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For the first time since I’ve started dating Carter, his stepdad greets me with nothing covering his upper body. No dress shirt. No Henley.
I repeat, shirtless.
Glorious.
Mouth-fucking-watering.
So wrong, Amara. Carter’s not here. Ogling Killian is the most wrong fucking thing.
Before I listen to logic and dart my gaze away, my curious, stupid eyes betray me. Forcing me to explore Killian’s tattoos.
He has two sleeves inked on each of his arms. Skulls and roses decorate his skin, each one blending into the other. Some of their mouths are clamped shut, the others are wide open in a scream. The roses don’t tone down the macabre design. They’re just as mean-looking as the skulls are with the thorns and the blood dripping from them.
His muscles pulse beneath the ink, bringing the roses and skulls to life. Transforming the flowers into something out of Poison Ivy’s Garden, not my shop. Especially with those veins threading through his forearms and biceps.
The sight is horrifically alluring.
It causes me to cement my feet to the floor. To keep from gliding to Killian. To keep from trailing my fingertips over each skull and rose. Exploring the feel of Killian’s veins and enjoying the blood thrumming through them.
It costs me, but I do it.
“You what, beautiful girl?” Killian’s at the bottom of the stairs, his dark gaze intense. Fixed on me.
Wetting my lips, I focus every bit of my attention on the floor. The marble veins are safe. Much safer than the sexy predicament I’m in.
“I’m sorry.” I twirl a lock of my hair around my finger. “Didn’t mean to intrude. Or scream.”
“You live here. You’re not intruding. And screams don’t deter me.” Killian’s feet—the only part of him I see now—pad toward me. “There’s something appealing about making another person scream, wouldn’t you agree, beautiful girl?”
His cologne assaults my senses. Then images of either Carter or me screaming because Killian fucked us too hard. Or worse.
Better stay quiet. For once in my life, I choose silence.
One hot finger presses my chin up. Killian’s eyes are different from Carter’s. Dark brown instead of gray. Far less unhinged and far more intense.
They’re just as predatory, though. Both of them see through me. Disarming me.
Reckless. Embarrassment. Silly little girl.
Those were a few of the choice words my parents and only sister had for me over the years. Until I left.
But Carter or Killian never say those things to me. They don’t even look at like I’m a freak or with their lips twisted into a snark no matter what I do.
The only thing they have for me is smiles. And now, now there’s nothing but desire on Killian’s expression.
“How’s your head?” he asks, his gaze drifting higher, then back at my eyes.
“Uh…” I rub the small lump that doesn’t hurt anymore. “It’s okay.”
“Amara.” His deep voice is an earthquake, and I shudder.
“Yes?” I whisper. Or more like breathe out. I feel floaty.
“Amara, listen to me.”
I do listen. It’s talking that I’m struggling with. My throat is clogged. My mouth is dry.
Being this close to him, without Carter here, it’s so fucking fucked.
