Page 51 of Keep Me In Your Heart

They’re at Burning Man or at a resort in Bali. I’m wasting away in a nineteenth-century Scottish manor like I’ve been dropped in the middle of a Charlotte Brontë novel.

Nine months to go. I can do this.

I’m lying on the couch in the library, the fire crackling as I stare mindlessly at the hundreds of titles on the shelves around me. The words all fade together like meaningless stars in the sky.

The book I was reading grew too boring and political for me. It was supposed to be about a torrid love affair, and I wanted something salacious and dirty, but the author chose to delve into the inner workings of the Russian political climate after the war, and I gave up.

Nothing interests me now.

That is, until my eyes catch on a title that doesn’t seem to fit with the others.

The Act of Submission.

I sit up and squint my eyes at the book title again. The spine is deep red, and the text is eloquent and flowery. It’s between a book about beekeeping and a classic novel. Climbing from the couch, I cross the room and pull the book from the shelf. The image on the front is a pair of wrists bound together with a strip of red satin.

My eyebrows shoot upward. Quickly I check my surroundings to be sure he hasn’t snuck into the room. Then I open the book.

Inside are illustrations and mostly text. The illustrations are sexual in nature without being explicit.

A man kneeling with his head bowed.

A woman staring up at another woman.

A naked woman hogtied and suspended in the air.

Does this book belong to Killian? Is he really into this? I mean, I found that leather strap on the bed frame, but that could have been anything. It could have belonged to someone else. Maybe Anna has a secret kinky side.

Suddenly my mind conjures images of Killian forcing me intosubmission, and everything inside me bristles. Are these the kinds of women he likes? Was Claire like this?

This is why we would never work. I could never let him have that kind of control over me. I don’t want to let him think he’s won something.

Then I remember his weight on me that night. My adrenaline kicking up. My heart pounding. Arousal blossoming low in my belly.

Movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to the window. The first thing I notice is that the rain has stopped. A glint of light cascades across the panes, and something in me delights at the prospect of sunshine.

Walking to the window, I stare out at the wet trees of the fields behind the house. Then I spot Killian walking through the grass toward the house.

His hair is down, drenched from the rain and slicked back. His white shirt is tight against his body, wet and transparent. As he marches back toward the house, I find myself watching him with curiosity.

I’ve never met anyone like Killian in my life. He is tasteless and stubborn and so bold it’s exasperating. But he knows exactly what he wants, and he takes it without apology. He truly cares about himself and no one else.

And if I didn’t hate him so much, I might actually like him.

Chapter Seventeen

I snatch my scarf from my closet and throw it around my neck. As I emerge from my room, I hear another door closing down the hall and look up to find Killian standing just two doors down.

We both pause and stare at each other for a moment. It’s rare that we end up at the same place at the same time anymore, but when we do, it’s always a little unsettling. His wild green eyes bore into mine for a moment.

“Where are you going?” he asks after his eyes rake down my body, noticing my winter boots.

“Into town to do some shopping,” I reply.

He doesn’t respond, only stares at me. So I casually add, “Wanna come?”

There’s a flinch in his expression. Then he shakes his head. “Fuck no.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, taking a step toward him. “Afraid of a little shopping?”

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