When it still lingers heavily in the air after my bath, I decide to confront him. If I fail to snap him out of his desolate mood, then maybe I can at least provide him with comfort. I slip on my chemise and wrap my housecoat around me. But the moment I reach his study, I’m suddenly questioning my decision to disturb him. What if he simply wants to be alone and my presence will only irritate him?
I bite my lip and knock softly on the door. He mumbles for me to enter, and I instantly become aware of his intoxicated state. When I close the door behind me, it’s much worse than I had thought. I have never seen him like this. Even drunk, Keenan has always managed to have some semblance of control. But now? His eyes are bloodshot and glazed over, and he slouches in his seat, with a glass of liquor in his hand and a cigarette in the other. I cough through the thick haze of smoke that threatens to smother me, my eyes immediately watering. He’s so quiet and motionless he almost looks dead, and the sight pains me.
His eyes slowly lift to gaze at me blearily, and his lips curve upwards in a small smile. “Ah, Moira,” he says softly, as if my name is a prayer.
I approach him anxiously. “How much have you had to drink?”
Bewilderment settles over him. “Are you upset?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I snatch his cigarette and snuff the damn thing out, holding my breath as I do. Once the smoke has dissipated slightly, I proceed in prying the glass of liquor out of his reluctant hand. When I finally manage to free the wretched thing from his grasp, some of the amber liquid spills over the rim onto the floor and a brief chuckle escapes him. I pause momentarily, because I don’t think I have ever heard him laugh before. The sound makes me wish I could hear that pleasant cadence when he’s sober. A sorrowful sigh escapes me, and I place the glass on the table.
I reach down to grab hold of his arm. “Alright, Keenan, let’s get you into bed.”
He wordlessly allows me to help him out of the chair, and then pulls me against him in a tight embrace the second we’re both standing. For a moment, I’m rendered breathless—and it’s not because of how desperately he clings to me. Rather, it’s the emotions that crash into me like hungry tidal waves determined to swallow me whole. So much pain and so much need; those are the only two emotions I can sense beyond the incoherent stream of thoughts fluttering chaotically in his mind. I breathe in his scent and don’t mind at all he smells like alcohol and smoke. In fact, I find it oddly comforting.
“Come on,” I urge softly.
He pulls away and looks down at me, steadying himself by gripping my shoulders tightly. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
My heart thuds wildly in my chest. “Keenan.”
“It’s true.” His right hand leaves my shoulder to trace a finger along the curve of my lips. “From the moment I saw you, I thought so. And instead of saying what I thought, I was rude to you.”
“You were under the impression I was a murderer. Trust me, I understand.”
His voice is quiet when he speaks again. “I don’t think that anymore. You know that, right?”
“I know.” I sigh and grab hold of his hand, squeezing gently. “Now, come on. Let me help you to your room.”
He silently follows me out of his study, but when we reach the stairs, he loses his balance and nearly tumbles. I grab his hand again and manage to bring us both safely to the top. Unsurprisingly, his bedroom door is locked when we arrive at his room.
I turn to face him and hold out my hand. “I need the key.”
Instead of reaching into his pocket, he remains still, keeping his hands by his side. Nor does he speak. Perplexed, I glance up at his eyes and immediately wish I hadn’t. He slowly places his hands on the door behind me and leans forward, so I’m trapped between him and the door. He continues to move closer until I’m convinced he will kiss me. I swallow desperately, knowing I’ve been waiting for a second one since I moved in with him, because I certainly don’t consider the one in his office several days ago a kiss. But, instead, he turns his face slightly so his cheek brushes against mine, and then he inhales deeply.
“You smell good,” he whispers into my ear, and I instinctively close my eyes at the sound of his voice.
He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger and gently pushes it behind my ear, his finger trailing farther down the length of my neck.
“Keenan–”
“You once said I smelled good,” he says quietly. “Do you remember, Moira?”
