as the murals depicting a grandfather clock, people in ornate costumes, and a chandelier. At any other time, she would have appreciated the beauty of the gothic-like mural, but Killian had stopped in front of a green door.
Her heart launched for her throat. Feminine instinct warned her that as soon as she walked through that door, there would be no turning back. That what awaited her on the other side would change her. And probably not for the better.
Killian entered the room, then turned and held his hand out.
End it now. Walk out of here, go home, and you’ll still have your heart intact…
She placed her hand in his and followed him inside.
