Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Killian,” I shout down the long hallway. “Are you ready yet?”

“I’m comin’, woman. Would you calm down?” he replies huskily as he stomps down the stairs.

“The car’s ready,” I say, urging him as I give him an impatient expression.

I know I shouldn’t rush him. This is a big deal for him, but the thing with Killian is that if he doesn’t make it a big deal, then I can’t make it a big deal. So, I have to act as if this little trip to the coast is nothing out of the ordinary and a simple road trip.

It’s anything but.

I know that. He knows that.

It took me weeks to talk him into this plan, and while I’ve been slowly easing him out of the house here and there, I know he’s ready for a weekend away from the manor. It’s the middle of summer now. The weather is beautiful, and I desperately need some coastline sunshine in my life.

I’m trying not to think about how there are only two more months until the end of this contract. And since I can no longer deny that my feelings for my husband are real, I have to face the truth. He’s going to lose this house.

Regardless of what happens to us when that happens, I have to protect him. Which means I need to make sure he’s ready and able to leave it. I’ll figure the us part out later.

For now, I need to get this man out of this house. And I’m running out of time to do it.

As he takes my hand in the entryway, I watch the way he swallows and hides his nerves from me.

“Ready?” I ask softly.

His eyes meet mine as he winks. “Ready.”

Hand in hand, we walk out to the car parked by the front door. The house staff helps us off, and Killian drives. But I watch his face as we leave the property line, and I watch it again as we leave the county line.

He seems at ease, far more than I expected. His hands are a little tight around the steering wheel, and the muscles of his jaw keep clicking, but overall, he seems fine. There’s a lazy smile on his face, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses as we travel down the long busy highways. I look over the passenger seat at my fake husband in those dark jeans and tight white T-shirt and realize just how used to him I’ve become.

If he truly opened himself up to it, he could get used to a regular life outside that house with me. We could go anywhere we want. Any city. Any country. That dream I had of taking my ten million and running off someplace where I owe nothing to no one could be a dream with Killian. That could be our dream.

I just need to make him understand he has so much more life outside of those walls. He reaches across the seat and puts an arm over my shoulder. Leaning toward him, I rest on the center console and place a kiss on his left cheek.

“Next time, I’ll take you to a warmer beach. You can’t go swimming in these waters. You’ll freeze your cute little nipples off,” he says as he reaches across and pinches the tip of my breast.

I let out a shriek as I jump backward. “I don’t care about that. I’m just excited to get out of the house for a while.”

His fingers squeeze tighter around the steering wheel, but I brush it off as nothing.

It’s only a short drive to the house we’ve rented for the next two nights. It’s a bed and breakfast that typically rents out at least six rooms, but Killian’s reserved them all for a bit of privacy. As we pull up to the old house, I smile at the quaint and stunning sight of it on this desolate coastline.

I jump out of the car and walk immediately toward the endless dark sand glistening in the sun. The wind is strong, blowing my hair wildly in the breeze, but as I stand just on the edge where the dunes meet the drive, I breathe in the fresh air.

It smells like freedom.

“I’ll get us checked in. Don’t go far,” he whispers, kissing me softly on the cheek.

“Okay,” I reply, watching him go up the three short steps to the front door of the house.

It’s been two months since we first spoke those harrowing words. The ones I tried so hard to deny and ignore. That day with my parents still replays in my mind over and over. It wasn’t just that he protected me or defended me. It was the fact that Killian carved out a space for me where there hadn’t been one before. Until him, I didn’t know what that felt like—to be a priority in someone’s life.

That night changed me in ways I don’t think he fully understands. It was about so much more than the submission or the paddle. It was the way he let me be me, without expectation or criticism. He took the ugliest parts of me and loved them right along with the beautiful ones. He let me scream and cry and held me afterward like I was the most important person in his life.

I am the most important person in his life.

And meanwhile I’ve been denying how much I cared for him. Why? Because of some stupid contract? Or ten million dollars?