Yes, yes I do. That night it had been me who drank too much and had been trying to seduce him. Like usual, he hadn’t succumbed to my temptations and had left me to face the darkness alone. Now he has every intention of seducing me, and I don’t know if I can resist him. Because even though he may smell overwhelmingly like alcohol and smoke, his touch feels so right. I’ve been waiting to have him this close, and I wish it didn’t have to be when he was drunk.
I sigh bitterly. “Of course, I remember. It was the first time you rejected me—one of many instances.”
He pulls away slightly and caresses the side of my face. “I’m tired of pretending you have no effect on me, Moira. Is it really Mr. Hayes you want? Tell me now, and I won’t touch you again.”
I lean my head against the door and stare up at him, immediately averse to the idea of him never touching me. “No.”
The second that one word is out in the air between us, Keenan’s lips meet mine forcefully. Hungrily, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body against his. My own neck begins to ache from leaning back in order to accept his fervent kiss, but I ignore the mild pain. It’s incomparable to the pleasure I receive as his tongue slides teasingly against mine. He’s tired of feeling alone and guilty all the time, and when I’m in his arms, his anxieties drift away. After years of the bitter aftertaste of his emotions, I taste delicious to him and he wants more. My housecoat comes undone, and his hands glide along the curve of my hips and up my spine. I feel his arousal hard against my stomach, and I moan.
Though I ache for him, I manage to push him away, pressing myself firmly against the door.
“Keenan, I can’t,” I say breathlessly. Puzzlement slowly creeps into the haze of his desire and quickly transforms into irritation. He thinks I’m rejecting him—that it was never him I wanted. So, I quickly add, “I do want you, Keenan, very much. But I want you sober. Please tell me you understand.”
He’s silent for a moment before he finally speaks. “I understand.”
I realize now why he had rejected me on that drunken night. It had never been about desire, but rather he didn’t want to have sex with me knowing I would most likely forget—and maybe even regret it the next morning. Someone whose only interest was to satisfy their carnal needs would have had sex with me that night. The fact Keenan didn’t stay informs me what I’ve suspected all along: if we came together it would never solely be about sex. He would have his demands and requests, and emotions would undeniably be involved. I understand this, and I am afraid. Yet I still want him.
I force myself away from the door, even though my body demands I stay. “I should go.”
Apparently Keenan is thinking the opposite, because he blocks my escape. “Stay.”
“Keenan–”
“Please, Moira,” he begs softly, drawing near. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I sigh, because his plea is so akin to the one I had made all those nights ago. “Alright, I’ll stay.” I narrow my eyes and add in a warning tone, “But I’m not having sex with you tonight.”
He flashes me that dimple of his, unsuccessfully concealing his satisfaction. My resolve immediately dwindles at the sight, and I doubt I’ll be able to sleep with him beside me. He’s highly entertained by my obvious struggle and is satisfied I’m only withholding the inevitable for just tonight. I want to smack the smugness off his face, but, instead, I hold out my hand.
“The key.”
He fumbles in his pocket for a moment and then pulls out the key. I grin befo
re I turn to unlock the door, because I’m feeling quite haughty myself right now. Before I came to his townhouse, Keenan had forbidden me to enter his bedroom or his study—unless, of course, he invited me to do so. In just under two weeks, I have now successfully managed to enter both rooms, but I have no intention of gloating any further because it would be wasted on his intoxicated state. I silently unlock his door and immediately survey the room that has been, up until now, a mystery. Yet the most my eyes absorb is the fireplace and armoire before settling on the large bed. Suddenly, I’m feeling nervous for reasons I don’t entirely understand.
The door closes behind me, and I abruptly turn around to find Keenan attempting to unbutton his shirt. “What are you doing?”
Startled, he glances up at me. “I’m removing my clothes.”
“Why?”
“You don’t expect me to sleep in my suit, do you?”
I glance at him, and then the bed. “Well, no…”
When he continues to struggle with the dexterity required of a more sober person, I approach him and unbutton his shirt for him. The moment his pants fall to the floor, my anxiety escalates. I now understand why I’m suddenly tense. It’s because the only person I have ever actually slept with was Devin. I had wanted to have sex with him, but Devin hadn’t been interested in just a sexual relationship. He had experienced enough sexual encounters as a concubine that he had wanted more—something I hadn’t understood at the time. Naturally, I had ruined what could have been between us by getting upset when he had continued to reject me. Now, I’m about to crawl into the large bed with Keenan to sleep, not have sex. And, for some awful reason, it’s more difficult than letting him have my body.
