by Fiona Keane
Julian: I look forward to finding that gag. ;)
My foot violently tapped against the floor while I stuck my tongue out at his pathetic winking smile on the text message. I didn’t need him to turn on the fireplace. I was hot enough, boiling. I glared at the box until my temples throbbed. Sighing in a huff, I tore the blanket and box from the couch and dumped them on the floor. My body was weak, feeling utterly exhausted despite having slept for hours. In his bed. I refused to return to that room, even though I was curious to see what pathetic attire he purchased for my stay. I could’ve screamed. I would’ve, had I wished to give him the enjoyment. The last thing I wanted was to please Julian Molloy. I didn’t need his smile flashing through my mind before falling asleep. Falling asleep. How am I going to do that here?
The couch beckoned my aching soul. I tried to rationalize with myself through the internal debate of whether or not to fall asleep inside Julian Molloy’s house. Technically, I already did that, and I was still alive. Fine. But you don’t win yet, Molloy. I bent over, collecting the thick, petal soft blanket that Julian had gifted me for the evening, and wrapped it around me.
The couch was comfortable. Too comfortable. I sank with pleasure into the consuming cushions, only waiting moments for sleep to come, but the television clicked on. I didn’t touch a remote; I had no desire to watch anything. Damn Molloy. The phone buzzed again. Don’t look. Don’t look. Ugh, moron. You’re going to look. And…you’re looking.
Julian: I thought you’d enjoy this movie as you drift. Sweet dreams.
Holding the phone in my left hand, I looked at the television screen mounted above his fireplace. I recognized the opening scene immediately, my nostalgic mind capturing the memory of watching the movie as a child. He is one sick bastard.
As the ominously beautiful melody of the depressing prologue continued, I wished I never watched a fairytale film. My eyes rolled around with disgust and disdain, the pain adding to my throbbing mind, while Beauty and the Beast proceeded on Julian’s television. This wasn’t a film to watch before bed; this was the anthem for Stockholm syndrome, and he knew exactly what he was doing. From his ivory tower of wealth and status, Julian Molloy mocked me, ridiculing and reminding me of his supreme power. We’ll see how long it lasts.
I rolled over, my back facing the television, and pulled the soft blanket over my head. I refuse to go back to his bed. The blanket was a warm hug. It also smelled like Julian, which was terribly antagonizing. I can’t sleep like this. But I did, somehow, and despite humming along to the familiar soundtrack and pretending not to be in love with that movie while hating its message and mockery, my mind settled enough to allow me to drift.
I didn’t dream. My mind was blank and, despite the entire day having wrecked and destroyed the fibers of my brain, I couldn’t create a thought. I was unable to fathom and process, filled with only air and exhaustion.
I knew I was finally able to dream when my eyes fluttered open in response to the sensuous aroma swirling around me. A powerful calming scent weighed on my fried nerves, freeing the anxiety prohibiting my imagination from processing, and stirred me. I barely blinked, too tired to move wiggling eyelashes around lonely, tired blue eyes. My left arm felt heavy, squished between my body and the couch. But I fell asleep on my right side. I dropped my head, heavy with gravity, while my body pressed into the warm couch. It smells so nice.
My nose itched, wiggling as I lifted my right hand to rub against the tickle. My hair fell over my face, moving in a soft breeze. It was warm. Too warm. I let my body sink into the mattress, nestled comfortably into the luxury—wait. My eyes tore open, glancing at my hand resting on a fluffy white comforter. They widened beyond belief, filled with alarm when I noticed Julian sitting in an armchair next to me. He leaned forward, his hands settled against his combed hair while his elbows rested on his knees. Squinting, I struggled to see if he was asleep like that or merely thinking. I held my breath, sealing my eyes again, once his fingers combed through his hair. I heard his palms slap against his thighs, assuring me he was not asleep.
“You’re back,” I croaked from the safety of his bed. Hardly. His bed was far from safe.
“You’re awake.” I heard his weight shift.
“What time is it?”
“Four.”
“Why did you bring me in here?”
