Page 7 of Save Me the Trouble (Country Love Collection #12)

Chapter Four

Grace

“ T his is a very bad idea.” Darcy punctuated her statement with sharp jabs of her finger on the slip with Killian’s address.

“This is my job,” I insisted, keeping my attention locked on my laptop screen where I was editing the camera footage from earlier today.

“Aleta never went to his apartment, and look how it ended for her.”

“Aleta also wanted to be with him,” I said as if I didn’t. Secretly. Unfortunately. “Plus, I’ve made more progress than anyone else. That’s why I’m going there.”

Darcy groaned and stalked back to the kitchen, working off her frustration on the dishes in the sink. “I just want it on the record that I don’t think it’s smart.”

“ It is heretofore noted in the record of Grace Johnson’s unfortunate life that Darcy has warned her about making the same mistake twice ,” I said with mock formality.

My friend sighed and soaped up the sponge. “I’m just worried about you, Gracie, that’s all.”

“I know.” I glanced at her. “But I’m really fine.”

When I turned back to my screen, the footage was paused on me unbuttoning the top of Killian’s shirt, our eyes locked in a hold that felt electric through the screen.

Crap. I quickly clicked farther into the footage, landing on Killian and me standing in front of the window, our backs to the camera.

My arms were bent in the “M” and Killian’s were still stretched up in a “Y.”

Double crap.

I clicked much farther through the recording, and where it stopped—the look on Killian’s face where it stopped made me catch my breath.

“Hey, Darce…” I began slowly, my focus knotted up in the heartbreak on Killian’s face. There was no way he’d been speaking generally.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m going back through the information provided to Embers, but I just wanted to confirm…Kill—Mr. Crown was never engaged before, was he?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard.” She shut off the sink. “If he did, it would’ve been before he was a billionaire, otherwise, the media would’ve had their pound of flesh from that news. Why?”

I shook my head and stared at the footage. “No reason.” Except that he had looked so wounded, it had taken my breath away.

“Grace…”

“I’m good, Darce. Promise.”

I tapped to start the footage again and slid my headphones back over my ears, but I still heard the look she gave me loud and clear. Be careful.

I knew I shouldn’t give her a hard time. She’d been there…helped me pick up the million and one shattered pieces after Joseph— Professor Married Douchebag .

The thought of him sent a blast of icy determination through my veins. If Killian Crown was secretly broken and wounded on the inside…well, it wasn’t part of my job description to fix him. Nor was it part of my job description to feel.

Darcy gave me crap for working on Killian’s profile from home, but the sooner I muddled through this assignment and proved how valuable I could be, the better.

And if that meant working from home until the early morning hours, then so be it.

I certainly wasn’t editing the clips because I wanted to hear his voice again or revisit the way he’d looked at me in those unguarded moments, making me feel like I was the first person to really see him in a long time.

This is a very bad idea.

Darcy’s words of warning echoed in my brain as I stared up at the seemingly endless facade of the Olympic, a luxury apartment building in downtown Seattle that felt like it housed gods rather than a handful of business titans.

The morning air was crisp, the clouds overhead seeming ready to release a fresh shower of rain on the city.

I tried to figure out what made me agree so easily to meeting him here this morning; Darcy was right, it wasn’t appropriate or necessary for the profile.

Yet, here I was. Playing by his rules. Because I wanted to prove I could be the one to do this.

It was the challenge to beat him that made me agree.

And the temptation to know more about him.

I smiled at the security guard like I belonged here, in my red-and-white striped dress and tennis sneakers, and then used the code Killian gave me to take the elevator up to the penthouse.

The doors opened to a generous foyer and a double-doored entry to the apartment that must take up the entire top floor because there were no other doors that I could see.

“Get your answers and get out,” I muttered to myself, lifting my hand and knocking.

Killian opened the door, greeting me with the fresh torture of seeing him in gym shorts and shirtless.

My jaw dropped and then snapped shut. “Hi. Hello.”

Yup, bad idea. Very bad idea.

His slow smile was annoying. “Good morning, Grace.”

“Mr. Crown.” Good job, Grace.

“Please come in.” He stepped back and held the door with a look that dared me to enter.

Into the lion’s den.

Not a den. Not even an apartment.

Killian’s penthouse was exactly that: a house on top of a twenty-story apartment building with an unobstructed view of the city. Or it would be without the clouds. But with them…the modern, open design made it feel like we were floating. A house in the heavens.

I quickly scanned the room as I turned to face him.

There was a gas fireplace built into the wall next to the windows lining the living room area.

Fancy leather couches that looked like they were ready to swallow you up and spit you out—just like their owner.

Massive kitchen. Dining room table with chairs to seat an entire village.

And at that point I stopped looking because there were only bedrooms left to see, and I wasn’t interested in those.

I didn’t want to be interested in those.

“Am I too early?” I asked, trying to keep any hint of admiration from my face. “You don’t look like you’re ready.”

There was that laugh again. The one that always meant he knew something that I didn’t.

“You’re right on time, and you’re the one who’s not quite ready,” he said, wincing as his stare raked over my dress.

Ass.

“I’m perfectly ready?—”

“We’re going for a run, Grace,” he interrupted, striding into the kitchen to pick up a stack of clothes from the counter. Hopefully, there was a shirt in the pile because my eyes kept getting tripped up over his rocky abs.

“I’m sorry. What?” I blinked.

“A run.” He handed the pile of clothes to me— for me , I realized.

“And if I don’t run?”

He stepped toward me and lowered his voice. “I’ll go slow so you’re comfortable.”

Oh, mercy.

The husk of his voice. The amber scent of his musk. The promise in his voice made it so easy to think…to believe he was talking about something else entirely.

And that was what Aleta probably thought, too.

I stiffened and stepped back. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I grabbed the clothes from his hand and strode into the bathroom to change.