He removes everything but his lower garment and walks to the right side of the bed.
“If I’m going to stay,” I say quickly. “Then that’s my side.”
A soft chuckle rings through the air, but he silently makes his way to the other side of the bed. I make a point to look at anything but the expanse of his bare torso until he is nestled beneath the covers. He lies down half-way on his side and looks up at me expectantly. When I remove my housecoat, I’m instantly assaulted by a wave of desire. Though I’m still wearing my chemise, the fabric is thin and doesn’t cover the dark areolas around my nipples. I find his reaction odd, considering he has seen me naked on several occasions, and he has never given into his desire before.
“I thought you slept naked,” he says quietly, his eyes heavy with lust.
I give him a wry smirk. “Not tonight, Detective.”
After crawling into the bed, I turn so my back faces him. Though there are only a few inches between us, the heat radiating from his body wraps around me in a seductive embrace. He moves closer, pressing his chest against my back, and wraps an arm around my waist. My heart thuds an erratic dance, and a slight shiver possesses me momentarily, as his breath tickles the back of my neck. His thoughts wander to the pleasant sensation of my body against his, the feel of my soft curves, the lovely warmth of my flesh, and my intoxicating—yet alluring—scent.
He kisses my neck and shoulder, and I close my eyes, relishing in the titillating pleasure. After all, it doesn’t necessarily mean sex. His hand inches lower, and I groan.
“Keenan,” I say warningly—almost desperately.
“Sorry.” He stops, diverting his attention to fidgeting with my hand instead. “I’ve just been wanting to touch you for a while now.”
I keep my voice light, so he knows I’m only teasing. “You should have thought of that before you drank. Then maybe I would have let you touch me all night.”
“I like the sound of that.” His lips press softly against my neck once more. “Does this mean I can touch you tomorrow?”
I snuggle closer, my lips curving upwards. “We’ll see.”
We lie silently for a while, simply revelling in the pleasure of being so close to one another. My previous nerves eventually dissipate, and I can’t recall a time when I had felt this comfortable. With Mr. Hayes, I had considered his bedroom a safe zone filled with carnal pleasures, but it had lacked the safety I feel now in Keenan’s arms. And whenever my fear pricks my skin, I recall the words Keenan had said earlier. I’m tired of pretending you have no effect on me, Moira. I smile in the darkness and eventually fall asleep to the soothing tick, tock of Keenan’s mind.
10
My first thought when sleep slowly releases its hold on me is: how is it possible to have one of the best nights in your life, yet wake up in so much discomfort? During the night, I had decided to forgo the comforts of my pillow, which is something I never do. My neck will undoubtedly be sore for the entire day. The second thing I notice is my chemise has annoyingly ridden up past my waist—hence, why I sleep naked. I groan and search for my pillow, but instead of something soft, my arm smacks into something hard. My eyes flare open as I remember I am not alone and realize my face is only inches away from Keenan’s chest. My mortification settles in while I wait for him to speak after my dazed assault. But I’m only greeted with his soft and steady breathing. Suddenly, my fears begin to take hold in the morning light.
What if he wakes up and doesn’t remember anything? He had a lot of liquor last night, so it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. But, then again, he never verbally admitted his feelings. The only thing he had made clear was he didn’t want to be alone, which is something he could have said to any other woman. The only way to salvage my ego is to make my escape now while he’s still asleep, and when he wakes, I’ll pretend like nothing happened unless he mentions something. Satisfied with my plan, I carefully lift myself up on my elbow and glance up at his face. Unlike me, his head still rests on his pillow and his eyes are thankfully closed.