“That couch is awful,” he muttered. “You deserve to be rested, Aideen.”
I pulled the pillow from my face, catching Julian gaze at me with a kind smile. It was soft, almost paternal and endearing, but I quickly shook that notion from my mind. I debated whether to run or burrow further into the covers when his posture shifted and Julian’s back pressed against the rear of his chair. The fingers of his right hand mindlessly lifted to his lips and stroked the skin of his soft pout while deep in thought.
“I came home about an hour ago,” he informed me, staring at the bundle of covers around me. “You wouldn’t wake up, you were so soundly asleep. It was precious, really, but I couldn’t let you stay on that couch all night.”
“I guess there’s a soul in there somewhere.”
“I’m glad you finally see it.” He laughed, standing from his chair and undoing the black tie around his neck. “I brought you in here to sleep. I apologize if I woke you.” Julian’s banter was distracting; it was disarming and entirely alarming at the same time. Wake up, Aideen.
“Don’t touch me while I’m asleep ever again,” I warned with a glare, “and where were you planning on sleeping?”
“The couch. I’m a gentleman, Miss Leary. I might have kidnapped you, but I wouldn’t share a bed with you without your explicit permission.” I laughed. Out loud. A small, scoffing giggle rippled from my lips, and I felt my cheeks burn.
“Gentleman and kidnapper are not synonymous, Mr. Molloy.”
“They are with me, darling. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
“It is morning.”
Julian chuckled, his long fingers pulling along his exhausted face. “You’re right. Coffee then?”
“You won’t poison me?”
“No. That’s an awfully excruciating way to go. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Wow. That’s some promise.
“You aren’t going to tie me up in there again,” I paused, examining the hands he held out to me while standing next to his bed, “or make me look at your brother?” Because he is beautiful. And so are you. I mean…brain, seriously. I’m about to request that Julian kill you. Julian’s face scrunched in confusion, his brows met tightly above dark eyes.
“My brother? Please.” Julian’s head shook, again reaching for my hands. “I lost track of him two hours ago. And I won’t tie you up unless you want me to.”
My mouth was a gaping donut in the middle of my face, watching Julian’s mouth widen with a sparkling, amused smile as he attempted to casually slip his last comment into our conversation. I hate this man. I brushed past his hands, his comforter wrapped around me, and wandered toward the kitchen. The foyer and hall were as dark as I remembered from last night. Before he carried me, without permission, into his bed. I spent the night in Julian Molloy’s bed. Elliott would die. Wait. Elliott will die because I will kill him for all of this.
“Holy fu—” My hands tightened around the comforter as I entered the dimly lit kitchen. I felt Julian’s hands press against my shoulders, gently attempting to guide me further into the space.
“Mr. Ferrell was just leaving,” Julian stated, referring to the frighteningly stiff man standing in the center of the room. His arms were tightly crossed, the silhouette of his gun reflecting the soft glow from the light dangling above Julian’s kitchen table. It was securely held in his hand, pressed between his grasp and his powerful chest. Julian recognized I wasn’t budging and squeezed sideways between my frozen form and the doorway to enter the kitchen and effortlessly perform his domestic duties. He collected honey, two mugs, and ground coffee beans. I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat, thankful part of my body still fun
ctioned. Julian’s gaze lifted to mine, his head turning from the opposite direction to acknowledge me while holding the coffee grounds. He must have sensed me staring because an amused smile flirted with his mouth.
“You’re dismissed, Ferrell,” Julian announced, still looking at me. “Miss Leary will step out of the doorway for you.”
“What? Oh.” I blushed, inching into the room so Mr. Intimidator could bypass me. He grumbled something while walking by me, muttering beneath his breath.
“It amuses me how frightened you get, babby, yet you seem much more comfortable here now.” Julian returned to preparing the tools and ingredients for our coffee. “I hope that’s the case.”
“Far from it,” I scoffed, closing myself off by wrapping the blanket more securely around myself. “I hate you and I trust you even less than Mr. Ferrell.”
“You wound me, Aideen. What have I ever done to deserve those words?” Julian spun around to face me, his hands slipped into the pockets of his pants and ankles crossed, casually awaiting my response.
