Page 70 of Killaney Fire

And just like that, he turns and walks out, leaving me walking on a treadmill in the middle of my basement, more confused than I've ever been in my life.

I hit the stop button and press my hand to my forehead.

It's totally normal for my bodyguard to remember my favorite coffee, order it without being asked, and casually tell me while shirtless and glistening with sweat that it's waiting for me in my own kitchen.

"Ugh," I say and run my hand down my face before stepping off the treadmill.

Fuck, I think to myself.

That man is going to ruin me.

And I think some part of me is already begging him to.

19

KEIRA

The SUV pulls up to Café Vienne, a cozy spot tucked between brownstones on a quiet street in Back Bay. I picked it specifically because it's out of the way, somewhere we would feel comfortable talking without a hundred eyes on us.

I scheduled this meeting myself to make it look normal to any prying eyes at the office.

I'm meeting Helen Walsh, senior accountant at the Killaney Family Trust. She's worked with the foundation since before I graduated college, and my internal team flagged her as someone close with Shadowharbor. Not suspiciously close, just comfortable with them.

And right now, that's all it takes to catch my interest.

Octavian cuts the engine and steps out before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt. The door opens, cold air rushing in, and this time, he grabs my hand before I step out.

His palm is warm as he helps me out. My heels hit the pavement, and I'm about to let go when his fingers tighten around mine.

"Please don't do or plan anything to jeopardize yourself," he says, his voice low and serious. "And if I say anything, just listen, please."

I tilt my head up at him, surprised by the edge of something almost pleading in his tone. It's not an order. It's a request.

I lean in slightly. "I won't do anything reckless, don't worry. I won't make your job difficult today. You brought me coffee yesterday, so I'll take it easy on you."

I pull my hand away, but he grabs it again.

My breath catches.

For a moment, neither of us moves. His thumb brushes against the inside of my wrist, just once, and the touch sends electricity up my arm. His dark eyes search mine, like he was expecting me to fight him or snap back the way I usually do.

I swallow and force a smile, needing to break this tension before I do something stupid.

"Just wanted to hold my hand, huh?" I ask, my voice light and teasing.

Yet there's a large part of me that wants him to say yes.

His gaze drops to my lips for half a second before he lets go and steps to the side, shutting the car door. The movement brings him close, his shoulder brushing against mine, and I catch his cologne, the scent I've come to search for whenever he's near.

"Let's go," he says, nodding toward the café doors.

I walk ahead, and even though I don't look back, I feel him behind me. The heat from his hand on mine wraps around my arm, spreads across my body, and pools low in my belly.

Octavian takes a few big steps and grabs the handle of the door, opening it for me.

I look up at him and smile as I walk in.

Inside, the smell of espresso and fresh pastries fills the air. Soft jazz music is playing from the overhead speakers, and only a few tables are occupied. A man with dirty blonde hair is on his laptop writing, and an older couple is sharing a croissant.