He sounded hot as hell, a baritone that stroked my nerve endings and lit them up until my mouth felt dry. And that made him extra irritating. On the other hand, I wanted a beer now that he mentioned it, and I didn’t feel like getting off the couch.
“Fine. One,” I said finally. I made sure I sounded super grudging. He needed to know I wasn’t doing it because I wanted him to do something for me, and I knew he wouldn’t lift a finger without getting something back. “And you can go get me one from the fridge as well, since I’m out of my work drink.”
“Awesome. Thanks.” He smiled.
My breath stilled, and my brain froze. It was a genuine smile, one without a hint of mockery or ego. It seemed like the sun, brilliant and mesmerizing, but utterly out of my reach. All coherent thought drained from my mind, and the only thing left was potent admiration.
He didn’t seem to notice my reaction, though. As he walked over to the fridge, the light coming in through the windows created a hazy halo effect around him. My fingers curled with the desire to touch him, just to see if he felt as fine as he looked.
The sound of the fridge door opening and closing jerked me back to reality.
Holy hell. How could I have been so juvenile, like some high school girl around a hot quarterback? I was much too old and sensible for that.
He brought over two beers. I accepted one, trying not to notice—again—how wide his shoulders were. Or how hard his chest looked. He sat down next to me on the couch, and suddenly the couch seemed to shrink. Killian smelled so freaking good.
I wanted to ask him to get off the couch, but that would make me an ungracious bitch, considering there wasn’t any other good place for him to sit, so I bit my tongue. Then pr
ayed the beer would lessen his attraction. Men who drank said stupid things.
“So. You didn’t answer my question. Who’s getting laid?” he asked again.
One-track mind. But if I ignored him, he would continue to pester me—if not today, then tomorrow and the day after—because he was a man and, as such, wouldn’t just forget about sex. “Nobody you know.”
He leaned closer and tilted his head. “Do you still think Molly and Ryan are hooking up?”
I choked on my beer, dripping a mouthful on my shirt. “Shit!” I coughed to clear my throat and nose. “How did you—agah!—know?” Had he managed to read a snippet off the screen earlier?
“You were talking about them in the store.”
I stared at him. “I was?”
“Yeah.” He gave me a long, evaluating look. “Just so you know, that’s how rumors start.”
I bristled. How dare he sit in my home, drink my beer and judge me? I could write whatever the hell I wanted! I wasn’t creating or spreading rumors! It wasn’t my fault some people couldn’t tell the difference between fact and fiction. “It’s none of your business what I do or don’t do,” I said stiffly, regretting wasting a good beer on this ungrateful, sexy piece of shit.
“Yeah, but Molly and Ryan are good people. Molly has a couple of kids, and Ryan’s been married for forty years. Don’t you think you should be more considerate?” Now even his tone was judging.
“What are you talking about?” Molly was in her twenties, Ryan in his thirties. Neither had ever been married.
Killian’s eyebrows pulled together until lines formed between them. “You know, Molly Patterson and Ryan Johnson?”
I sat back, my body sagging as the indignation subsided. He thought I was talking about real people in town. I didn’t know who Ryan Johnson was, but I’d run into Molly Patterson at a farmers’ market once or twice when I first moved in. An okay but kind of pushy lady. Overly chatty, too. She’d wanted me to join the local PTA despite the fact that I was single and childfree.
“Oh Lord, nobody cares if you’re single!” She’d laughed as she said it, waving a hand like my reply was the silliest thing ever. “Kids or no kids, we’d love to have you chip in and help out. There are so many things to be done. I mean, you’re home all the time, aren’t you?”
The unspoken message being: You can’t possibly be doing anything worthwhile—you’re home all day.
She’d continued, oblivious to my rising annoyance. “It’d be a fantastic opportunity to meet the people around here and use your time productively.”
“I’d rather eat bull—” I’d caught myself in time because her kids were listening. “I’d rather stick my face into a wasp nest.”
It was like I’d confessed to burning books and streaking naked under the full moon, drenched in Satan’s blood. “Why, I never…!”
Chin held high, she’d stormed away in a huff, herding her children like little sheep, before I was able to point out that it was rude to presume I had nothing better to do with my time. Readers were waiting for my next book. Just imagine what they’d say if I told them I had to delay the release because I’d been too busy helping out with a local PTA that had nothing to do with me.
“Are you friends with Molly?” I asked. He might’ve hung out with her when he came to visit his late grandmother. That could explain his defense of her and this Ryan Johnson guy.
Killian’s expression turned mildly annoyed. Was he upset that I asking about his relationship with Molly? Or was he just annoyed that I wasn’t saying, “Yes, you’re right, of course. I’m so sorry I said things you thought were objectionable even though I wasn’t talking about your Molly and Ryan.”