Текст книги "Loving Him Off the Field"

Автор книги: Jeanette Murray

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

He nodded, hands clasped.

“Is this the part where you ask me to not write the story?”

Killian’s grip tightened, until his knuckles turned white. “I’m not going to do that. You’ll do whatever you have to.” Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood. “I need to get back before Charlie eats Mrs. Reynolds out of her apartment.” He breathed heavily. “You know, Emma’s a great mom. That shocked me from the start, but it’s true. She’s always been great with Charlie. It’s me and her who bump heads from time to time.”

“And are you a great dad?”

He looked at her from the door, surprised. “Who’s asking?”

“Freckles,” she said, watching him closely. “Just Freckles.”

“I love him, and I’d do anything for him.” Even if it cost him Aileen, and a potential future he’d begun to crave.

She didn’t stop him from leaving.

Chapter Twenty-two

Aileen sat on the sofa until the condensation from the bottle in her hand soaked her shirt and forced her to get up and toss it out.

A high-priced escort. A secret kid. Lies and half truths from the start. No, this hadn’t been what she’d been hunting around for when she’d started his story. But it absolutely did explain why he was so aloof from everyone, including his own teammates. He was protecting his son’s right to anonymity by removing all temptation and opportunity to spill the news.

Charlie. An adorable name for—what she’d seen of him—an adorable young boy. Killian’s spitting image.

Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she sat at her desk chair and opened her laptop. She typed out a few sentences in a Word document, hoping to put things together in an outline. Maybe, if she saw it on paper, she could make her mind process it easier. Black and white had always been her go-to for centering before. But her eyes kept drifting to the left, to the photo of her parents.

“Mom . . .” The word caught in her throat. “What . . . I mean, how . . .” She let her head drop to the desk, arms dangling down. “There’s no way. I can’t do this.”

Reaching for her phone, she dialed the one person she least wanted to speak to at that exact moment. She hit the record button just as he answered.

“You’ve got Bobby Mundane, what’s the story?”

Ug. The greeting made her skin crawl. “Bobby, it’s Aileen.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you answer like that?”

“It’s my thing,” he said simply, and she fought a gag.

“I’m recording this call for my own records. I’m not doing the Killian Reeves story. Just thought I would let you know.”

“Got a Cassie Wainwright story?” he asked immediately.

She refused to even let him know she’d spoken to the coach’s daughter. “I do not.”

“Then this is the end of the line, babe.”

Babe. Another gag.

“If you can’t pull out the big guns when we need you most, there’s nothing I can do to save ya. You don’t have the killer instinct for this gig.”

He might have been right about that. But . . . “It’s fine. I was actually calling to quit, anyway. As of this moment, I’m no longer employed by Off Season, which means all unsubmitted footage is my own.”

“Sounds like that’s a whole lot of bupkis anyway,” he said easily. “But sure, whatever. Anything not already in our system is yours to keep. Though I’ll tell you right now, you’re not going to find another website or vlog that’s gonna want it.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” That was her concern now. “Either way, I’m not your problem anymore. Guess you’ll have to find another chick to take the softballs you lob at her. Hey,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice. “Maybe the next one will like bikinis!”

“I can only wish,” he said in a reverent voice, then hung up on her.

“Pig.” She closed the screen, then leaned back so far in her chair it creaked and made her think twice about the position. As she couldn’t afford a new chair—couldn’t even before she quit/got fired, and certainly couldn’t now—she got up gingerly from the seat and paced the tiny room.

“What would Mom do,” she muttered, glancing around the room for inspiration. “What would Mom do?”

Then her eyes landed on the bag in the corner behind her front door, and stayed there. “Seriously?” She glanced toward the photo, as if that were going to answer her. “Fine. Who am I to judge?”

She was going bowling.

* * *

Killian sat back on the kitchen chair he’d pulled to the living room, suddenly wishing he’d had more seating. But other than Aileen, he’d never had guests over. His living room was currently packed to capacity, thanks to the large bodies hovering in his apartment.

Well, four large bodies and one pint-sized one.

“So this is the little man, huh?” Trey held out a hand and Charlie slapped it, looking a little awed. “Nice to meet ya, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded solemnly, looking much more mature than his five and a half years. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Owens. When we picked numbers for T-ball last summer, my best friend picked sixteen, for you.”

Trey’s face lit up. “Hey, nice taste your friend’s got there.”

Josiah and Michael both grumbled about taste. Then Josiah knelt down. “So if you know who he is, who am I?”

