Page 31 of The Final Contract
I tilt my head, all innocence. “Nope.”
Then I undo the robe and let it slide off my shoulders, tossing it to the bed. Green silk and lace gleams under the light, and Killian’s mouth actually parts. His gaze drags down me, slow and shameless, and something tight coils in my belly.
I saunter past him like I’m not on fire, grab my black stilettos, then return—close enough to smell the clean bite of his cologne.
“Find anything out about the pictures?” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to.
His eyes darken, stormy gray, his reply a husky rumble. “We’re pulling the gym’s security footage and member list. The restaurants, too—cameras and staff.”
I slip on one heel, then shift closer, bracing a hand against his forearm to steady myself as I slide into the other. His skin is warm under the thin sleeve, muscle flexing tight when I lean into him. His throat works.
He clears it.
I almost smile, almost ask another question, almost think about pressing my palm lower—just to see if he’s hard for me. But Finn’s footsteps echo down the hall, breaking the spell.
“Oi, Shaw?”
In an instant Killian moves, one hand searing around my bare waist as he turns me, the other braced over my head as he nudges the door shut. My back hits the wood, breath trapped in my chest. He cages me in, his body heat wrapping around me, mint and something darker on his breath.
Finn’s voice carries from the hall. “We’ve lads in place at the restaurant for tonight. Blended in already.”
Killian turns his head slightly to the side, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “Okay.”
“What’s the matter?” I whisper, pulse thrumming. “Don’t want Finn to see me like this?”
His fingers flex against my skin, tightening. His face lowers, impossibly close. “I don’t want anyone seeing you like this.”
The words drop heavy between us, vibrating through me. His eyes flick from mine to my mouth, lingering, and for a moment I swear he’s going to kiss me.
Heat pools low, thighs pressing together. My thoughts from the shower flood back, sharper now, so real it aches.
And then his voice drops, low, steady, stripped of any teasing. “I wasn’t going to call her.”
The air leaves my lungs. My throat works as I swallow.
“What you do is no business of mine.”
His gaze narrows. “Isn’t it?”
A knock jolts us both, sharp against the door. I yelp, and Killian’s mouth twists into a grin that only makes me wetter.
“Kill?” It’s Finn again.
“Be right there,” he calls, stepping back. He picks up my robe, holds it out.
Our fingers brush, the touch sparking hot and impossible to ignore as I step away from the door. He pauses at the knob, looking back at me one last time.
“We leave in ten.”
His eyes drag down my body again—slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every detail. As if he wants to see this when he looks at me tonight, wearing the dark-green dress for my date.
Then the door clicks shut, soft and final, leaving me—heart racing, knees weak, and skin burning where his hands just were.
Walking into the restaurant, I lean toward Killian, my voice low. “Maintenance will be by later. The toilet won’t stop running.”
He gives a short nod, presses two fingers to his earpiece. “Finn, you hear that?”
A muffled Irish reply comes through—“Aye, got it.”