I turn, my legs inching toward the edge of the bed, but his arm shoots out to yank me back down beside him. I yelp in surprise and refuse to see if his eyes are open. For a moment, we lie in silence, and I begin to wonder if he had grabbed at me in his sleep. But then his fingers slowly glide up the length of my arm, and his thoughts sluggishly make their presence known. He recalls the events of last night vividly enough to remember what was said—especially the part where I had said I wanted him—and he has no intention of letting me escape now. His fingers creep along the edge of my chemise, teasing the border of my cleavage, and then rise to explore the curves of my collarbone. My heart beats wildly as my body heats up in anticipation. His touch continues slowly and deliberately to feel the slight pucker of my brows, the fluttering of my eyelashes, and finally the curvature of my lips. I open my mouth slightly to taste him, and his Adam’s apple bobs downward in an anxious reflex.
He wants me to look at him, but I don’t—not yet. First, I reach out and tentatively explore the muscles before me. My fingers graze over one of his nipples before running through the slight dusting of hair on his chest. I love the protrusion of his Adam’s apple and the prominence of his jawline. His lips are practically begging me to kiss them, and when I finally meet his gaze, those green eyes are smoldering with desire. Our faces are only a few inches apart, but I manage to restrain my urge to close the distance. Instead, I run my fingers through his cropped brown hair, while his hand slides down to caress my back. The deliberate slowness of his movements has washed away my previous anxiety, replacing it with an aching need that begins with a shiver between my thighs.
We continue to maintain eye contact as my hand leaves his hair to explore other unknown parts of his body. When I creep lower, I’m pleasantly greeted with his blatant arousal. Just when I’m about to slip my hand beneath the waistband of his garment, Keenan rolls me onto my back and pushes my legs apart with his thigh. His hand skims over my stomach to the warmth between my thighs, as his face hovers an inch away from mine. I stare up at him, falling into a sea of green, and he slides his finger into me, moving with a deliberate slowness. I’m desperate to have his lips on mine, so I lift my head to meet him. But he intends to watch me squirm, loving the way my eyes become heavy and how my
mouth opens partly on an exhale. He also wants me to beg, which is why he pulls away when I attempt to kiss him.
I groan, and he flashes me a satisfied grin. The sight of his dimple makes me even more aroused, and I arch my back against him. He kisses the side of my mouth, his lips barely brushing mine, and I resist the urge to pull him toward me. Instead, I let him exact his torture. His fingers continue to move deliciously inside me, while he plants soft kisses along my neck. He lowers to graze his lips and teeth on my nipples in a playful tease, the fabric of the chemise a tantalizing barrier. I moan and demand he kiss me, eliciting a soft chuckle from him before he finally obeys. He kisses me, and his tongue slides gloriously against mine. I want more of him; I need him inside me.
I abruptly push him away, slightly breathless with desire. “Just one second.”
I hastily jump out of the bed before things progress any further and catch his befuddled expression. The moment I exit the room, I make an effort to hurry. I rush to my own room to insert the contraceptive the Elite had given me. Overall, it doesn’t take me long before I’m back in Keenan’s bedroom. He has moved in my absence, sitting instead at the edge of the bed, with his elbows on his knees. He’s uncertain as to why I had suddenly left, but as soon as I lift my chemise over my head, his doubt vanishes.
His eyes rake over my naked body with reverence and need, and I now understand why he had never reacted to my lack of clothing the other times. It’s because now I’m willing to offer him what he wants, rather than flaunt him with maybes. He pulls me closer so I stand between his legs, his hands sliding up my sides, and he explores my body once more before his lips brush against my stomach in a flutter of soft kisses. When his lips find my breasts, he swirls his tongue around my nipple before gentle sucking it into his mouth. I moan and lean into him. I climb on top of him, wrapping my legs around his waist, and our lips meet fervently as I gently rock my pelvis against him.
His heart rate picks up speed, and I taste a hint of nervousness. It’s been quite a while since he was last physical with a woman and a steady stream of anxieties trickle into that clock of his. The last thing I want is him thinking. Rather I want him to be lost in pleasure along with me. So I pull away from him slightly and rest a finger against his lips.
The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) Page 12
