Chapter 37

BEYOND WORDS

37

The second Ivy is out of the apartment, I turn to Killian and pull him down into a kiss.

It's impulsive, an action born of that sudden clarity and two days of missed connections. Maybe it's reckless, but absolutely electrifying. His surprise lasts only an instant before he responds with equal fervor. His lips are warm and sure against mine, and his strong hands confident as they come to rest on my waist, drawing me closer until my chest is flush with his. Every point of contact sends electricity skittering across my skin. The kiss deepens, and with it the room seems to spin slightly, falling away until there is nothing left in the world but Killian and me, locked in this moment.

I pull back just enough to catch his gaze. Killian's eyes search my face, a hint of curiosity mixed with fond amusement dancing in his irises.

I love you. I say the words in my head but I want to shout them to the world.

"I—I—" I stop myself just in time.

I was about to tell him that I love him, and everyone knows a woman can't be the first one to say it. Relationship suicide 101. The fact that he already said it in Lakeville Hills doesn't count. He has to say it first in this world. To the real me.

"You love me." Killian nuzzles my neck. "It's okay, I know."

"W-what?" I make to push back, but he doesn't let me go. "I didn't say it. You can't just appropriate thoughts."

"I can, and I did."

"I'm pretty sure you can't read my mind, so, no, you can't."

"Your mind, maybe not." He drops a featherlight kiss on my temple. Then he trails a finger down my neck, over my collarbone, and brings it to rest just on the swell of my left breast. "But I'm pretty sure I can read your heart, Sugar."

I might need a good heart-reading right at this moment. I'm sure an ECG would show a severe case of arrhythmia because that poor organ is hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free.

Killian's smirk is smug. "Don't worry, it's good that you love me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a very traditional man in some senses, I don't give up the goods"—he needlessly waggles his eyebrows—"without those three little words."

"Which I haven't said."

"But that you're thinking."

I scowl. "And what are you thinking?"

I swear there's smoke swirling in his eyes as he talks next. "I've already told you how I feel."

"Yeah, but that was about a different me."

"Different world, same you." He cups my face in the most gentle gesture. "I love the pixie version of you who bakes, drives trucks, and saves innocent calves, putting her life in danger. And I love the bookworm version of you who is smart and driven and a little rough around the edges sometimes, but so soft to hold in bed. I would love you if you were a singer, a lawyer, a florist, a librarian?—"

"Are you making a list of your sexual fantasies now?"

"No." He shakes his head, dead serious. "I'm trying to tell you that I would love any version of you in any world or dimension that existed. Because I'm in love with you, with your beautiful soul. I don't care about what profession you have or what car you drive. And what I'm hoping to hear is that you feel the same. That you loved the version of me that could whip out millions with a snap of my finger and the version of me that came to you with literally not even the clothes on my back. That for us, time, distance, and space mean nothing. That our love transcends everything, even our bodies."

I nod, too choked up to speak.

It takes me a few more breaths before I can finally speak. "I do. I love you as Killian St. Clair, billionaire cowboy, and I love you as Oswald Finch, penniless barman—possibly even a little bit more. I love how kind and caring you are, how you light up every room you enter with that easy smile of yours. I love the way you always seem to know exactly what I need, whether it's a joke to make me laugh or just a silent hug when words fail. I love your passion for life, and how you take every challenge head-on, yet always have time for the little things that matter. You make me feel seen, heard, and cherished."

Killian's expression softens, the smugness replaced by a warmth that makes my heart swell even more. He leans in, his breath a whisper against my lips. "That's all I ever wanted to hear."

Our lips meet again, and this time the kiss is gentle, at least at first, because soon, we break apart just for a moment before we crush our mouths together again. And then I find myself spun around and flattened against the wall.

Killian's hands drop on my shoulders, then move down my back, trailing lower until they're at waist height and they sneak to the front, pulling my sweater over my head.

Next, his deft fingers reach for the top button of the shirt I'm wearing underneath that he begins to undo. Each button takes forever, but I suspect it's by design.

"No r-ripping tonight, St. C-Clair?" I wanted to sound teasing and confident, but I think the stuttering gave me away.

He grazes his teeth on the sensitive skin behind my ear. "I already owe you too many buttons, Spoon."

His lips never leave my neck as he slowly exposes the skin of my chest to the chill of the room. But the cold is nothing compared to the heat that radiates from his touch. The air between us is charged with anticipation and each tiny clink of a button being released is like an electric shock passing through me.

He removes the shirt. His mouth gently nibbling at my shoulder now, his hands flattened on my belly but not yet where I want them to be.

I whimper in protest and feel his responding smile over the skin of my back.

"Patience," he whispers in a voice so gravelly it turns me even more impatient, especially as one of Killian's knuckles traces my spine, a featherlight touch that sends shivers cascading down my back and sparks a flood of adrenaline to course through my veins.

He gathers my hair up next, tousling it and kiss-biting the skin it previously covered.

When he murmurs, "I love your hair," I have to lean on the flat of my palms against the wall for support. "How wildly it falls on your back." He twists it now around his fist, gently forcing my head backward as he gets better access to my throat.

Killian's actions are deliberate, his movements calculated to draw out each second, each breath that surrenders from my lips. The wall is cold against my palms, but his body is an inferno, pressing behind me, erasing the chill with every inch of proximity. My head tilts further back, exposing more of my neckline to his fervent explorations. His lips trace a path of fire from my throat to my jaw, eliciting a cascade of goosebumps that ripple across my skin.

"Killian," I gasp, the word half plea, half sigh. This dance of restraint and urgency we're tangled in feels like more than I can bear.

His name is my surrender to the building storm. He responds with a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against the column of my throat. The heat of him envelops me entirely now, his hands finally journeying to the waist of my jeans. They pause there, as if in a silent question.

"Please." I'm burning. If he doesn't get the rest of my clothes off me now, I might die.

The sound of my plea seems to electrify him, to break free the last of his self-imposed restraints. His fingers pop the button, then draw the zipper down with a tantalizing slowness that borders on torture. The rasp of metal teeth unmeshing rings in my ears much louder than it must be in reality.

Killian's breath is hot on my neck, his hands now possessive as they guide the denim over my hips, encouraging it to fall like shed skin to the floor. And then I can't stand it anymore. I turn in his arms and sink my fingers into his hair, pulling his face to mine.

But it's not enough. I need skin.

I sneak my hands underneath his sweater and other layers, dragging my nails over his back as he shudders in response, a low growl escaping his lips.

Soon, even that contact isn't enough. I tug at his clothes, wanting them off. Killian pulls back for just a second, reaching backward with his hand and pulling all his layers off in a single, swift motion.

Finally, my eyes can feast on every plane and curve etched into his skin. Then the privilege moves to my hands. Then my mouth.

We tumble to the bed, and Killian loses his pants on the way. Then the rest of our clothes are gone, and he's on top of me, looking down at me with a reverence that's almost disarming, as if he can't quite believe that I'm real. And there's a small part of me that still can't believe he's real. Really here. Really mine.

His eyes search mine, seeking permission. I give him a single nod in response before we become one. And nothing has ever felt more real than this, the union of two souls crashing together. The promise of a shared future. Whispers of forever etched into every movement, into every breath until everything explodes.