A few minutes later, I walked out in the neon yellow top and forest green yoga pants and told myself I wasn’t going to think any more about how it all fit perfectly. I was going to wear it, wash it, and return it. Period.

“Now, you’re ready.” His eyes drifted over me, heat unmistakably flaring in their depths. At least he had on his shirt and sneakers now, too.

“Lead the way.” I was ready to tackle a run. The conversation I’d come here to have? I wasn’t so sure about that.

When we stepped back out onto the sidewalk, the first thing I noticed was the sky looked a little more ominous.

“What happens if it rains?”

He looked at me and gave me a lopsided grin. It was easy. Lighthearted. Dare I say relaxed. Which was why his answer caught me off guard.

“Then you get wet.”

I choked on my inhale and tried to cough to cover it up. “Let’s go,” I wheezed, walking ahead of him so I wouldn’t have to meet his gaze.

We started the run at an easy pace, our steps echoing against the pavement. The city was just beginning to wake up, the streets still relatively quiet as we made our way toward Pike Place Market.

“Do you run a lot?” I asked after a few minutes of silence, doing my best to try and keep my voice steady.

“Every day I’m not in the office. Helps clear my head.”

I made a soft noise and tried to focus on my breathing. Cardio wasn’t exactly my thing.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

If I wasn’t so focused on keeping pace and not tripping in the middle of the sidewalk, I would’ve glared at him.

Instead, I swallowed over the lump growing in my throat and let my exertion mask my unease.

“Sex,” I blurted out and then realized how it sounded.

Like, I meant the physical act itself. “I meant intimacy questions,” I panted, shaking my head and feeling like a fool.

“Not actual sex. Obviously—” I broke off with a cry as he grabbed my arm and hauled me to a stop… against his chest.

I was swallowed up by his gaze. His heat. I couldn’t tell if it was my galloping heart or his I felt pounding against my chest.

And then the blaring car horn invaded my attention as it blew past us. I gasped and looked over my shoulder, now seeing the Do Not Walk signal that I’d missed.

Holy shit.

“Whatever you meant, I’m sure running into oncoming traffic wasn’t part of the plan,” he said with a low growl.

“Right,” I stammered, knowing I should pull away but, for some reason, couldn’t find the strength to move.

There was something in his gaze…something that felt like it was reaching out to me like I was some kind of lifeline.

“You were saying,” he murmured low, his eyes drifting to my mouth. “Something about sex.”

He was sweat and musk and man…and I was almost made a fool of again.

“Intimacy,” I choked out and stepped back. The crossing signal changed, and I let out a sigh of relief, picking up my jog again. “I need to complete your intimacy profile,” I said when he caught up to me. “Compatibility is just as important inside the bedroom as it is outside.”

He made a low sound that I swore was a laugh. “Not sure I’d put compatibility at the top of the list of intimacy essentials.”

He always had to be difficult.

“Okay, then what would you put at the top?”

“Attraction,” he said without missing a beat.

“Tell me more.” I tried to focus on my breathing. On remaining steady. Calm. Not on the powerful strides of the man beside me nor the way his muscles flexed in perfect coordination and definitely, most importantly, not the electrical attraction pulling me toward him.

“This profile…this match engine you have…it can mine the data and find me a perfect fit, but that doesn’t matter in the bedroom. It’s not about fit, it’s about connection. A spark. An ache to be with the other person. There is no statistic that can measure ache.”

“I think you might be surprised,” was all I could manage on principle…mostly because I agreed with him, but it was my job not to say that.

We slowed as we reached where the road dead-ended at Pike Place Market, the giant bronze pig staring at me from across the street.

The vendors were just starting to arrive at the market to set up for the day, the scene feeling more intimate and real than it would later in the afternoon when it was bursting at the seams with tourists.

“Where to now?”

He nodded toward the market. “Let’s walk.”

We crossed the street in silence, my heart thudding loudly in my ears. It would’ve been easier to continue this conversation while we were running—while my adrenaline was exerted elsewhere—but I couldn’t put it off.

“I need to know your preferences for the profile. All of them. So, if you like to be spanked or have a red room of pain, this is the time to confess.” I tried to make it sound light—easy—but all I noticed was the higher pitch my voice had taken.

“No red room of pain.” His pace slowed—stopped right next to the bronze pig, forcing me to stop also and face him. His expression was intense—too intense to escape. “Just a blue room of pleasure.”

My jaw dropped and then snapped closed. “I need you to answer seriously, Mr. Crown. This is one of the most critical—” I broke off with a sharp inhale when he closed the space between us.

“I am being serious, Grace,” he growled low. “I’m always serious when it comes to pleasure.”

My mouth went dry, and his face started to swim in front of me. My heart was beating so hard I was sure I’d look down and there would be a hole in the front of my chest.

“You want to know my preference?” He lowered his face as he said it, his lips grazing my cheek on their path to my ear. “My preference is to give pleasure. Lots of it. I believe the term you’ll want to include is a pleasure dom.”

Killian Crown was a pleasure dom.

My chest moved unevenly, and the ground beneath me started to shift. To spin.

“Grace?” His tone was harder—sharper now. “Grace.”

Why was he holding my arm?

“I’m fine,” I tried to say, but the words didn’t completely make it through my lips before everything started to go dark, and the world started to fall. Or maybe it was just me.

“ Shit. ”

I heard Killian’s curse, and then I felt like I was floating. Like the clouds from earlier had wrapped me in their soft embrace, rocking me as the rain cooled my skin.

“Everyone out,” Killian’s voice boomed through the fog.

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t ? —”

“I’m on the board of directors for Starbucks, so unless you want this store to be the topic of discussion at our next meeting for refusing to assist in a medical emergency, I suggest you clear everyone out.”