Idol (VIP, #1)(13)

“You’re crazy pants, you know that?” Her scowl is kind of cute.

“I’ve been told as much on occasion.”

“Not surprising.” Libby rakes her fingers through her hair, and the sun glints off the strands. “I was going to offer to take you to the beach—”

“We’re going.” I try to grab her hand but she evades me this time.

“I don’t know…”

“Liberty,” I warn. “Don’t make me toss you over my shoulder and haul your little ass there.”

“Yeah, right. I bet you’re all bark too, buddy.”

I step close, so quick that I neatly pin her to the side of the shed. We’re not actually touching but she goes still anyway. I take advantage and lean in until our noses nearly bump. “Oh, I bite, babe. But you’ll like it.”

It then occurs to me what I’m doing. And that she smells like sunshine and lemons and brown sugar. Alarms start going off in my head, shouting danger and step the f*ck back. But I can’t stop myself from looking at her lips. Mistake. Big f*cking mistake.

They’re pink and soft and parted, as if waiting to be taken. Heat surges to my cock, and I have to physically brace against the urge to thrust my hips forward. What the f*ck? I’m losing it.

Proof that this is a bad idea comes by way of Libby pressing those pretty lips together. “I bite back, Kill, and you won’t like it.”

I give her a big, fake-ass smile. “So you say. Now get your suit on or I’ll bug the shit out of you all day.”

She rolls her eyes but thankfully turns toward the house. “I’ll pack a lunch.”

God, she’s gonna feed me. I’d like this girl just for that. But I’ve got to hold myself together. Because she’s not the type to fool around with. Any guy with half a brain can see that. She might be hard on the outside, but it feels more like a brittle shell. Christ, she reminds me of Jax in that way. The thought cools me. Maybe I should tell her to forget the whole thing and just go by myself.

But then she pops her head back out the door. “Get in here. I got stuff for you to haul.”

Like that, I’m hooked again. There’s just something about her I can’t ignore. I push off the side of the shed and bound to the stairs. “As long as you don’t forget lunch, I’m all yours, Miss Bell.”



Libby



The swath of beach near the house is narrow, butting up against wild dunes. I set up my blanket, umbrella, and chair while Killian looks on, as if perplexed.

“It’s like you’re getting ready to camp,” he tells me when I take the cooler from his hand and plunk it in the shade behind my beach chair. “You gonna pull out an air mattress next? The kitchen sink?”

“I like my comforts. And I’d rather not crisp in the sun like a tater tot.”

Killian snickers. “I’ll be the tater.”

I pull off my tee and ease out of my jean shorts. “You do that. But don’t come crying to me if you burn. I’m not rubbing aloe on your back.” Lie. I’d be far too happy to rub him.

“You will, Libs.” His voice is oddly faint, distracted. “You’re all bark, babe.”

“Babe? That’s no way to get me to…” I glance up to find him watching me. Not leering, but definitely looking.

And I have the urge to pull my top back on. My black bikini is made for comfort rather than sexiness, and it covers as much as my bra and panties would. But I’m not used to a man seeing so much of me. I’m not ashamed of my body—though I wouldn’t cry if I suddenly had a smaller butt and bigger boobs. I’m a B-cup, so I don’t have to wear a bra every day, and I’m not exactly filling it out when I do. Something tells me Killian has seen his fair share of spectacular boobs. It annoys me that I fear I’ll be found lacking.

I catch his gaze, and the air around us seems to take a pause. Killian’s dark eyes narrow, his expression hooded. I wonder what the hell he’s thinking, and my heart starts to pound, little zings of heat going haywire low in my belly.

I don’t know how long we stand there, looking at each other as if we’re strangers who happened upon each other on this beach. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Then he blinks, cutting that cord, and makes a pretense of looking all around the beach. We’re alone here. Though, far in the distance, a few people are walking along the shore.

“I’m going for a swim,” he says. “Want to come?”

“You don’t want your sandwich?” Something in my chest squeezes tight because he’s kind of twitchy now, as though he wants to take off.

Killian eyes the cooler and lets out a breath. “Right. Forgot about that.”

He plops down next to me on the beach blanket, close enough that his thigh nearly brushes mine, and I can feel the heat of his body. He’s got nice legs, muscular and dusted with dark hairs, his skin already deeply tanned.

I shouldn’t be noticing his damn legs. I shouldn’t be fidgeting with plates.

“You come here a lot?” he asks.

“I visit the beach almost daily.”

“With your friends?”

I wipe my hands down my thighs. “No. By myself.”

He takes a bite of his sandwich, his gaze on the sea. “No friends?”