“Stay still.”
He eased the needle into my right buttock, slowly releasing the liquid into my bloodstream. The steroids hit my system immediately, and I sucked in a lungful of oxygen, my mouth opening against his thigh. I moaned in relief, my back arching. I felt a bulge nestling against my body. It was thick and long, splaying across most of my belly. That thing belonged in a rifle case, not a vagina.
And the plot thickens.
It wasn’t the only thing that did just that.
We stayed like this for ten seconds, with me regaining my breath, gulping precious air, and him picking the flowers from my hair with surprising tenderness. He disposed of the flowers inside a napkin, then folded it a few times. He put one hand on my butt cheek and pulled the syringe out slowly, causing ripples of desire to run along my body.
My head dropped to the bed.
I was shamefully close to an orgasm.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, pushing my palms up on the bed to rise. He plastered a hand over my back, lowering me down to lie across his lap.
“Don’t move. Your bath should be ready any minute.”
He had the eerie, irritating ability to treat me like dirt while saving me at the same time. Stuck in a state of drunkenness, gratefulness, and mortification, I followed his instructions.
“So. Persephone.” He tasted my name on his tongue, rolling my panties down my legs with his strong, long fingers. “Did your parents know you were going to be insufferable and punished you in advance with a stripper’s name, or were they on a Greek mythology kick?”
“My Auntie Tilda named me. She battled breast cancer, on and off. The week I was born, she got the all clear after her first round of chemo. My mother let her name me as a present.”
In hindsight, they were too quick to celebrate. The cancer came back in full force a few years later, claiming my aunt’s life. At least I had a few good years with her.
“They couldn’t say no.” Cillian tossed my panties on the floor.
“I love my name.”
“It’s tacky.”
“It means something.”
“Nothing means anything.”
I whipped my head to flash him an angry look, my cheeks hot with anger. “Whatever you say, Dr. Seuss.”
Cillian took off my heels, leaving me completely naked. He discarded me on the bed to stand up and turn off the faucet, then he took a seat on the edge of the bathtub.
“Lady-in-bath.” He swirled his finger in the water, checking the temperature.
I cocked my head from my position on the bed.
“That’s another name for the bleeding heart,” he explained aloofly. “Get in.”
He turned his back to me, allowing me some privacy. I stepped into the bath, sucking in a breath. The water was ice-cold.
Cillian texted on his phone while the arctic water soothed my skin. I was already feeling much better after the shot. Despite throwing up most of what I’d eaten and drank that morning, I was still lush. Silence stretched between us, punctuated by staff and event coordinators barking instructions beyond the suite’s walls. I knew that despite the awkward situation, I only had one chance to tell him how I felt. The odds were against me. Other than his erection at having me buck naked on his lap, he seemed turned off by my very existence.
But it was now or never, and never was too long a time to live without the man I loved.
“I want you.” I propped my head against the cool surface of the bath. The words soaked the walls and ceiling, and the truth filled the air, charging it with electricity. Using the L-word was too intimate. Too scary. I knew what I felt for him was love—despite his rude behavior—but I also knew he would never believe me.
His hands busied over his phone. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
“I’ve always wanted you,” I said, louder.
No response.
A glutton for punishment, I continued, my pride and confidence collapsing brick by brick.
“Sometimes I want you so much it hurts to breathe. Sometimes the pain from breathing is a nice distraction from wanting you.”
A knock on the door made him dart up. Aisling was on the threshold, holding a replica of the bridesmaids dress we all wore.
“You said you needed my extra gown? Why on earth…” She trailed off, taking me in behind her brother’s shoulder. Her eyes flared.
“Holy Mother Mary. Did you two…?”
“Not in a million years,” Cillian snapped, plucking the dress from his sister’s hand. “Stall the limo. She’ll be down in five minutes.”
With that, he slammed the door in her face, then locked it for good measure.
Not in a million years.
White-hot panic mixed with good ole embarrassment coursed through my veins.
Reality sank in.
I’d poisoned myself.
Rambled to Cillian drunkenly.
Let him undress me, make me puke, give me a shot, hurl me into the bathtub.
Then confessed my undying love for him with vomit pieces still decorating my mouth.
Kill threw a bathrobe into my hands, all business.
“Dry up.”
I sprang up on my feet, doing as I was told.
He rounded on me with Aisling’s spare dress, helping me into it.
“I don’t want your help,” I bit out, feeling my cheeks flush.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I don’t care what you want.”
Pursing my lips, I watched his dark figure in the mirror as he fastened my corset, working quicker and more efficiently than any seamstress I’d ever seen in action. It was jarring. His fingers moved like magic around the ribbon, looping it into the hoops expertly to tie me like a bowed present.
It dawned on me he knew I was poisoned from the moment he stepped into the room and saw the flowers in my hair, but hadn’t offered to help me until I asked him to call an ambulance.
I could have died.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he only saved me because he didn’t want me to die on his watch—he honestly didn’t care.
Cillian tugged at the satin strings of my dress, tightening it around me.
“You’re hurting me,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at the mirror in front of us.
“That’s what you get for having a bleeding heart.”
“The flower, or organ?”
“Both. One is a fast poison. The other slow, but just as destructive.”
My eyes clung to him in our reflection. Graceful and self-assured. He stood tall and proud, never used profanity, and was the most meticulous person I knew.
It was what I admired about him the most. The thin film of properness engulfing the chaos teeming inside him. I knew that underneath the flawless exterior laid something untamed and dangerous.
It felt like our secret. The perfect Cillian Fitzpatrick was, in fact, not so perfect. And all I wanted was to find out how.
“You weren’t going to help me. You were going to leave me to die.” My tone was frighteningly mild. I became more sober with each passing second. “Why did you?”
“A poisoned bridesmaid makes bad press.”
“And they say chivalry is dead,” I said sarcastically.
“Chivalry might be dead, but you’re not, so shut up and be grateful.” He gave the satin cords another yank. I winced.
He did have a point. Cillian not only saved me this morning but he also didn’t try any funny business and was probably running just as late as I was now because my dumb ass had decided to pick poisonous flowers.