KILLIAN

 

I counted the days. Pleasurably in torment.

It had been two weeks since a little goddess named Lucy Martin invaded my world. I found strange comfort in knowing she was there waiting for me every morning and escorting me to my car every evening. She always brought me a drink when she got one for herself. Pan dulce too if Miss Maria made it.

Lucy didn’t make a production of it, never making me feel like I owed her something. She just gave it to me. Honestly. Kindly.

Not quite a PA and definitely not a mistress.

This didn’t sit well with me. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I should’ve been doing this for her. Strange, for me at least, because I had zero interest in nurturing any woman.

Until Lucy.

I took baby steps. Whereas during her first week I ordered her lunch, this week I personally brought her meal from one of the food trucks every day. She got flustered, hands waving in the air the first time I did it.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know. Here.” Beef stir-fry. Fried rice. Eggroll. All getting colder with each second she denied my offering.

“No, I couldn’t. Really.”

I could feed her last week, but not this one. Strange that.  

“You can. Take it.”

Lucy bit her lip and then looked away. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

I could almost finish her words. It was the kiss that changed us. Her. Me.

“I don’t have time for this. Take it or not. It’s up to you.” When she stared at me, blinking owlishly, mouth curled into a delightful frown, I walked over to the trash can. “Very well.”

She sprang up from her chair. “Don’t throw good food away! I’ll take it!”

Damn right you will.

Lucy didn’t deny me again. She accepted that I’d bring her food as was my desire. She loved Korean barbeque. Cuban sandwiches too—without mustard and pickles.

“Don’t let Gramps see you with that sandwich. He’ll make you eat it the ‘right’ way. Mark my words.”

Lucy giggled, a wondrous sound for a goddess. It made her look younger, almost obscenely so. Serious worked for her, but laughter worked better.

Inspired to do more for Lucy, I didn’t ignore her as I’d outwardly done the first week. I talked to her, coaxing details from her bit by bit.

She’d worked for Mr. Luis since she was thirteen. (She loved and respected him greatly. Never got tired speaking about him. I felt a little jealous of an old man. Shameful.)

Her parents were both dead. (She didn’t like to talk about it at all. I could relate. I wanted to know more anyways. Later.)

She got her degree from a community college. (I made the mistake of showing my shock that one could get a bachelor degree from a community college. Associates, yes. Bachelors, since when? Her chin went right up in the air.)

Lucy Martin proudly didn’t owe one dollar for student loans, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in debt.

Gathering assorted bits and pieces, I determined Lucy felt she owed the world because she got a second chance to live right. Apparently, I was part of paying that marker down.

I had mixed feelings about that. I didn’t want Lucy to martyr herself where I was concerned. I’d rather be the sin she regretted. At least that way she’d never forget me.

Still, what could Lucy have ever done to orchestrate this much guilt?

It scratched my curiosity to probe why, but I loved a good mystery. The longer it took to solve, the better.

Lucy Martin was wrapped up in a lovely package of propriety and patience. She was attracted to me, knew I was attracted to her, but didn’t use my constant hard-on to further her way in the world. Or punish me for it.

Hmm…although I couldn’t say I’d mind it. Much.

Lucy’s refusal to treat me as a King intrigued me. I was used to my interactions with women being more of a transactional sort. I wanted something from them and they would give it to me—for a price.

Socialization. Dinner. Clubbing. Gifts. Cache.

But there was no transaction here.

Lucy didn’t seem to understand that she spent more time with me than virtually anyone else because I’d chosen not to run her off. That should’ve been enough to have her eating out of my hand.

I still couldn’t believe she’d turned me down last week. No one kissed like that and then walked away. Except for this little goddess.

Lucy Martin was clearly used to being in control of slobbering fools cursed to fall under her spell. How else to explain her professional demeanor? She acted as if the universe hadn’t exploded right here in my office.

But I knew differently.

Attuned as I was to her, I could hear the way her breathing changed when I took a step closer. I felt Lucy’s greedy stare when she thought I wasn’t looking.

My pants were always too tight these days but I imagined her panties were dripping wet.

As punishment for being so damned luscious, I still sharpened my claws in her skin, but not nearly as much as I did the first week. Lucy responded much the same—benevolent and placid.

Still, I felt her fire.

It tempered my mean streak. Not because I was afraid of being burned, but because it inspired me to show her another side of me. One that I’d swear never existed anymore until two weeks ago.

“You’re one of the sweetest boys I’ve ever seen, Killian. Don’t ever forget that. Promise me.”

This time the memory of my mother’s last words to me didn’t send me into a self-destructive streak. They calmed because I wanted Lucy Martin to think the same.

At least for however long this was going to last. Eventually it would unravel. Hell, Lucy was halfway there.

When she wasn’t puking out the deluded thought that I was a great man, she asked me a question every day. Just one. Not about the business, or my next meeting, but about me.

“What made you laugh last night?”

Lucy stumped me the first time. I snorted rudely, sure she was trying to be annoying.

“Imagining your horrific shoes.”

Her pretty eyes should’ve welled with tears. She only rolled them and kept writing in that stupidly annoying notebook. One day I’d read it, maybe tear a page or two out of it. Mmm…just imagining her reaction brought me wicked joy.