Charlie’s face screwed up in thought, analyzing Josiah from where he stood next to Killian’s leg. “You’re . . . a Bobcat.”

Michael laughed and nudged Josiah hard enough that he fell over from his crouch. “Face it, we don’t compare to the mighty Owens.”

“But my dad’s a Bobcat, so you must be okay,” Charlie finished, hugging Killian’s leg. Killian’s throat contracted, and he stroked a hand over his son’s soft hair.

“Smart kid,” Michael said softly, holding out a fist for Charlie. His son gave it a bump, then backed up to hug his leg again. “So all this time you’ve been a family man, huh?”

“Most of it.” He knelt down to Charlie’s level. “Hey, I’ve got a new video in your room. You wanna watch?”

Charlie gazed at the three other men in the room, as if weighing whether he wanted to give up being the center of attention for three men he looked up to. In the end, the movie won out. After Killian set him up and closed the door quietly, he walked to the kitchen. The other three followed and sat at the kitchen table, Josiah dragging the abandoned chair with him.

“Grab me a water, would ya?” Michael called out as Killian headed for the fridge. Josiah punched him in the shoulder. “What? I’m thirsty.”

Grabbing four bottles, he brought them back to the table. “Sorry I called you guys out here this late. We’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning and—”

“Don’t.” Josiah held out a hand for a bottle. “You asked us to come, and we did. Don’t start regressing now.”

“Yeah.” Twirling the bottle between his palms, Trey agreed. “You’ve gotta let the whole ‘standoffish’ crap die. So you’ve got a kid? Two-thirds of the guys on the team do, and less than half of them are married.”

He took a swallow of water, then sighed and replayed the story for them he’d told Aileen only two hours earlier, skipping the bits they would understand, like Jerry’s reputation.

“Seriously? You got caught up with Jerry’s BS? Damn, and you would have been just a baby back then.”

Killian flipped Michael the bird. “I’m only a year younger than you.”

“You’re one to talk, Lambert,” Trey added. “You’ve got the thirty-year-old baby face.”

Michael smoothed a hand over his chin, grinning. “It’s a winner, what can I say?”

“Back on topic,” Josiah said quietly. “So you’re sharing all this now, I assume, because you know we’re not going to be douchebags and spread this around.”

“Partly.” He nodded and tried to take another sip, then decided against it. “And partly because I’m just tired. This whole thing with Freckles . . . Aileen,” he clarified when they gave him odd looks. “Aileen Rogers.”

“Oh, Aileen. Right.” Michael nodded, smiling slowly. “She’s cute.”

Killian couldn’t hold back the growl, which only made Michael’s smile widen.

“Aileen’s not the type to want this kind of story.” Josiah shook his head in denial of something nobody had said out loud . . . but they’d all been thinking. “It’s not her style. She doesn’t take pleasure out of hurting people.”

“Look at how she handled Cassie,” Trey pointed out. “She was upfront about being a journalist instead of trying to trick her into getting little bits of privileged info. I think if you told her not to use it, she won’t. She’s honest like that. Cassie thought she was great, and trusts her. I would, too.”

“I didn’t tell her not to use it.” Killian shrugged when all three men stared at him. “It felt insulting to say it. Either she’s going to use it, or she isn’t. Me asking her not to wouldn’t stop her if she was the type of person to do that. If she wasn’t going to anyway—and I don’t think she was—asking her not to would have insulted her.” He trusted now she wouldn’t use the story. He just didn’t know if she would want anything more to do with him, now.

Michael blinked a few times, slowly. “The female thought process is some of the most fucked-up stuff I’ve ever heard of.”

“You really put yourself out there with this one.” Trey winced. “Laid your head on the chopping block and handed her the ax. That takes balls. She’ll respect that.”

He didn’t want her respect. Okay, yes, he did. But he wanted more than that. He wanted her love, too. He just had no clue how the hell he was going to show her that now.

“Since my neighbor goes to bed around six at night . . . who knows a good babysitter for game day?”

* * *

Balls rolled and thumped down alleys. Pins crashed together and clattered to the boards. People cheered and jeered, ate and drank, celebrated and mourned their successes and failures.

And none of it seemed to pull Aileen out of her funk.

“Ernie . . .” She sighed and rested her head on the older man’s shoulder. “What the hell am I gonna do?”

“You’re not going to do the story, that much I know.” He draped one slender arm around her shoulders and rubbed briskly at her arm. “You’ve got too much of your mother and father in you to go and do that.”

