Transcending Darkness

by Airicka Phoenix

  The bathroom door opened and she emerged. Dressed. He hadn’t even seen her take her clothes with her.

  “Juliette?” He sat up.

  “I have some work to do at home,” she whispered. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Juliette!” Her name snapped out of him in a warning growl before she could reach the door. “What is going on with you?”

  “Nothing. I told you—”

  “Bullshit.” He threw himself off the bed and got to his feet. He made his way to where she stood, back rigid. “You’ve been running from me for days and I want to know why.” He softened his voice. “Have I hurt you?”

  He saw her fingers draw into tight fists at her sides. Her head lowered even as it rocked from side to side.

  “No.”

  He barely heard her.

  “Then what is it?” Carefully, terrified she’d flinch at his touch a second time, he took her arm and turned her slowly towards him. “Tell me.”

  “I’ve just been tired,” she murmured, talking to her feet. “I’ll do better.”

  “Stop it!” He gave her a gentle shake. “You know the only thing I care about is you.”

  Her chin lifted and he was sucker punched by the tears glistening in her eyes. There was raw agony shining beneath the gold that wrenched through him. His first instinct was to shake her again until she told him what the matter was. Instead, he found his fingers moving to frame her face.

  “Do I need to kill someone?”

  He’d meant it as a joke—partially. He’d hoped it would make her laugh. But her face crumpled. She jerked out of his hands and ran for the door. Then she was gone before he could even wrap his head around what he’d done wrong.

  There was no sleep for him that night. Never mind that he didn’t have her to lull him into unconsciousness, but couldn’t stop seeing her face, the pain trembling along her bottom lip. Over and over he’d gone over every moment of the last few days, dissecting everything they’d done together and coming up with nothing. Their love making … sex, damn it. Their sex had been as per usual. Since Halloween, he hadn’t surprised her with anything overly new. He still made sure he took care to be reasonably gentle, to not let the beast get too carried away. But the question remained.

  Sleep a mere illusion, he slipped out of bed and padded from the room. The corridor lights had been dimmed, but he knew the way down with his eyes closed. A deep sort of silence echoed through the place, the kind that demanded things he couldn’t provide. His mother had designed the estate with children in mind. Lots and lots of children. She had always wanted a huge family, but could only have Killian. Her hopes had been that he would wind up giving her an army of grandchildren. Instead, he refused to give her even one. But she would understand. After what became of her and his father, she would know why it was important the McClary name died with him. Smith’s attack was the perfect example. It might have been small in the scheme of things, but it was an attack inside Killian’s home. Had he had a wife and children, had his men not been able to handle the situation … the very thought of them coming to harm drenched him in cold sweat.

  No. People like him didn’t deserve a family. They didn’t get a future. The most he could ask for was a kiss of happiness, a whisper of warmth to ease a cold existence. That happened to be Juliette. She was his one taste of peace. There would be none after her. How could there be when the thought of letting her go had become a fear worse than any nightmare he’d ever had? How could any woman ever possibly take that place? He loved her. Juliette had left him no choice. She had crashed into his world like a beautiful storm and disrupted everything. He could admit it to himself in the dark recess of his own mind. He had only ever loved one other woman, but he knew what it was even if it was completely different.

  The conservatory doors opened with no effort. The hinges creaked on the weather worn frame. Stone slabs cut cold strips into the bottoms of his bare feet as he followed their path deeper into the darkness. Humidity clung to his skin, strangling the air in his lungs, but it was a familiar sort of pain, one he had visited often when sleep had become an elusive ghost.

  Like his mother’s garden, the conservatory held no rhythm or reason. There was no order other than the path that delved deeper into the madness. She had wanted a jungle, a beautiful chaos of colors and that was what she had created. Killian couldn’t name even half of the blooms and foliage. They all looked the same to him. But he made certain nothing ever changed. Not a single plant. His father had done the same, except for the dais erected in the very heart of it all. The pedestal Killian visited on nights the world was caving in on him.

  Pale fingers of light drifted down from the glass dome overhead to shower over the twin silver pots. It shone along the rims and spiked off the gold knobs on the lids. Killian lowered himself down on the only chair in the place and looked up at what was left of the parents who had given their lives for his.

  “Hi Mom.” He lowered his chin and peered down at his fingers hanging uselessly between his knees. “I know I promised to bring Juliette the next time I came, but that might not happen. I think she’s had all she can of me. Not surprised, honestly. A woman like her wants forever and a man she can be assured a future with. I can only give her a year and that’s too much.” He scrubbed an agitated palm over his face and back through his hair. “It was a mistake keeping her. It was wrong of me to think … I was selfish. Now she’s going to walk away and I … I’ll have nothing.”

  Seconds closed as he tried to picture what he’d do when she ultimately walked out the door and never came back. Every day was one day less in their contract, one day closer to the end. It was only a matter of time when he would wake up to an empty bed and be alone forever.