Besides, she believed me to be a spoiled playboy who coasted on King money. She also thought I was rude. Petty. Brattish. None of which I denied. She was still drawn to me.

My feelings toward Lucy couldn’t be easily dismissed either.

I just didn’t understand them. Why her? Of all the women in all the world, why Lucy Martin? What about this woman excited me like this?

Was she beautiful? Sure. But her taste in clothing was dreadful. Nothing pretty for its own sake. Utilitarian. It wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of ribbon somewhere. Anywhere. As far as makeup went, minimal. Lip balm and maybe a bit of mascara. She worked at cosmetics company! The least she could do was wear lipstick! Although, honestly? She didn’t need it.

Was she smart? Yes. But she lacked educational pedigree. Although on second thought, that didn’t necessarily mean a bad thing. I dated many Ivy League girls before I realized relationships just weren’t my thing. Now after spending time with Lucy I suspected it was combined arrogance overload.

Was she kind? To a fault. This didn’t translate into Lucy being a pushover or so sweet I wanted to puke. She had spice beneath that sugar.

Her angles and lines didn’t make sense.

Oddly enough I hadn’t been compelled to work on any puzzles since meeting Lucy. My latest one sat abandoned.

Abandoned as my lips since I’d yet to coax Lucy into kissing me again. It was all I thought about from the second I saw her until my head hit the pillow. Though to be completely frank, I didn’t just think about kissing her.

My thoughts ventured into depraved territory several times a day.

Hardly my fault. I couldn’t be blamed when Lucy sat there in my office, legs crossed primly, and plump mouth begging to be kissed just by its very existence.

She always seemed to look up right when I imagined her on her knees…

The energy between us was palpable. I couldn’t be around Lucy without feeling every cell in my body riot. Despite the torment, I didn’t mind her being by my side. In fact, I demanded her presence whenever I had to attend a boring meeting.

Sitting in the darkened room while some mind-numbingly dull PowerPoint flashed across the screen, I made a little game of counting how often Lucy shifted in her seat—especially when I “accidentally” brushed my leg against hers.

Once a day I made sure to touch her pinky finger. Just that one on her right hand. I satisfied myself with the tiny digit because of Lucy’s reaction afterwards. She’d rubbed her pinky off and on for hours afterwards.

I almost jumped across my desk when I saw her suck the tip absently.

Tease.

Grandfather had started giving me speculative looks every time he saw us together. His worry irritated me. If anyone was in danger it was me.

Besides, I wasn’t about to pounce on Lucy Martin. If I did, the game would be over. I wasn’t ready. I absolutely still planned on seducing her, but I was reluctant to speed it up.

Not because I didn’t want to. (My nightly hour-long shower sessions proved otherwise. I couldn’t seem to get my cock to behave no matter how many times I came.)

It was because I knew me.

Once I had Lucy naked in my bed I’d get bored. I couldn’t abide boredom in any form and Lucy Martin being deemed boring just seemed sacrilegious.

If there was one thing Lucy didn’t do, it was bore me. And there was just so much I liked about her, that I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Maybe too much.

I liked her kind toughness. She didn’t throw a fit or burst into tears when I needed to sharpen my claws on her lovely hide. If anything, Lucy treated me like a normal man, one who wasn’t powerful enough to knock her down. No matter how much I tried. (Although not too much.)

I liked that greatly. It made me less wary around Lucy.

I liked her intelligence. Better yet, I liked that she wasn’t afraid to admit she didn’t know something. Lucy definitely wasn’t too shy to ask questions. King Cosmetics was her second favorite topic of discussion. I was very proud to admit I was her first. (Whether I answered them, well, that was neither here nor there.)

Although I complained often, I did like Lucy’s disregard for being a fashion plate. While I had every intention of clothing her as befitting a petite goddess, I respected her for being more than a walking fashion label. (I’d still remedy that the first chance I got.)

I just liked her.

All in all, Grandfather picked an interesting companion for me to toy with. Except I wasn’t doing much toying because nothing seemed to outwardly unsettle Lucy Martin.

A devilish smile made its home on my face. The speed of her writing told the truth.

Once again that yellow notebook mocked me with its secrets. I smothered the urge to snatch it away at least once an hour. For a person who was supposed to be watching me, Lucy spent too much time buried in its wide ruled pages. The only reason I didn’t run off with the damned book was because I knew she wasn’t writing her grocery list.

Every entry centered around me and that was heady stuff indeed.

My smile slipped away.

I realized I just listed many things I liked about Lucy but not one of them centered on her full breasts, round ass, tiny waist, or suckable lips.

The fuck?

You’re getting attached.

A cold sweat broke across my body.

Sleeping with the little goddess was one thing. Getting attached to her being here day after day, year after year, was another.

But what if?

Lucy could be of help beyond her present duties. She picked things up quickly if her post-meeting questions where any indication. Surely if I asked Grandfather he’d find a place for her…

This was unacceptable.

Does it have to be that way? Lucy isn’t like the others and you know it.

I wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Never this and never with someone like her.