“Mom wouldn’t have, would she?” She sniffled a little, thinking of her mom. “She always did love big stories.”

“She never took pleasure in using her work to hurt people,” he reminded her gently. “A trait you share.”

“He’s so small.” She pictured Charlie, Killian’s son, peeking out around his mother’s legs. “So innocent. Killian is . . . less innocent. But it would hurt me more than him if I even considered it.”

“And that’s why you’re your mother’s daughter. She’d be proud of you.”

They’d given up bowling an hour ago, when Aileen had missed a simple spare and broke down in tears. Maybe bowling hadn’t been the answer after all, since she’d embarrassed herself in front of fellow bowlers and the alley employees. Now she and Ernie sat in a corner, ignored and alone, watching everyone else take their turns.

“Ernie, why did you ask me to be on your bowling team?” She sat up now, facing him.

“I promised your parents I’d look after you. At least, in my mind.” He smiled, his soft blue eyes a little watery. “Your parents and I bowled for years before you even came along, and many after. If they were in the country, they were at the alley. Your father was probably good enough to turn pro before he passed. More than once, I thought of them as my surrogate children, since mine are all grown and gone. And you, like a granddaughter.”

She sniffed again, her eyes stinging. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh.” He waved that off, still watching the lane in front of them. She knew neither of them were actually seeing the game, though. “Just the ramblings of an old coot. I didn’t want to mention it, since you were grieving, then working your way out of it, then working your way into a career.”

“And right back out of that same career,” she added sarcastically. “How stupid can I be? No, never mind.” She held up a hand. “I can’t handle the answer right now.”

“I think you’re a beautiful, loving woman who gave her heart to a man who wasn’t sure how to take care of it.” He smoothed one hand over her hair, like a parent would a child. “I only met him a few times, but I always thought he was a good man. He kept secrets, that much is true. Even when you felt like you were past that stage. But men . . . I’ll tell you something. We tend to be a bit slower in most things.”

“No joke,” she muttered.

“He wasn’t ready to bare his heart when you were. That’s not wrong, that’s just timing. You can’t let timing ruin everything for you. That’s giving too much power to an unknown. You got ambushed with information he might have given you later, willingly.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe not,” he finished. “I don’t know the boy well enough to guess one way or the other. But he’s got balls, just like every other man, which means he’s gonna screw things up from time to time.”

“Ernie,” she said, trying to sound outraged and failing. The laughter bubbled out before she could stop it. She hadn’t been ready to laugh yet. Sighing, she rested against him again. His shoulder was boney, but still the most comforting thing she could imagine in that moment. “I really love you, even if you do have balls and screw up.”

“I love you too, kid. So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna . . .” She huffed out a laugh. “I’m gonna bowl. And I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

“That’ll work.”

* * *

Aileen wished and willed her car up the final turn of the parking garage, then gave a loud, “Woo-hoo!” when she managed to peak at the top of the structure without relying on her emergency brake. The car was a piece of crap, but it was a piece of crap she had to keep using until she was on more solid ground. Spotting the small SUV at the east corner of the lot—just like Cassie had said—she plugged on over and parked. Getting out, she walked up to the passenger-side door and knocked on the tinted window. When it rolled down, she was surprised to see a young girl’s face pop out.

“Hi!” She grinned. “I’m Mellie.”

“Uh, hi.” She blinked, then realized she was looking at one of Coach Jordan’s daughters, though she wasn’t sure which one. She carried more of her father’s darker features, and was cute as a button.

Cassie leaned forward from the driver seat. “Sorry, when I made plans with you I forgotten I’d already told them we’d hang out. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not if they don’t mind me bitching about men,” she grumbled, then her eyes widened. “Complain. Complain about men. Sorry.”

Another head leaned forward form the backseat. This one an icy-cool blonde with mature eyes. “We’re teenagers, not toddlers. We can say curse words, too.”

Cassie sighed. “Aileen, meet my other sister, Irene. She’s gifting us with her presence. Make sure you’re suitably grateful.”

Irene rolled her eyes and stepped out of the car. Aileen moved back to give Mellie room to exit, and then together they rounded the car. Cassie already had a blanket laid out on the concrete floor.

“We could have gone to the mall,” Irene said, her voice indicating she was very much put out by this outing, “but Cassie wanted privacy and a place to talk.” She glanced at Aileen’s outfit of worn jeans, hoodie, and Converse. “You could have come, too.”

Aileen had the distinct feeling she’d been mentally labeled a fashion victim by a seventeen year old.