Yes, the past two months have been heavy with anxiety thinking about that looming deadline. And yes, I know I will have to come clean with him eventually about my part in the whole thing. But I have a plan, and that plan involves getting my husband out of that house .

If I can do that, I can save everything. Him, us, our future.

He just has to learn to let it go.

“All checked in,” he says, landing a strike on my ass and making me jump. Then he slings an arm over my shoulder. Seeing him in such a chipper, relaxed mood settles me too.

So, with a smile, I turn toward him. “Hungry?”

“Fuckin’ starvin,” he grumbles, rubbing his stomach.

We take a walk together just down the road from the house toward the center of town, where the owners promised us one of the best pubs in Scotland. We sit across from each other at an old table near the window, and each order two ales and two orders of stovies and talk like regular people.

For the first time in our long and twisted relationship, we are just two regular people. A couple of newlyweds on a honeymoon. He even reaches across the table and twirls my wedding band around my finger while he finishes his beer. It’s a bit of a nervous habit for him, and I’ve caught him doing it before with his own ring.

I don’t think he’s acting too much more nervous than regular. He’s always a little fidgety.

“What do you want to do now?” I ask.

“Go back to that big ol’ house and shag like animals,” he suggests while holding his beer to his lips.

“Before that,” I reply with a lazy, half-drunk smile.

“Go walk on the beach, I suppose.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding as I grab his fingers.

The wind has died down a bit as we take a stroll along the water. It’s surprisingly blue and clear, but as he promised, it’s ice cold. Still, it’s beautiful to be out.

“Didn’t you ever go on vacation with your family as a kid?” I ask as we walk.

He shrugs. “Of course. We spent summers in Greece and Italy when I was a kid.”

“Didn’t you like it?” I ask.

“Not as much as being home,” he replies, and I chew on the inside of my lip, uneasy with that answer.

I’ve never pried much into what happened to Killian’s parents or why it seemed to have hit him so hard. I don’t want to open up old wounds for him, but I can’t help but feel as if that wound didn’t heal properly. How do you fix what’s broken without breaking it further?

Instead, I squeeze his hand and offer him a hint of a smile. His hair has grown out again. Not as long as it was at Christmas, but past his ears again. It’s time for another cut, but I also enjoy the many variations of Killian.

In truth, I did fall recklessly in love with him. The hate I once felt never went away—it just changed. The passion is a different color now.

But loving someone is terrifying, and this feeling is nothing like it was with Aaron. If I let Killian get hurt, I’ll never forgive myself. As hard as I’m trying to make things right, I feel this looming darkness up ahead reminding me that my bottom line is his best interest, and that’s never happened to me before. I’ve only ever looked out for myself, but now, I have him.

But having him and keeping him safe aren’t necessarily the same thing.

“For a woman at the beach with her incredibly handsome husband, you look awfully depressed.”

He knocks on my shoulder, and I force a smile.

“I’d be less depressed if you jumped in that water,” I tease back.

“With you?” he replies, grinning mischievously.

I yank my hand away. “Oh, absolutely not with me.”

“We’re married, darling. We do everything together. Come here. Let’s go swimming.”

I take off in a sprint away from him with a shriek, but I don’t make it far before he scoops me up from around my waist. I’m screaming and laughing as he carries me toward the rising tide.

“Killian, stop it!” I shout hysterically.

But I know my husband better than I know anyone, and this man doesn’t back down from a challenge. I’ve brought this one on myself.

The next thing I know, the waves are rushing toward us, soaking us from our knees down in frigid water. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps on marching.

I’m caught in a fit of laughter as I cling to his body to climb out of the water. Due to his height, he’s getting far wetter than I am.

“You brute!” I scream as another wave crashes into us, soaking us to the bone.

“Just think how fun it will be to get warmed up after this!” he replies with a laugh. His smile is wide and warm and genuine, and it doesn’t even matter how cold the water is or how uncomfortable these wet shoes are now. That smile is worth everything.