“You’re kidding.”
Julian’s lips pulled into a debilitating grin, his eyebrows lifted in humor. “I am.” Fucking frightening. Yet somehow, I walked further into the kitchen.
“A soul and a fucked-up sense of humor? You’re ideal, Mr. Molloy.”
“Ah.” He laughed. “A fucked-up soul and a fucked-up sense of humor. You’ll make it, I’ll sit, and we can talk.” Finally.
Glaring at Julian, I took the Bialetti from his counter and prepared the coffee. I knew what he wanted: a honey latte. His favorite. Copycat. So unoriginal. It was a challenge to prepare our coffees without dropping the blanket, but I was freezing and wanted to keep some form of barrier between us—even if it was just cotton and feathers, it still protected me. I heard Julian sigh while moving to his fridge and sorting through things, his knees cracking while he squatted. I could’ve kicked the fridge and knocked him out, sending him tumbling to the floor, but part of me didn’t want to do that. For now.
“So,” I grumbled, “you have a very deranged taste in film.” My comment was rewarded with Julian’s soft laughter from behind the fridge door.
“You’re not a fairytale fan?”
“I’m not a fan of your games,” I quipped, pulling the boiling Bialetti from the stovetop and pouring steaming coffee into the two ceramic mugs on the counter. I noticed the fridge door close in my periphery, with Julian floating back and forth around the kitchen table. I used a silver spoon to stir the honey and coffee together, reaching for the carton of milk Julian previously set out for me. Almond milk. What is his plan here? Seduce me with dairy-free food and then kill me? What a way to go. I collected our cups in one hand and secured the blanket around my body with the other, observing Julian already sitting in his chair at the head of the table.
“I’m not playing games,” he informed me, his features impassive and inscrutable. His right fingers rubbed across his mouth and chin while in thought, watching my hesitant approach. I refused to reply and bit my tongue while nervously sitting at his side, where Liam dined the previous evening, not wishing to sit in the chair to which I had been tied. A tapping sound alarmed both of us, our attention quickly spinning to the frozen windows of his kitchen.
“Sleet,” I groaned while Julian took his cup from my cold hand. Julian’s smiling eyes from behind the rim of his coffee mug were all I needed as a response. I was lost in a fleeting daydream, pretending I was free. My eyes wandered from side to side, not really looking at anything, but simply moving to keep my mind awake. I was mute, silently waiting for Julian to speak. When his throat cleared, my gaze snapped to him, watching his forearms lean against the edge of the table while his body tilted toward me. Tension radiated throughout my skin as I grasped my mug.
“Aideen,” Julian murmured, pausing when my hand moved from his caress.
“You’re too comfortable touching me,” I whispered, glancing up at the dark circles beneath his hollow blue eyes. “Where were you all night?”
“You’re too comfortable asking me things.” His smile ripped me to shreds, as he surely knew. “As far as touching you is concerned, I plan on doing it. I’m going to do it a lot, far more than you’d probably like, but that’s because to the outside world, I am a kind, wonderful, charming man.” I understood in here, he was the opposite. I raised my eyebrows with wariness, analyzing the grin along his face. It tugged a foreign piece of my soul, willing my curiosity to keep me there. It must be that damn dream.
Julian was far too fancy to look so worn and raw, consumed with exhaustion, and yet he still had time for me. Don’t get ahead of yourself, princess. He licked his lips, sending the fluttering vision straight to my stomach, slowly killing me, before he uttered another word.
“There’s a connection between Malcolm trying to kill you and my family’s reputation.”
“Something tells me you want to tell me more,” I probed, mesmerized by his long fingers while they tapped against his mug, “but you won’t.”
“Not until I know the connection. Your mind is as desirable as I thought.” Julian’s eyes passed to the window before returning to me. “Looks like we’ll be inside for a while longer.”
Chapter Fifteen
I narrowed my gaze against Julian so tightly I felt dizzy, fighting every urge to reach across the table and strangle him. It’d be a shame for the world to lose such eye candy, honey. Oh, mind. I’m going to kill you before I kill him.