“I like talking.” Mellie sat down, cross-legged, uncaring that her plaid skirt raised up to the point of seeing her boy shorts below. Irene sat in a more ladylike position, her own matching plaid skirt draped carefully over her thighs. Clearly, they were wearing school uniforms. Cassie plopped down easily, her jeans and dark blue Bobcats polo making any position possible. She patted the blanket beside her.

“Sit. I brought goodies and drinks.”

“Any wine?” Irene asked, looking through the basket in the center of the blanket.

Cassie shot Aileen an amused look. “Darn, forgot the wine. Silly me.”

Irene raised a brow to indicate she caught the sarcasm, then pulled out waters and handed them to Mellie, Cassie, and Aileen before getting her own. Then she pulled a tin of cookies and a few other boxes of goodies out and set them in a neat little row like the young hostess she was.

“Wow, impressive. A picnic, and a great view. How’d you know about this parking garage?” Aileen asked Cassie as she picked up a napkin and a brownie.

“Trey brought me here. It has a good view of downtown, so he showed me the different areas from a birds-eye view.” Her gaze went a little soft and she stared at the threads of the blanket, as if lost in thought.

“Did you guys make out up here?” Irene asked, looking much more interested in the current topic than any before. Mellie started to speak, but Irene elbowed her sister and muttered a, “Shh,” before asking again, “Did you?”

“Uh, we might have kissed,” Cassie admitted, her face flushing. “But really, the view . . .” She waved a hand out toward the railing and the city beyond.

Uh-huh. Aileen hid her grin with a bite of brownie.

“How’s the story with Killian going?” Cassie asked a moment later.

“Killian Reeves, the kicker?” Irene sat up straight and gave Aileen her full focus. “Number seven, leading the conference in yards, super-quiet Killian Reeves?”

“That’s the one.” She was her father’s daughter, that much was certain. “And as far as the story . . . it’s a non-thing.” She swallowed another bite, debated against another, then reached for a cookie instead. Variety was the spice of life, after all. “I declined to finish the interview, and then got fired for it.” She shrugged her shoulder when Cassie and Mellie gasped. Irene looked curious, but like she didn’t want to appear to care. Teenagers. It was a delicate balance of remaining aloof and worldly all at once. “It’s okay. I wasn’t going anywhere with that job, and my boss was an ass—jerk,” she finished pathetically.

“We know—” Irene started.

“About cursing, yes we’ve heard,” Cassie cut her off. Turning back to Aileen, she said, “Ignore her. She’s seventeen going on seventy. Do you have something else lined up?”

“At this point, I’m probably going to be working at the bowling alley for a while. Until I get my feet under me,” she added when Cassie looked horrified. “It’s not that bad. I mean, cleaning the shoes sucks, but—”

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just . . . you’re talented. I’ve watched your stuff. You’re funny and cute on camera and you get people to talk easily and the guys all adore you. And you’re honest, which, let’s face it, is a trait not all media people carry,” she added, her face darkening a moment. “Some other place should snap you up in a heartbeat.”

“Should and will are two different things, sadly. I’m fine.” She picked up a lemon bar, because why the hell not? “I’ll be okay.”

“What happened with the Killian interview? Did he bail on you?” Mellie asked.

“No, I just couldn’t finish it.” She swallowed the bite of lemon bar, then realized she had to swallow again. It felt stuck.

“Too boring?” Irene asked wisely. “He never says anything, ever.”

“No . . . I just couldn’t.” She glanced at Cassie and saw a wealth of understanding in her warm eyes. Cassie nodded once, then reached out and rubbed a hand over Aileen’s back.

The simple comfort went a long way toward soothing the worst of her ragged edges. “It’ll be okay,” she said with resolve. Because it had to be. There were no backups.

And if she woke up every morning with a damp pillowcase from tears, that was her problem and nobody else’s.

Chapter Twenty-three

The season was over. Killian slumped against his locker, unable to believe the time had come. For the first time since he’d started playing in the NFL, he didn’t feel relief. It wasn’t a weight lifted off his shoulders to know he didn’t have to worry about keeping himself distant for another play-off.

Partly because he knew he’d miss seeing his fellow Bobcats every day now. They’d become more than teammates. They were friends.

But the truth was, it was Aileen he’d miss seeing. She’d stopped coming around his apartment, stopped showing up at practices, and hadn’t answered his two phone calls. Crazy how, when she’d started showing up, he’d considered her a nuisance. A cute nuisance, but one nonetheless.

