Idol (VIP, #1)(12)

“This is surprisingly relaxing,” he says.

Killian’s comment catches my attention.

“What? Weeding?”

He glances at me from under the fans of his lashes. “Yep. I like doing something constructive.” Killian stops and rubs the back of his neck. “You got any fences to mend or wood to chop? Something like that?”

“You need hard labor to forge you into a better person?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“And you want me to…what? Mr. Miyagi you?”

His laugh is a rolling wave, deep and warm. “Fuck yeah. Paint the fence. Sand the floor.”

“And when you’re done, we can go down to the sea, and you’ll balance on one leg.”

“Shit, that would be epic.” Killian spreads his arms wide, doing a half-assed crane move. It does nice things to his torso, which I promptly ignore.

I stand instead, dusting the loose soil off my knees. I grab my basket of veggies. “Come on, then. You can mow the law if you’re really serious. That’s about as Mr. Miyagi as I can get right now.”

Killian hops up with ease. “Killian-san ready for duty.”

I roll my eyes, pretending that I find him annoying. But I don’t. And that scares me.





Chapter Four





Killian



I’m mowing Libby’s lawn. Sadly, that isn’t a euphemism for something more pleasurable than pushing an old mower back and forth over her vast and rolling yard. Out here in the hot sun, my muscles moving and sweat trickling down my spine? I realize I haven’t had sex in months. Six to be exact. I haven’t gone that long without sex since I started having sex. What really freaks me out is that I haven’t missed it much.

During my travels, I met plenty of hot women ready and willing to rock my world. Willing isn’t even the right word. They were desperate to f*ck me. It isn’t arrogance that makes me say that. It’s the truth. They knew who I was and did their best to be the girl who would blow me so away I would take them with me. Same old story for the past eight years. Fame equals dick chasers.

Pushing the mower, I think back on all those women. God, some of them really did rock my world. The things they let me do, that they did to me, were unreal—as close to a high as I could get when not on stage. But it always ended as soon as my dick went limp. Eventually, sex with groupies became almost another form of masturbation. The excitement had long since faded. No matter how good a chick’s technique, she never saw me as anything other than a means to an end. And those girls never expressed an opinion that contradicted my needs. I could send in a roadie, tell the groupies he was part of the band, and they’d f*ck him raw too.

I used those women just like they used me. Pump, dump, and go. Soulless encounters.

Is that what Jax felt? Soulless? Off kilter?

For the first time in years, I feel like I’m walking on solid ground. And I’m doing nothing more than yardwork. Libby gave me the side-eye when I asked to do more, and I made a joke out of it. But I was completely serious. I feel good. I want more of that— more of knowing I’m as normal and human as the rest of the world.

Pulling my shirt from where it’s tucked in my back pocket, I wipe the sweat from my brow and head for the big barn-like garage at the back of the property. The lawn is done. It’s not perfect—my lines are slightly askew.

I’m stretching out my shoulders when Libby appears on the back stoop. She’s holding two tall, icy glasses of lemonade. She meets me halfway, and I barely get out a heartfelt “thanks” before I’m gulping my drink down. Cold. Fresh. Perfect.

I’m beginning to think this girl will never give me anything that isn’t f*cking sublime. Then I catch a glimpse inside the shed and nearly choke on my last mouthful of lemonade.

“You have a ride-on mower,” I get out while sputtering on my drink and glaring at the John Deere that would have cut my work time to less than an hour.

Liberty, the little she-devil, just shrugs, taking a dainty sip of her lemonade. “Would Mr. Miyagi have let Daniel-san use a power sander? I think not.”

She lets out a surprisingly girlish squeal when I launch myself at her, catching her around the middle, and haul her onto my shoulder.

“You spilled my drink, f*ck face,” she shouts, but she’s laughing.

Thank God. Because I really didn’t think about the consequences when I acted. I rarely do. But I don’t want to piss her off or freak her out. Grinning wildly, I spin her in a circle and give her juicy ass a slap.

She really squeals then, her feet kicking at my thighs, her hands beating my butt. “You will die for that, mister.”

“Might as well enjoy myself then,” I shout over her protests and slap her ass again. Jesus. I need to stop because now I want to grab her round, firm butt and give it a squeeze. Maybe slip my fingers in between the crack and… Down, boy.

I’d blame the heat and my lack of sex life, but I’m not sure. There’s something oddly appealing about prickly but oh-so-plush Libby.

Reluctantly, I set her down and brace myself to be nutted. She swats my arm instead, her face red as one of her tomatoes.

“Jerk,” she says without heat. “I have a total head rush now.”

“Ah, those are the best.” Before she can totter, I touch her elbow just enough to steady her. Now that she’s not in my arms, I’m oddly hesitant to make contact again. Only yesterday we were at each other’s throats. And now I want to touch her as many times as she’ll let me.