Julian’s shirt was undone at his collar, the first two buttons revealing his skin, taking my tired and twisted mind to places it shouldn’t go. His slacks were still pressed, as though he stood all evening.
“Tell me,” I begged, inching closer toward him. “You’re holding me a prisoner. You’re teasing and threatening, you’re destroying me. You have to tell me.” His expression tightened, stiffly displaying his resistance. I moved closer, my chest caving while a trembling breath threatened my lungs. Don’t cry, Aideen. Just don’t. Think of puppies or pizza, or even that yummy glass of wine you had last week. Think of anything but crying. Sure enough, the moment my senses heightened with his proximity, as Julian’s hands reached out and held my elbows buried within his comforter, tears poured down my cheeks, exposing myself to the stranger, a villain.
His whisper was gentle, but I couldn’t stop. My face shot up toward him, scowling at the disgust I felt for falling under his momentary control, playing perfectly into his game. The comforter fell from my arms, landing gently against the dark hardwood floor, and I swung. I let my pathetic little fist smack right into the absurdly hard wall of Julian’s abdomen. He barely let out a breath. In fact, I think he laughed. The jerk is smiling at me. Teeth and all. That only fueled my anger, inciting the rage I felt toward him. I kept swinging, resisting his attempt to control my wrists.
“Fuck you!” I screamed, swinging my fists into his muscular frame, hoping to find some weakness, but I couldn’t. I pulled my hands away, thinking for a moment of what to do. I had a split second. I couldn’t run; he was reaching for my wrists. My right hand took control and lifted, burning with the painful contact of Julian’s face.
I gasped and stepped back to watch in fear as his left palm stroked the skin I marred. Julian’s long fingers rubbed his jaw while his head shook in disbelief. My eyes widened and I turned, flying back through the hallway and into Julian’s bedroom. I flew into his attached bathroom, locking the door behind me, and fell against the jute rug decorating the floor.
The doorknob rattled while he demanded my name. “Please open the door.” Sure. Not!
“Aideen,” he pressed, the door banging with his weight. Is he sitting down? Maybe he’ll fall asleep and I can escape.
“No,” I sobbed, my voice muffled against the floor. The air was void of words; the only sound penetrating my throbbing mind was the rustle of Julian’s body against the door.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered through the space between the floor and the imposing panel. “I
promised you. I’m not mad at you for what you did. Come out so we can talk.” I squeezed my hands around my head, hoping to stop the ache, wishing to keep his voice from entering my mind. His plea tugged that foreign feeling once more. What is happening?
“I don’t beg. Come out.” No. I wanted to vomit everywhere, all over his pristine bathroom. I have to do something fun before I die.
“I know your head is starting to hurt. Take the pill I left for you and come out.” I worried he implanted a microchip into my brain while sleeping last night. How does this villainous wizard know about my head?
“Go away.”
“This is my house, babby.” His tone lightened. “I’m not going anywhere while you’re here.”
“Then start talking,” I demanded through muffled sobs, lifting my head from the floor. I’ve never known jute to be so soft. The door wiggled again, and light flickered from beneath the door, suggesting Julian moved. I faintly discerned his hand against the floor. Something bopped against the door, and a deep sigh followed suit. He’s either annoyed as hell or willing to talk.
“The public doesn’t know yet, but my grandfather isn’t seeking another term in the Senate,” he murmured against the door. “He’s a dinosaur, Aideen, but disastrously powerful. My father won’t take the seat, so my family placed me in line as heir of his political dynasty, our political dynasty. The Molloy reputation carries a heavy burden and…”
“Keep talking.”
His voice was low and eerily patient. “They want me to marry Noelle, and I won’t. If anyone saw you and I were together when I brought you here, knowing the rumors of an alignment between my family and Noelle’s, it would be a terrible scar against my reputation.”
“So you kidnapped me to protect your ego?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed, with a small laugh. “You’re here because, despite your popular belief, I don’t want you to die. Take the pill, Aideen. It’s just a pain pill.”