Now, four days of silence was driving him insane, and he craved even the barest glimpse of her. He needed to know if she was okay, if she was upset . . .

If she forgave him.

Trey, already dressed in the khakis and button-down shirt he’d come to the stadium in, walked over, and gave him a light tap on the shoulder. “Nice game.”

“We lost,” Killian reminded him.

“But you did your job. Two field goal attempts, two field goals. Can’t ask for more than that.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t our season. Maybe next year.”

“Yeah.” Killian tossed a towel into the nearby hamper and grabbed his suit pants. “What’s up with you for the off-season?”

“Cassie,” Trey said with a grin. The woman’s name came out on a sigh, like a prayer. He sank onto the bench beside Killian. “I very much look forward to spending some time with her where I’m not juggling practice and being on the road.”

Because jealousy was never attractive, Killian nodded instead of snapping, Lucky you. “Thank her again, please, for getting her sister, Irene, to babysit Charlie today.”

“Trust me, it was no problem.”

Killian hesitated, then asked, “Is she always that uptight, or was that because she was nervous?” When Cassie’s sister—Coach Jordan’s daughter—had shown up at his apartment, she’d been quiet, barely saying two words. Though when Charlie had raced out of his room to inspect the new visitor, she’d softened considerably. Enough that he was sure she’d be fine with him. And Mrs. Reynolds was across the hall, in case they needed anything.

“Irene’s a good kid, she’s just trying to find her own way. She’s been under their mom’s thumb for so long, now that she’s breaking out, she’s struggling to figure out what she wants instead of what her mom wants.”

“Well, I appreciate her missing the game to babysit.”

“I think Irene and her mom needed some space. They’re still working out . . . issues. Watching the little guy was the perfect excuse to skip out of the game with the family.” Trey nodded. “How’s Aileen?”

“Dunno.” He picked up his bag, then let it fall back to the bench. “How the fuck would I know? She doesn’t answer her phone or call me back. She’s not hanging around here doing her damn job. She’s supposed to be interviewing me, isn’t she?” The last was said through his teeth. “So where the hell is she?”

“I think the interview’s off. She got fired.”

“What? You’re shitting me. That can’t be legal.”

“Probably is,” Trey said. “Cassie hung out with her yesterday. She’s on the hunt for a new job. Something about not finishing the interview . . .”

“I got her fired,” he moaned, letting his head fall back to smack against the locker. It hurt, but was less than he deserved.

Trey shrugged, zero help there. But clearly, he understood there was more than an interview in play. A few teammates walked past, slapping backs or shoulders. It didn’t make Killian antsy to bolt like it used to. And in the back, they were still sheltered from the media with locker room access. Somehow, the camaraderie was soothing as much as it was hectic.

“I’ve got to figure out a way to get her back, man.”

Trey drummed his fingers on the bench.

“I can’t not be around her. She’s stuck under my skin. Used to make me want to swat her off,” he said with a small smile. “Now I wish she’d cling harder. But she won’t answer the damn phone so I can tell her that.”

“Hmm,” Trey said, as if he had only been half-listening. “So Cassie and I have been thinking . . . now that the season’s over, it’s a good time to get the whole ‘we’re dating’ thing out in the open. Deal with it now, so it’s no biggie by the time next season rolls around.”

Killian watched him from the side, not turning his head. “Trey, no offense or anything, but I don’t really care right now.”

“That means,” Trey continued, as if Killian hadn’t spoken, “we need to find just the right avenue. A casual little interview, not making a big deal about it. No need to do Good Morning America or anything crazy. And we want someone we trust, who we know will respect the boundaries we put up and won’t screw us over.” He grinned when Killian turned his head to look at him square on. “Know anyone?”

Slowly, Killian processed what Trey was asking. “You want Aileen to do the interview.”

“We agreed she’s someone we both trust.” Killian nodded resolutely.

“She got fired,” Killian said, pointing out the obvious. “You said she hasn’t found anything yet.”

“So maybe she doesn’t find anything at all. Maybe she goes freelance. Or maybe this is the type of interview that gets her noticed by bigger and better places.” Trey shrugged. “What she does with it is up to her. The point is, we trust her not to abuse the situation.”

Killian’s hands clenched around the straps of his bag. “She might not accept it, coming from me.”

“She’s a journalist being presented a story on a silver platter. She’s going to take it.”

“Glad you’re confident. You’ve already got your woman.”

