Page 110
Story: Ruling Destiny
Killian is gorgeous. Sexy. And while kissing him is an absolute pleasure, while it’s everything a kiss should technically be—
Killian is not Braxton.
He’s not the boy I gave my heart to.
65
Though it’s clear that Killian isn’t Braxton, I’m quick to remind myself that Braxton is no longer an option. And what chance does Killian have when I insist on comparing them?
I thread my arms around Killian’s neck, run my fingers through his soft silky strands, aware of the chill racing over my skin, as a low groan sounds deep in his throat.
“You are the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.” With a sigh, his hands move from my cheeks to my waist as he pulls me in closer, hauls me up against him, and devours me with his kiss once again.
A kiss I return with equal ardor and hunger. But it’s merely a physical hunger. The hunger of seeking warmth, of wanting to be comforted and held close. Because the heart—or at least my heart—it beats for somebody else.
And when I open my eyes and draw away for a breath, I’m surprised to find it’s not the duke’s hideous face that haunts me. It’s Braxton’s, with his ocean-blue eyes, that bend in his nose, the way he looked, gaze shadowed with shock and defeat, just seconds before Killian’s fist met his jaw.
Still, I slide my hands to Killian’s shoulders and tug off his jacket. Convinced that if I can just kiss him enough, I’ll forget about Braxton.
I left him to bleed, right there on the baptistery floor.
And yet, he lied to me. I have every right to do this. He’s been playing me all along—
Killian’s jacket drops to the floor. And as he yanks his shirt over his head, my eyes greedily take in the sight. He is tanned, strong, made of the sort of masculine beauty that would make Michelangelo weep. Killian is a sight to behold.
After my own jacket is shed, Killian watches as I undo the ties that bind my top closed. My fingers are trembling, and I wonder if he’s noticed, or if he’s too caught up in the anticipation of the reveal soon to come.
Once the ties are undone and all that’s left is to pull this thing over my head and allow our bodies to collide once again, he clasps my hands together in his. “Shiv,” he says. “Are you sure—of me—of what we’re about to do?”
Though I’m not at all sure, though I’m riddled with doubts, that doesn’t stop me from lifting my shirt over my head, revealing the thin cotton tank top I wear underneath. A modern piece I found in the trunk that I’m glad I took the risk of wearing. It gives me one extra layer to decide if I really want to move forward.
“You’re like a Russian doll.” Killian grins. “So many delightful layers to uncover.”
I return the grin and reach for the small leather pouch tied at his waist. It contains something hard and round, and for the briefest moment I wonder if he somehow managed to get hold of the Moon.
“What’s this?” I dip a finger inside, startled to find it’s a small golden sphere.
Killian freezes, his gaze darting from me to the small golden ball I now hold in the center of my palm.
“It’s…the Sun,” he finally says.
My gaze lands on his. “But that’s impossible. I brought the Sun back from Versailles and gave it to Arthur.”
Killian nods. “Turns out this one’s a dupe—a decoy.”
“But I don’t understand,” I mumble, partly to him but mostly to myself. Because the truth is, I don’t understand much of anything right now. All I know is that my blood has gone to ice and there’s a notable shift in my mood.
“I told you how I like to carry a charm that reminds me of a Trip that went sideways? Well, this one is from 1741. When I foolishly fell for a fake and Braxton left me behind.”
Killian reaches for it, but for some reason, I’m reluctant to let him have it. And yet, it’s clearly not mine to keep, so I let him take it, watching as he places it onto the table, then eagerly turns back to me.
He’s just pulling me into his arms when I release an exaggerated yawn. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I think this time lag is starting to kick in.”
“No need to apologize.” Killian trails a soft hand along the line of my neck. “I realize this is a lot. Besides, we’ve got plenty of time to figure things out. What do you say we both grab a nap, then we’ll see what happens from there?”
There’s an awkward moment as we head for our rooms when I worry that Killian might want to nap with me.
