Sexy as Sin

“You shouldn’t even be driving,” I tell Reed without looking at him, my arms crossed as I sink back into the chair, Lydia standing as if she’s my warden by my side.

Reed mutters, “I’m not driving.”

“You drove here,” I bite back and peek up at him, but he’s still focused on Cill.

“I’ll walk home. I needed to drop him off. But we’ll both leave now.” Both leave. My heart stalls in protest and everything goes cold.

“No,” Cill states with finality.

Cill’s hardly spoken to me but I could easily hear the slight slur in his voice, and I can barely look him in the eye. I have no idea what Reed told him about me. I don’t know what all Cill knows. Which only intensifies the betrayal that overwhelms me.

Two drunk men, four years of hell for all of us, and a stubborn man who doesn’t know what’s good for him anymore … shit.

This is going to turn into a fight. It’s an invitation for the cops to get nosy. Cill doesn’t need that. I don’t need that.

“Let him go and head home,” I tell Reed. “You can come back for your truck in the morning.”

“You sure about this, because—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish as Cill interrupts. “I’ll go upstairs,” he says, then clears his throat and the cords in his neck tighten as he swallows, “and you walk home. She’s right.”

Cill shakes off Reed’s arm and balances himself on the banister. My God, the pull I feel to him as he closes his eyes and steadies his breath.

Reed tosses Cill’s duffle bag toward the foot of the stairs, nodding. Lydia offers him a ride, which he rejects and then he and I share a look. One that brings that ache back tenfold.

“Come on,” I say and open the door for Reed. I shoo him away, but I stand on the porch and make sure he doesn’t drive. I don’t think Reed is as drunk as Cill, but he definitely shouldn’t be behind the wheel.

When he’s gone, I shut the door and lock it, then push the deadbolt shut and set the code too. I can feel Cill standing behind me. His very presence is throwing heat into the room.

So for a long moment, I keep my back to him, doing everything I can to not tremble and keep my composure.

Lydia shuffling around in the kitchen is the only thing I can hear. I wish the creak of the stairs would tell me Cillian’s doing what he said he would, but he’s not. When I turn, he’s right where he was before but fully turned around, his light blue gaze focused right at me. Those big, wounded puppy dog eyes don’t match the brutality of this man in the least.

A cabinet opens and then closes to the left of us.

Lydia went to the kitchen to give us space, I bet, and I’m glad she did. I can’t have this moment with Cill in front of anyone else. Not her. Not Reed.

“I think I might be drunk, Hellcat,” he rumbles and his lips kick up into an asymmetrical smile I’ve missed. All of that apprehension vanishes and it’s something else that forces me forward, one step at a time.

Hearing that nickname in his voice, drunk and scratchy and tired, makes me go weak in the knees.

My response is gentle and somehow comes out even. “You should probably go to bed, then.” Standing a safe three feet away from him, I cross my arms over my chest to keep my hands where they are. His gaze drops, making note of it. A sad smile on his face is all I’m given.

I swallow thickly and head up the stairs to the second floor, past him, my arm brushing against his. And when we touch, my God, that small touch. My eyes close and I breathe in deep, quickening my pace when I hear the stairs creaking behind me with his weight.

A narrow hall leads to a bedroom in the back. Cill appears beside me with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He looks at the room. The bed. The window. It’s not much, but enough for a guest to be comfortable.

“You want me to go somewhere else?” he asks again.

“No,” I say and my answer is firm even if it is just a whisper between us. I don’t need any time to think about it. It surprises me how much I mean it. I don’t want him to go anywhere else.

“Stay here,” I tell him and back up when he takes a half step forward. “You’re drunk tonight,” I explain as his arm drops to his side. “Tomorrow.” I say the word like it’s a promise.

With a nod and a hint of that asymmetric smile, he repeats, “Tomorrow.”

“Good night, Cill.”

“Good night, Hellcat.”