Trey snorted. “She’s got me just as much—if not more—than I’ve got her. That’s the beauty of being in love, my friend.” Standing, he slapped a hand on Killian’s shoulder and squeezed once in solidarity. “You always know there’s at least one other person in the world who’s just as happy—or as miserable—as you are at any given time.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“Heaven,” Trey corrected, and walked back to his area of the locker room.

Heaven. He could use a little of that. With a freckled pixie by his side.

* * *

Trudging up her apartment stairs, Aileen debated letting her tote drag behind her. Only the reminder that her laptop and cell phone were inside, sure to break if she succumbed to temptation, stopped her. Everything was heavy. Her head, her shoulders, her spirit . . . it all wanted to droop.

Rounding the corner, she hefted the bag higher over her shoulder and looked up. And froze. And cursed under her breath.

Killian stood beside her apartment door, waiting. His back leaned against the cement wall, with one foot propped up. His head was down as he scrolled through his phone. He wore a red windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes, and his hair tossed around with the breeze. He needed a haircut again.

He was so damn beautiful. And it made her angry, so angry, that he was that beautiful. He had no right to look so good when she still wasn’t done working out what she felt about him, for him . . . for them.

This time, she had the element of surprise. She crept up as best she could, pausing when it looked like he might glance up. Then, at the last minute, she pounced. She grabbed his arm and yelled, “Boo!”

His head turned, the only part of his body to move, and looked down at her, one brow raised. “Hey, Freckles.”

She threw his arm aside, though it didn’t actually go anywhere. “Seriously, that’s just not fair. You knock me on my ass and I can’t even make you jolt.”

“You have a heightened startle reflex,” he quoted at her, lips quirking a little. God, she missed his smile. It faded as he surveyed her outfit. “What the hell are you wearing?”

She looked down, taking in the simple black dress pants and matching blazer, with a prim button-down shirt beneath it. On her feet were simple black flats with a silver buckle accent. “Clothes. I hear it’s considered good form to wear some when you go out in public. What are you doing here?”

He ignored her question. “Why aren’t you dressed normally?”

“This is normal. There are probably five dozen women within a two-mile radius wearing a nearly identical outfit.”

“Exactly,” he growled. “Where are your clothes? The sneakers and the jeans and hoodies.”

She groaned in exasperation. “I had a job interview and didn’t want them to mistake me for a college student. Who cares? Killian, why are you here?”

“You got fired.” His eyes were so angry, it made her take a step back. “That jackass boss of yours fired you.”

“Um, he half-fired me, I half-quit.” She dug through her bag for her keys. “I’m not entirely sure what ended up being the official diagnosis there. Suffice to say, I don’t work at Off Season.”

“Because of me.”

“No, Killian.” She looked up, ready to rip him a new one for putting her through this. This torment of being near him without actually having any rights to him. Even professional ones. “Because of me. Because I couldn’t do the story anymore. I couldn’t . . .” She started to breathe heavily and forced herself to calm down. “I couldn’t be objective anymore. I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of me,” he said again, but his voice was softer this time.

“Because of us,” she answered just as softly. “Because I felt too much for you and I lost perspective. And I knew when I dropped the story, I’d get fired. Or I’d have to quit.” She still wasn’t sure what officially happened there. “But it was worth it. I wasn’t going to do some story on you alone, and there was no way in hell I’d do one about you and—” She glanced around, saw nobody nearby, then leaned in and whispered, “You and Charlie.”

He met her halfway and kissed her. Her mind screamed to back up, that this was what got her into trouble in the first place. But her heart, the one that had led the way from the beginning, weakened in a moment’s time. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she lifted up on her toes to add pressure.

Killian’s arms banded around her waist and drew her into his body. Oh, she’d missed this feeling. His hardness pressed against her soft curves, with pressure in all the right places. Then it all came back, and she pushed at his shoulders. Reluctantly, he let her go.

She couldn’t just fall back into that trap again. He was no longer a job risk for her, but her heart was still on the line. “Killian, why are you here?”

He waited, took a deep breath, then reached for her door. She started to tell him to wait until she dug her keys out, but her door opened easily. Raising a brow, she asked, “I’m sorry, did you break and enter into my apartment earlier?”

“I would have but, as it turns out, it wasn’t necessary. The apartment manager let me in. Didn’t ask for an ID or anything. The security here is a joke.” He took her elbow and guided her inside. “We’ll be having a chat about that later. Just come in, first.”

“Honestly, I don’t have a lot of time to be—oh.” She halted two feet in, which caused Killian to crash into her. He grabbed her before she could fall face-first onto the ground. “Okay, I have company.”