  “You’d’ve liked her,” he told the concrete space between his feet. “Damn temper of hers would have made you proud.” A soft chuckle escaped him. “And God she’s a stubborn woman. Not a day goes by when I don’t know whether I want to strangle her or kiss her.” His smile slipped. “She’s too good for the likes of me. She’s too innocent and … I’d rather die alone than live without her.”

  He fell silent. The last of his words echoed in the muggy stillness. It faded. Then there was nothing, but creeping emptiness; his mother, if she had any advice, said nothing. The urn sat perfectly still on its wooden platform.

  He stayed a few more minutes before saying goodbye and returning to the front of the house. Dawn was approaching, painting the sky a soft, pastel pink. The early morning air was chilly with the promise of snow. Killian paid no mind as made his way to the office, still bare foot and topless. He claimed the leather chair behind the desk and waited for Frank.

  Chapter 18

  There was no shortage to her stupidity, Juliette realized as she busied her hands sorting pens into different pen holders. It wasn’t exactly a necessary job, nobody cared if the red, black and blue were mixed. But it was better than standing at an empty desk, waiting for the day to end so she could fix the monumental shit storm she’d caused.

  What the hell was the matter with her? It was the same question she’d asked herself repeatedly since her dramatic fleeing earlier that morning from Killian. Yet no matter how many times the question was asked, she still had no response, except that she was an idiot.

  So she loved the guy. Big deal. She wasn’t some stupid hormonal teenager—at least, she wasn’t supposed to act like one. She was a grown woman who knew how to control her damn emotions. So, just because she loved Killian, didn’t mean it had to change anything. It wasn’t like she needed to tell him. It could be her secret, and when the time came to say goodbye, she would, yet again, be a mature individual and … accept that.

  Her gut wrenched, but she told it to shut up. Her gaze flicked to the clock on the monitor and she breathed a sigh of relief to see she had five minutes left. Then she’d grab her things and head straight to Killian’s estate where she would apologize and assure him she wasn’t crazy.

  Celina arrived promptly at
six. She stalked straight past Juliette like she hadn’t seen her and disappeared into the host room behind the desk. Juliette rolled her eyes, but made no mention of it as she turned and followed, not to make conversation, but to grab her things.

  The host room was a much smaller version of the staff room. It was a closet sized bit of space with a square table, two chairs and a row of six lockers. Celina was at hers, hastily shoving her coat and purse inside. Juliette moved to the one at the very end, near the wall and removed her own coat and purse. The two finished their business without sharing a single word or glance. Celina had made it perfectly clear that she did not trust Juliette. That it was clear she was obviously sleeping with someone very important if she was able to keep her job after the official letter Celina had written to Harold, which had gone ignored. Juliette didn’t give a shit.

  She threw on her coat and marched from the room. She paused briefly to toss the master keys out of her pocket onto the table before making her way through the foyer.

  Frank met her at the doors, a garment bag tossed carefully over one beefy arm. The sight of him had her automatically darting excited glances behind him, searching for the face she could never get out of her head. But he wasn’t there. Neither was Jake or Melton.

  “Mr. McClary has sent me to escort you, ma’am,” Frank said coolly. “He wishes for you to join him for the evening.”

  Juliette faced the man. “Join him where?”

  Frank held out the bag. “A place of his choosing, ma’am. He asks that you wear this.”

  Bemused, she took the hanger gingerly and glanced towards the bathroom. But rather than follow directions, she looked to Frank again.

  “Who’s watching him, Frank?”

  “He is perfectly safe where he is,” Frank assured her.

  Juliette wasn’t so sure, after all, his home was supposed to be safe and yet someone had managed to hurt him there.

  The doubt must have shown on her face because his face softened. “I would not have left him otherwise.”

  Still unsure, but deciding not to waste time arguing about it, Juliette hurried to the bathroom. She locked herself up in one of the cubicles and began to undress.

  There were shoes with the elegant, burgundy gown, strappy, silver things with five inches of heel. She pulled it all on before teetering her way out of the stall towards the mirror.

  The Grecian gown was gorgeous with a single bunched bit of fabric over one shoulder and a sweetheart neckline. The chiffon material flowed from the cinched waist down in a flurry of shimmery movement. With the silver heels, it was absolutely stunning.

  Needing to show off the cluster of diamonds pinned to the sash over her shoulder, she scooped up her hair and dug through her purse for the small Ziploc of hair things she kept inside. She pinned and fastened the blonde strands in a messy knot that left tendrils framing her face. She applied a fresh coat of makeup next before stuffing her old clothes into the garment bag and leaving to find Frank.

  She didn’t need to go far. He was waiting for her right outside the door.

  He bowed his head once before taking the items from her.

  “This way.”

  She followed him outside in the frigid November evening. Her gaze swung up as they crossed the parking lot to the SUV. The heavens were clear, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they were buried beneath a thick layer of snow.

  “Where are we going, Frank?” she asked as he opened the back door for her.

  “It’s not far,” was his smooth response.

  Knowing better than to push, she slipped into the seat and watched him close the door behind her. He circled around and got behind the wheel.

