Idol (VIP, #1)(26)

“No,” her voice is almost a shout, and I halt.

She doesn’t look up, but her hand lifts, imploring me to stop. “Could you…I mean, you can dry off in my bathroom, maybe? And just…” She makes a choking sound. “I mean, it’s raining.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “You want me to stay, Lib?”

God, please let me stay. I’m so damn cold. And my bed is empty.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

I almost dive under the covers right then and there. But I can’t. “Libby, babe, I gotta be honest. I’m not naked, but all I have on are boxers. I might wake up with morning wood. Hell, I might get contact wood too.” I’m actually in danger of getting hard just being in bed with her. “I don’t want you kicking me in the nuts if I do.”

The corner of her cheek plumps on a grin. “Killian can’t control his dick. So noted.”

“Oh, I have excellent control. I am the master of—”

“Your teeth are chattering,” she butts in blandly. “Just dry off and get in the damn bed.”

She doesn’t have to say it twice. I hustle my ass into the bathroom and scrub myself down with a towel. Five seconds later, I’m sliding under the blankets and wrapping myself around warm, sweet Liberty.



Libby



Killian is ice cold when he gets into bed with me, and yet it’s all I can do not to fling myself against him. The night terror still sits upon my heart, sending tremors through my body. For the first time in years, I didn’t wake up and find myself alone in the dark. A lump swells in my throat at the thought of Killian charging into the storm, armed only with his beloved guitar.

At my side, he shivers and burrows under the blankets. I fight a smile as I help him cover up. His feet find mine, and I yelp.

“Crap, you are cold.” It’s no small thing to help warm the ice blocks his feet have become.

“Didn’t know how cold I was until you mentioned it,” he mutters, then sighs as I tuck the blanket around his neck.

I should be unnerved that he’s lying in bed with me, our noses almost touching. But I’m so glad he’s here that I can’t think of anything else. The storm is raging outside, each boom or crack making my back tense. But here, with Killian, I feel secure.

“I’m in love with your pillow,” he says conversationally. “Have I told you that?”

“No.” I fight to relax, but the tremors in my belly won’t die down. “Weirdo.”

He sighs again. “It’s just so f*cking comfortable. Why is it so comfortable?”

“It’s a memory foam and gel pillow. I paid two hundred dollars for it. Don’t judge. My bed is my sanctuary.”

His eyes are dark stars in the night. “Why would I judge? I’m all for spending quality time in bed.” White teeth flash. “In fact, I’m going to order a case of these babies in the morning.”

I start to laugh, and then, to my horror, a sob bursts out.

“Hey,” he croons. “Hey, come here.”

Killian pulls me close, tucking me under his chin. I feel the shape of him against my belly, but for once I don’t think of sex. He’s like an anchor, a solid wall between me and emptiness. His arms are strong, and he holds me tight.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt the basic human contact of a hug, I come completely undone.

I can’t stop the great, ugly sobs that come out of me. “I’m just so…alone. They’re never coming back. And I know, I’m an adult, I shouldn’t be freaking out like this. Plenty of people don’t have parents. But they were the only ones who knew the real me. And now there’s no one else.”

“There is,” he whispers fiercely. “You have me. You have me, Liberty.”

But for how long? And in what way? I can’t ask. I’m too far gone. The stress of waking up in another dark storm, the loneliness, all the shit I try so hard to ignore crashes over me. I cry until I can’t cry any more. It’s messy and loud. And he holds me the whole time, stroking my back, murmuring nonsense words in my ear. He is warm and smooth and alive.

I fall asleep at some point, worn out and weak. When I wake up, it’s morning, and I’m alone. My throat is sore, and my eyes burn. The bedroom is hot, the air heavy and oppressive. I stumble to the bathroom and wince when I catch sight of my puffy eyes and blotchy skin.

A cool shower does a lot to revive me. I brush my teeth and put on a tank and shorts. My wet hair keeps me fairly comfortable, but it’s too hot. And too silent. I realize the power is out and sigh, shuffling my way to the kitchen.

I stop at the sight of Killian’s broad back as he stands before my counter. Shirtless and wearing army green shorts that cling to his trim hips and tight butt, he moves with grace. I take a moment to admire the way the muscles on his back bunch and flex beneath taut, tan skin, and how his long bare feet flex when he shifts his weight to grab a couple of forks. Weird that I notice his feet, but seeing them seems intimate somehow.

He must feel my stare because he turns and gives me a soft look. “Hey. Power is out. I made fruit salad—if you can call chopped peaches, oranges, and one banana fruit salad—because that’s all there was.”

He’s adorable. Still, I hover by the kitchen entrance. I think of how I lost my shit last night. No one has seen me that way since I was a kid. Not even my parents. Maybe he gets my embarrassment, because he sets down a big bowl of roughly chopped fruit and holds out a fork.