Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Like a light bulb?” I retort, trying not to duck my head.
His brow quirks, his eyes glinting with suppressed humor. “Fine. You’re radiant. That clear enough?”
Words stick in my throat. It hits me that a man has never called me pretty before. Not once. How could that be? I’m not ugly. Objectively speaking, I know I’m pretty, or can be. I’ve had multiple dates, a boyfriend briefly in college. I’ve been hit on before, sure. But I’ve never been complimented in such a simple, honest way. The knowledge sinks into my skin like an itch, and suddenly I don’t want Killian to look at me.
My spade plunges into the earth with enough violence to send soil flying. “So how did this Darla tat go away?”
Killian frowns down at my spade for a second before he eases back to his usual cheekiness. “My mom was so disgusted with it, she gave me the money to get a new one to cover it.”
“I’d have thought she’d want you to get it removed.”
“Naw.” He tugs out a weed. “She didn’t object to a tattoo, just that it was poorly done. And there’d still be a scar. Mom isn’t big on scars. Anyway, I got the compass rose. The map came later.” He glances down at himself. “Kind of like, ‘Hey, Kills, here’s the world. It’s all yours if you don’t fuck it up.’”
The regret in his voice, though he’s clearly trying to hide it, hits something in me. I take a breath, my gaze wandering to the clear blue sky overhead. The world. I’ve seen so little of it. Just this small blue corner of North Carolina and the slightly bigger swath of land when I went down to Savannah for college. Twenty-five years old, and I’m a hermit of my own making.
My chest closes up, and I have to fight to breathe. I have an overwhelming urge to run into the house and curl up in my nice, cool bed where it’s dim and silent.
“This is surprisingly relaxing,” he says.
Killian’s comment catches my attention.
“What? Weeding?”
He glances at me from under the fans of his lashes. “Yep. I like doing something constructive.” Killian stops and rubs the back of his neck. “You got any fences to mend or wood to chop? Something like that?”
“You need hard labor to forge you into a better person?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“And you want me to…what? Mr. Miyagi you?”
His laugh is a rolling wave, deep and warm. “Fuck yeah. Paint the fence. Sand the floor.”
“And when you’re done, we can go down to the sea, and you’ll balance on one leg.”
“Shit, that would be epic.” Killian spreads his arms wide, doing a half-assed crane move. It does nice things to his torso, which I promptly ignore.
I stand instead, dusting the loose soil off my knees. I grab my basket of veggies. “Come on, then. You can mow the law if you’re really serious. That’s about as Mr. Miyagi as I can get right now.”
Killian hops up with ease. “Killian-san ready for duty.”
I roll my eyes, pretending that I find him annoying. But I don’t. And that scares me.
Chapter Four
Killian
I’m mowing Libby’s lawn. Sadly, that isn’t a euphemism for something more pleasurable than pushing an old mower back and forth over her vast and rolling yard. Out here in the hot sun, my muscles moving and sweat trickling down my spine¸ I realize I haven’t had sex in months. Six to be exact. I haven’t gone that long without sex since I started having sex. What really freaks me out is that I haven’t missed it much.
During my travels, I met plenty of hot women ready and willing to rock my world. Willing isn’t even the right word. They were desperate to fuck me. It isn’t arrogance that makes me say that. It’s the truth. They knew who I was and did their best to be the girl who would blow me so away I would take them with me. Same old story for the past eight years. Fame equals dick chasers.
Pushing the mower, I think back on all those women. God, some of them really did rock my world. The things they let me do, that they did to me, were unreal—as close to a high as I could get when not on stage. But it always ended as soon as my dick went limp. Eventually, sex with groupies became almost another form of masturbation. The excitement had long since faded. No matter how good a chick’s technique, she never saw me as anything other than a means to an end. And those girls never expressed an opinion that contradicted my needs. I could send in a roadie, tell the groupies he was part of the band, and they’d fuck him raw too.
I used those women just like they used me. Pump, dump, and go. Soulless encounters.