But he surprises me by making straight for the daybed in the next room.
Killian is not Braxton.
He’s not the boy I gave my heart to.
65
Though it’s clear that Killian isn’t Braxton, I’m quick to remind myself that Braxton is no longer an option. And what chance does Killian have when I insist on comparing them?
I thread my arms around Killian’s neck, run my fingers through his soft silky strands, aware of the chill racing over my skin, as a low groan sounds deep in his throat.
“You are the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.” With a sigh, his hands move from my cheeks to my waist as he pulls me in closer, hauls me up against him, and devours me with his kiss once again.
A kiss I return with equal ardor and hunger. But it’s merely a physical hunger. The hunger of seeking warmth, of wanting to be comforted and held close. Because the heart—or at least my heart—it beats for somebody else.
And when I open my eyes and draw away for a breath, I’m surprised to find it’s not the duke’s hideous face that haunts me. It’s Braxton’s, with his ocean-blue eyes, that bend in his nose, the way he looked, gaze shadowed with shock and defeat, just seconds before Killian’s fist met his jaw.
Still, I slide my hands to Killian’s shoulders and tug off his jacket. Convinced that if I can just kiss him enough, I’ll forget about Braxton.
I left him to bleed, right there on the baptistery floor.
And yet, he lied to me. I have every right to do this. He’s been playing me all along—
Killian’s jacket drops to the floor. And as he yanks his shirt over his head, my eyes greedily take in the sight. He is tanned, strong, made of the sort of masculine beauty that would make Michelangelo weep. Killian is a sight to behold.
After my own jacket is shed, Killian watches as I undo the ties that bind my top closed. My fingers are trembling, and I wonder if he’s noticed, or if he’s too caught up in the anticipation of the reveal soon to come.
Once the ties are undone and all that’s left is to pull this thing over my head and allow our bodies to collide once again, he clasps my hands together in his. “Shiv,” he says. “Are you sure—of me—of what we’re about to do?”
Though I’m not at all sure, though I’m riddled with doubts, that doesn’t stop me from lifting my shirt over my head, revealing the thin cotton tank top I wear underneath. A modern piece I found in the trunk that I’m glad I took the risk of wearing. It gives me one extra layer to decide if I really want to move forward.
“You’re like a Russian doll.” Killian grins. “So many delightful layers to uncover.”
I return the grin and reach for the small leather pouch tied at his waist. It contains something hard and round, and for the briefest moment I wonder if he somehow managed to get hold of the Moon.
“What’s this?” I dip a finger inside, startled to find it’s a small golden sphere.
Killian freezes, his gaze darting from me to the small golden ball I now hold in the center of my palm.
“It’s…the Sun,” he finally says.
My gaze lands on his. “But that’s impossible. I brought the Sun back from Versailles and gave it to Arthur.”
Killian nods. “Turns out this one’s a dupe—a decoy.”
“But I don’t understand,” I mumble, partly to him but mostly to myself. Because the truth is, I don’t understand much of anything right now. All I know is that my blood has gone to ice and there’s a notable shift in my mood.
“I told you how I like to carry a charm that reminds me of a Trip that went sideways? Well, this one is from 1741. When I foolishly fell for a fake and Braxton left me behind.”
Killian reaches for it, but for some reason, I’m reluctant to let him have it. And yet, it’s clearly not mine to keep, so I let him take it, watching as he places it onto the table, then eagerly turns back to me.
He’s just pulling me into his arms when I release an exaggerated yawn. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I think this time lag is starting to kick in.”
“No need to apologize.” Killian trails a soft hand along the line of my neck. “I realize this is a lot. Besides, we’ve got plenty of time to figure things out. What do you say we both grab a nap, then we’ll see what happens from there?”
There’s an awkward moment as we head for our rooms when I worry that Killian might want to nap with me.
But he surprises me by making straight for the daybed in the next room.
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