Page 67 of Keep Me

He’s in his green and white kilt with the same slate gray jacket he wore at our wedding. There is no way to fully prepare myself for the effect that kilt has on me.

I completely skip over confused and directly into aroused.

Then it dawns on me. I bolt further upright. “We’re going to the party?” I chime excitedly.

“Get dressed before I change my mind,” he mutters lowly.

I’m not even focused on the sexual favor I have to perform in order to get him to do this, but I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I’m busy barreling up the stairs, thinking about which dress in my closet will work for tonight’s event.

I settle on a gold velvet gown that hugs my curves. The plunging neckline is covered by a piece of netting covered in gems. My hair doesn’t take long to pull into a half-up style with a clip at the back of my head. I spray my curls with something to clean up the frizz. Then I quickly apply some makeup and scurry downstairs before Killian has a chance to back out.

I’m not sure why I’m so anxious for this party. Maybe it’s the promise of ten thousand dollars for getting him to go. Maybe it’s the sex. Or maybe it’s for the look on his family’s face when he shows up and blows them all away.

When I come down the stairs, Killian is waiting.

“That was…” His eyes lift from his phone as he settles his gaze on me. “Fast.”

I stop near the bottom step, struggling for something to say. “Ready?”

He swallows. “You look nice, wife.”

“Not too bad yourself, brute.”

I grin to myself as I sit down on the bench to put on my shoes. Moments like this always strike me as ironic, the way we can banter like a married couple and howrealit feels, even though it’s not.

As I slip on my heels, I glance up at Killian’s hair. It’s past his shoulders now. It looks silky smooth and well kept, but honestly…too long.

Standing up, I tug on the ends. “Can we please trim this up?”

“Now?” he asks in disbelief.

“It’ll only take a minute.” I grab his hand and drag him back up the stairs. “Come on.”

Begrudgingly, he lets me pull him into my en suite bathroom. I pull the chair from the vanity and gesture for him to sit. A small giggle escapes when I see how massive he looks on the tiny thing. But it puts him at the right height for me.

Snatching a towel off the rack, I drape it around his shoulders and fasten it into place with a hair clip. Then I pull open the top drawer and retrieve the scissors I use to cut off my split ends.

I feel Killian’s eyes on me as I move around the bathroom. When I spray his hair with water, he winces and curses under his breath. And I’m not gentle when I comb through the long strands.

“Who has been cutting your hair?” I ask as I try to line up the ends.

He shrugs. “Random women. Sometimes the housekeepers. Sometimes me.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I reply.

Leaning back, I take a look at him. “How much can I take off?”

“It’s hair. I don’t care how much you cut. It grows back.”

I screw up my lips as I think this through, trying to imagine what he’d look like without the messy mop of wild brown hair on his head.

“Okay…” I reply. Then I lean in and start chopping. He barely reacts as long chunks of hair fall off the white towel and onto the floor. It’s a little nerve-racking to watch the way his signature look slowly morphs into something cleaner and simpler.

“Are you a hairdresser?” he asks as he watches me work.

“No,” I reply as I style the length I left on the top. “But I’ve always loved styling hair.”

“So, why don’t you do it?”

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