Page 9 of Like A Moth To A Flame

She’s here for one thing, and that is to give me a child from her womb and nothing else.

"Do I send you the results?" he asks with the tablet in his hand.

"That won't be necessary."

I turn up the music, and In This Moment's “Sick Like Me” drowns out anything else he has to say.

Checking the doors down a hallway leading to the garden, I'm looking for a workout room or a gym. It’s been a month since I’ve gotten a good workout in. I'm sure Killian Cross works out. Both times I have seen him, he seems fit underneath the long black shirt he fills out.

I walk past each room on the first floor, noticing how clean and open this part of the house is. An occasional table and chair attempt to fill the space, but no pictures. Usually, there is at least a screen with one, but not in this house. Some rooms feel sterile, but I know there is not much I can do about it to make it feel welcoming. Killian seems like a man who isn't used to a woman's touch when it comes to his house, only a certain woman who calls him Kill. Every time I think about them together, my stomach burns. I can't even read a spicy scene in one of my books and not think about them together.

"Are you going to walk around like an intruder looking in every room?"

I turn around, and my stomach flops, feeling like it turned upside down when I see Killian leaning on the wall looking down at me from a distance–watching me through his mask.

"It’s better than looking like a creep following me while I look in every room," I shoot back.

"How is that?"

"If Iwasan intruder, at least I'm looking for something I want instead of being a creepy stalker," I retort.

He pushes off the wall and steps closer. "How does that makeyoubetter?"

I try to see if I can glimpse what he looks like underneath, but the word on the mask covering his face is distracting. It reads EVOL.

I tilt my head, noticing he is a lot taller than me this close. "Well, my mask doesn't have EVOL written on the front of it, and I'm not following anyone."

He steps closer, his chest almost touching my chin. He's wearing a tight long-sleeved shirt outlining what I was wondering about a minute ago, if he worked out. Nothing prepared me for the muscles rippling underneath his shirt.

My eyes travel over the outline of his muscles, wondering what his skin must feel like. Is it smooth? Does he have tattoos on his chest like the tops of his hands and neck?

"Are you done?"

My head lifts. "What was that?"

"Admiring."

His head dips lower, and my stomach flips sideways. The smell of his clean ocean-scented cologne has my head spinning. My eyes home in on a tattoo that says I AM THE MASTER OF MY FATE. I don't move. I fist my hands to keep them from shaking. "All you have to do is ask," he says softly.

I lean my head back, taking a step away from him. "I…"

"Of course, you weren't," he whispers.

I look away toward the wall and ask, "Do you have a gym or a workout room?"

He turns and walks down the hallway. Then he pauses and angles his head so I can only see the side of the mask. "Do you want to know where the gym is or not?"

I step forward and follow him down the hall toward the west wing of the house until we reach a door at the end. He steps aside, punching in a code on the screen by the wall. The door opens.

"The code is 42135."

My eyes dart around the room, and it’s a gym with the latest equipment. Mats and dumbbells of all kinds line the right side of the wall with mirrors. To the left, modern workout machines, including treadmills, are placed in front of mirrors framed with white lights, giving the space a functional feel.

"Thank you," I say, giving him my back.

I feel his presence behind me, and right when I think he’s going to leave, not realizing he is still standing behind me, he leans in and whispers, "Now, who is following who?"

I whip around with a retort on the tip of my tongue, but his next words melt it away. "Meet me for dinner at seven. We have much to discuss."

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