  He hadn’t been lying about not going far. The drive couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. When they stopped, he left the car idling as a short, beaming man hurried to open the door for her.

  “Miss Romero?”

  Juliette nodded.

  The man’s smile widened. “I’m Vince. Mr. McClary has asked me to take you inside.”

  Her gaze swept past the man to the building. It wasn’t anything special, a squat, brick building in the middle of the warehouse district of town. But she let herself get helped out of the car.

  “Frank, can I leave my purse with you?” she asked.

  From behind the wheel, Frank inclined his head. “Yes ma’am.”

  Thanking him, she followed Vince through a set of metal doors. They opened in a cramped little stairway stained with graffiti and grime. It was not the sort of place she would have chosen to wear such a lovely dress, but Killian must have had a reason.

  “This way.”

  Vince motioned her to follow him to the metal steps and up. There was three flights before the top. Juliette was breathless by the time they reached the green door at the top.

  Vince beamed. Without a word, he jerked the door open and stepped aside for her to go in first.

  Candles, dozens upon dozens of candles illuminated every square inch of loft space. Fairy lights twisted around wooden beams and ran rampant in loops from the rafters. In the center of it all, closed in from all sides by white, gauze drapes, sat an elegantly set table for two equipped by two long stemmed candles and delicate china.

  Of all the things she’d expected, this was not it.

  “You look gorgeous.”

  Startled, Juliette turned. Behind her, breathtaking in a black suit, Killian offered her a crooked smile that made her heart trip. His thick, wavy locks were swept off his brow and combed back to leave his freshly shaven face open. The ends curled over the crisp collar of his blazer. Beneath it, his shirt was a blinding white, a sharp contrast to the slash of silky black running down his chest to the gold buckle holding up his trousers. He reminded her of a model straight off the glossy pages of GQ.

  “You look pretty nice yourself,” she choked out, inexplicably breathless. She moistened her lips. “What is all this?”

  He moved towards her in slow, even strides. His hands found their way into the depths of his trouser pockets. His dark eyes shimmered beneath the flickering candlelight.

  “I thought we’d try something different tonight. If that’s all right with you?”

  While she liked going home to him and letting him work the stress out of every muscle in her body, a girl could hardly say no to a secret candlelight dinner.

  “Oh, I’m sure I can manage,” she said, offering him a teasing grin. Her smile softened and she reached for him. Her palm settled on the soft material of his blazer, just over his heart. “This is incredible. Thank you.”

  His hand closed over hers, swallowing her fingers as he drew her closer. “I merely oversaw the process.”

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You could have just as easily taken us to a restaurant. There are a hundred fancy ones all over the city. Instead you did this.” She looked over the room, still in absolute awe of its beauty. “I love it so much.”

  His eyes darkened. His fingers tightened around hers.

  “Good.”

  He led her to the table and drew out her chair. He waited until she was properly seated before rounding to his side.

  Juliette waited until he was facing her before blurting the question that had been plaguing her.

  “Is this because of this morning?” His eyes lowered, the only sign she needed to confirm her theory. “I promise that won’t happen again. I am honestly so sorry for—”

  “No,” he cut in softly. “Don’t be sorry. I haven’t been very fair to you and that’s my fault.”

  Juliette blinked. “What do you mean?”

  He raised his gaze and fixed them on her face. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about anything upsetting this evening. I just want to enjoy you.”

  A smile tugged on her heart. “I’m all for you enjoying me.” She propped her elbows on the table, threaded her fingers together and perched her chin on her knuckles. “Tell me about your day.”

  Killian leaned back in his chair. “I d
id some work. Made some calls. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Juliette narrowed her eyes. “And somewhere between the working and call making, you put this together and bought me an amazing dress, which I absolutely love.”

  His lips quirked. “It’s an all right dress. You make it beautiful.”

  Juliette laughed. “Are you trying to charm me into your bed, Mr. McClary? Because I have to warn you, I have a very long list of suitors vying for my affections.”

  One dark eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Have you now?”

  “Worried?” she teased.

  His grin was slow and brutally arrogant. “Ah darling, not at all. Your body will always belong to me. No other man will ever make it come apart the way I do.”

  Her body gave a shiver in agreement. All amusement becoming a hot, sticky rush of liquid soaking her panties. Her clit throbbed in longing.

  He smirked with all the knowing grace of a man fully aware of his effect on his woman.

  Juliette swallowed audibly. “You don’t play fair.”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice to that gravelly purr that drove her crazy. “You don’t like it when I play fair. You like it when I’m dirty and rough. You like it when I rip off your panties, bend you over and fuck you until you can’t walk for a week, or when I put my fingers deep inside your wet little pussy and make you scream. That’s how you like me.”

  It was true. Fuck being fair. She lived for the nights when he tortured her mindless, when he had her so worked up she was certain she’d die if he didn’t end the suffering. There was nothing fair or loving about those nights. It was all a brutal battle of hot, sweaty bodies colliding with one goal in mind—to fuck each other into exhaustion.