Chapter 16

YOU'RE NOT REAL

16

Obviously, I don't land in my kitchen with a ripped shirt. Instead, I wake up stark naked over a plaid quilt and under a blanket of sunshine. At once, I feel like I've landed on the wrong side of this fantasy.

I push myself up on an elbow and find Killian next to me, eyes closed, chin tilted up toward the sun, chest moving up and down in a regular rhythm. He's sleeping. And he's buck naked, too.

BAWHAM.

That definitely is not the kind of male body I'm used to seeing in real life. He's a statue. All smooth skin and defined muscles, with just a dusting of light hair on his chest, arms, and legs.

The sculptor must've spent a particular amount of time on his stomach. His abs are taut, rippled, and as mouthwatering as the V of muscles leading down to?—

No, I can't look.

I whip my eyes away from his hipbones and study his face instead.

The artist must've spent even more time sculpting his mouth. Those full lips are carved straight out of a dream.

I remember how it felt to have that mouth on mine and flush from head to toe. I search the blanket to find something to cover myself with. We're lying on the pier near the little lake where Killian showed me the most romantic sunset of my life.

I find a yellow slip dress and, still sitting, I pull it over my head. I can't locate any underwear. But I recover a flannel shirt and toss it over his midriff.

Eyes still closed, that perfect mouth curls at the corners.

"Getting shy now, Sugar Spoon?"

I've no idea what just happened between us, but if the lack of clothes is any indication, we may or may not have done the most intimate thing two people can do. How do I react? Was it even the first time? Or did we do it the other night at my house, too?

At my silence, he rolls toward me—eyes focused, the smirk gone. "What's going on?"

"Why did you steal the bakery from me?" I blurt out. I don't know why, but that seems like an important point to clear up.

He sighs. "If you're still upset about that, I can sell it back to you?"

"Why now? Because I've put out?"

"What? No!" Real shock flashes in his eyes, but there's a brief, almost imperceptible pause before he speaks, as if he's carefully choosing his words. "I've wanted to give it to you since that first night at The Outlaw." A fleeting look of something akin to guilt crosses his face before he can hide it.

"Why do you have to give it to me?" I narrow my eyes. Does he think from the high tower of his billions that I'm unable to run a business without his help? "Why couldn't I get it on my own?"

"If we really have to do this now." He sits up, the flannel shirt mercifully staying in place. "If I hadn't bought the bakery, another investor would've gotten it, and they wouldn't have rented it to you. They wanted to open a chain coffeeshop."

"What? That's not possible. I had a deal with the realtor. He was going to hold it for me until I got my bank loan approved."

Killian arches a brow. "Same way they held it when I put in my offer?" There's a challenge in his tone, but also something else—resignation, perhaps?

My mouth dangles open. "I thought you'd turned the screws on the real-estate agency. No one can say no to Killian St. Clair in this town."

"And that's why they took my offer over that of the other investor." His gaze is scarily intense. "But it would've never been yours." The finality in his voice is unsettling, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something like regret shadowing his features.

Of course he had some noble reason to be a jackass.

I try to process all this new information. He's telling the truth, I'm sure. I only have one last question: "Why?"

His eyes show a flicker of hurt, and his entire demeanor turns almost shy. Killian takes hold of my hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. "Do you really still have to ask why?"

I nod.

"Because I love you." He cups my cheek. "I've been falling for you since the first day I found you trespassing over my land atop your mare. I love you."

My heart swells and cracks. It detonates, leaving back only devastation. It's a cruel joke. I finally hear those three little words, and they're not really for me. I've never been atop a horse in my life, but I remember reading that scene in the book Killian is part of… It was his meet-cute with my namesake. He doesn't love me. He's in love with some fictional woman mashup that doesn't exist. And all this—the lake, the pier, the man before me—they're all just echoes of a fantasy I clung to, a dream I painted with desperate, vivid strokes. A dream that I ache to be real so bad it hurts. It's a longing so deep it carves hollows in my chest.

And the worst part? Killian might not be real, but how I feel about him is.

I should've thrown away the book when I had the chance. Now it's already too late.

I swore I'd never fall for an imaginary book boyfriend, yet here I am, heart pounding against the stark reality that he's nothing but smoke. My emotions rage, tangible and fierce, but he's a mirage.

And I'm not the heroine of his story. The version of me he claims to love doesn't exist. I'm not a horse-riding, pastry-baking, country belle. I'm a slightly cynical, jaded computer science grad student who can't afford to go to a friend's wedding, let alone start a business.

The pressure of his thumb on the back of my hand increases. "Sugar, what's wrong?" His concern feels like another layer of this illusion.

I look into his soulful gray eyes and don't know what to say. A sob bubbles up, ripping its way out of my chest. It's a raw sound of breaking, of letting go.

"Why are you crying?" Killian asks, his voice soft, patient. "Is me telling you I love you so bad?"

"Yes, it is," I bawl.

"Why?"

"Because you're not real!" I push away from him and stand up, the truth a blade slicing through the fantasy. "None of this is real. This lake, the sun, this pier. It's all fake."

"I'm real."

"No, you're not." Desperation sharpens my voice.

Killian pushes off the floor and stalks toward me with determination etched in his features. He grabs my hand and brings it to his chest, where he flattens it over his heart. "This is real. My heart beating for you."

"No, it's not." I try to get my hand back, but he's not budging.

So I shove him away with all the strength I have. Killian loses his footing but doesn't let go of me.

In slow motion, I watch as he windmills his free arm, trying to keep his balance while still stumbling backward. In a last-ditch effort to keep upright, he grabs for me. Only his hand grasps my thin slip dress and rips it all the way through while still pulling me along with him.

We careen toward the edge of the pier, and then we're falling overboard.

The impact of the cool water on my sun-heated skin is shocking. The world turns muted as my head sinks below the surface. I open my eyes, but the water is too dark to see past a few inches. The lake shouldn't be this dark. Suddenly, I feel compressed by the rushing absence of sound. Deaf and blind, instinct takes over. I kick my feet toward the surface.

When I clear the first intake of breath, I'm no longer swimming in a lake, but at home lying in my bed.

My first reaction is relief, but then a cool shiver runs down my spine as I realize I'm soaking wet under the covers and naked as if I'd actually just come out of the water.

"What the?—?"

I turn to my right and find Killian lying under the covers next to me, wet hair plastered to his forehead, gray eyes on me.

And then I start screaming.