Page 93 of Killaney Fire
Once I relax, I get dressed.
I throw on some black jeans, boots, and a fitted sweater that doesn't screamI just had sex with my bodyguard in my basement gym.
When I step back into the kitchen, Octavian is waiting by the door, keys already in hand. He's changed into a black long-sleeve shirt, black jeans, and tactical-looking boots.
Even out of his suit, he's damn handsome.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yeah."
He opens the door and steps out first, scanning the driveway, the street, the trees. Always looking.
I follow him to the SUV, and he opens the passenger door. "From now on, maybe you ride up front with me."
I look at him and slide in without a second thought, giving him my answer. He shuts the door, and I watch him walk around.
He climbs into the driver's seat and starts the engine. He pulls out of the driveway, and we drive in silence for a few minutes, the city blurring past the windows.
"Okay, so fill me in," Octavian says finally, his voice low.
I glance at him.
"Where should I start?" I ask.
He looks at me. "The beginning."
"You sure? It might make you reconsider your assignment," I say jokingly but secretly worried.
We stop at a red light, and he looks at me. He then grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward him as he leans in and kisses me. His lips feel soft and inviting.
"Nothing on earth could make me reconsider being at your side," he says and then releases me, and starts driving.
I turn bright red and rub my lips, feeling way more giddy than I should.
"Okay," I say softly, more to myself than him. "Here it goes."
Improved Scene
I'm still sitting at the kitchen island, trying to calm my racing heart when I hear rustling from the pantry.
"What the hell are you doing?" I speak as loud as I can to Octavian without breaking what I'd call a whisper.
He doesn't answer, just continues rummaging through my food, and when he pulls his hand back out, he's holding a gun.
I blink. "Did you just get a gun from my pantry?"
"Yeah." He checks the magazine like this is perfectly normal. "Cheddar jalapeño. You haven't touched that bag in three weeks."
My jaw drops. "You've beentrackingwhich chips I eat?"
"I've been tracking everything you do." He slides the magazine back into place with a sharp click. "The chips were just convenient."
"That's—"
"Smart?" He looks at me now, and there's something satisfied in his expression. "I know."
Another knock sounds at the door, louder this time, more insistent.
