Ever Heard Of Knocking?

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~~KILLIAN~~

***

I must say, I did not expect Caleb’s best friend to be this charming.

I step through the doorway of Primal Pleasures, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind me, sealing us inside a cavern bathed in neon red and violet lights. The scent of polished leather, expensive silicone, and vanilla massage oil hangs heavy in the air. I lean my shoulder against a display case of vibrating dildos and simply watch her.

Caleb always painted her as some awkward nerd. He made her sound like a quiet, bookish sidekick who lived in oversized sweaters and hid from the world.

But this?

This sharp-tongued, darkly dressed woman standing in the middle of the sex shop is not what I signed up for. And yet, I can’t look away.

Her leather pants are sinfully tight, gripping her thighs and hips in a way that makes my mouth water. Her dark boots are heavy against the polished black floor, giving her a grounded, aggressive stance. Her dark blouse clings to her body like a second skin. The blunt cut of her bangs and the sharp frames of her glasses give her an authoritative edge. She reminds me of the strict, unyielding dominatrixes I employ at my club. All she is missing is a thick leather riding crop and a stern command on those full lips.

I cross my arms over my chest and watch as she stalks up to a glass counter. A timid-looking sales rep with bright pink hair stands behind the register.

Vesper reaches out and lifts a violet wand from the display. It is a high-end glass electrode device, specifically used to deliver electrical sensations and sharp shocks to sensitive skin during BDSM play. She examines the glass tip with clinical precision.

"How dangerous is this?" she asks the sales rep.

The pink-haired girl blinks, looking taken aback. "In what sense?"

"Like, would the highest voltage be enough to cause electrocution?" Vesper taps the glass tip against her palm. "Just enough to zap someone’s soul out of their body. Nothing messy. Just quick and effective."

I press my fist against my mouth, fighting a laugh that threatens to tear out of my throat. She is dead serious.

"These devices are built to be safe," the sales rep says. Her voice trembles slightly. "They’re designed for sensory play on the skin, not actual harm. They plug into the wall, but the current is heavily regulated."

Vesper sighs in deep disappointment. She sets the wand back on the velvet display tray.

"That’s a bummer," she says.

She turns her attention back to the sales rep. She delivers the most deadpan, terrifying expression I have ever seen on a woman.

"Are you sure there is nothing more deadly around here? Maybe something kept in the back?"

The sales rep's eyes go wide. She looks frantic, scanning the aisles as if searching for a panic button. "Technically, if you think about it, everything is potentially life-threatening. I mean, people have died from sneezing too hard. But we do not sell weapons here, ma'am."

"So the answer is no?"

I can’t do this anymore. The poor girl behind the counter looks like she is about to call security or pass out on the floor. I push off the display case and step forward, sliding smoothly into their space.

I place my hand flat against the small of Vesper's back.

I feel her spine go rigid beneath her shirt. The heat of her body radiates through the thin fabric, sending a sharp jolt of awareness straight to my groin.

"Pardon my wife," I say. I offer the terrified clerk a charming, apologetic smile. "She gets intense sometimes. We’ll take it from here."

The sales rep nods rapidly, abandoning the counter and all but running toward the back stockroom.

Vesper turns her head and stares at me. Her dark eyes narrow behind her glasses. It probably has something to do with the heavy, possessive weight of my hand still resting on her lower back, or the fact that I just referred to her as my wife.

I lean in close, lowering my head until my mouth is mere inches from her ear. I catch her scent—something clean, sharp, and laced with cedar.

"If you really want Scarlett dead, you could just hire an assassin," I say.

She does not pull away from my heat. She holds her ground. "That would be too obvious. They will track it right back to me."

I smile, letting my gaze drop to her lips for a fraction of a second. "Right. But if you do it right, they won't."

"Do you have a contact?"

I shake my head. "I don't."

"So you are like a fake gangster?"

"Who says I’m a gangster?"

She drags her gaze down my throat, letting her eyes linger on the dark, winding tattoos peeking out from the unbuttoned collar of my shirt. "You are not?"

I chuckle, the sound low and rumbling in my chest.

This is going to be fun. She is fearless, blunt, and entirely too intriguing.

"Tell you what," I say. "I’ll let you know as soon as I find an assassin."

"That would be very much appreciated."

I finally drop my hand from her back. The loss of contact leaves a cold spot on my palm. I step away from the counter and start browsing the nearby shelves, playing the role of a casual shopper. I grab a pair of heavy, fur-lined handcuffs, a thick leather paddle, and a black silk blindfold. I hold them in one hand, feeling the familiar weight of the tools.

I hear the heavy thud of Vesper's boots following behind me.

"You seem well-versed in all this," she says. She watches me toss the items onto the front counter. "It’s as if you know exactly what you are buying."

"It’s my line of work."

She pauses. "You sell sex toys?"

I turn around and face her, leaning my hips against the edge of the counter. I brace myself for her reaction. Most people either get uncomfortably excited and start asking inappropriate questions, or they get visibly repulsed and look at me like I am diseased. Both reactions are tedious and predictable.

"More like I produce them. And I own a sex club," I say.

She just stares at me. Her face remains a blank, unreadable mask. She does not blush. She does not flinch.

"You must be loaded," she says.

I blink. I did not expect that practical, straightforward jump in logic at all. "Well..."

"Well, what, Killian?"

"I wouldn't know."

She frowns, crossing her arms beneath her chest. It pushes her breasts up against the fabric of her blouse, and it takes genuine effort for me to keep my eyes locked on her face.

"The fact that you are not sure if you are loaded means you actually are," she says. "Poor people do not have doubts that they are poor."

"Is that right?"

"Yep. You are definitely loaded."

I smile, a genuine, relaxed curve of my lips. "Okay, Vesper. Whatever you say."

I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed talking to someone this much. She is different. Most people get weird when I mention my line of work, my own family included. My parents despise my business. Caleb avoids talking about it. But she seems perfectly normal about it. She views it as just another job, albeit a highly lucrative one.

Her analytical mind is a turn-on. Which is probably why I can’t stop myself from pushing her boundaries. I want to see how far I can dig before she cracks.

"So, you and Caleb. Are you two a thing?" I ask.

Her face goes stiff. The relaxed, conversational air between us vanishes in an instant.

"No."

"Do you sleep together?" I press.

"Hell no."

"Right."

She looks ready to murder me. Her jaw tightens, and a muscle feathers in her cheek. We stand in silence as a different employee emerges from the back to ring up my purchases. I pay in cash, asking the clerk to gift-wrap the items.

We wait near the front window as the clerk wraps the box. Vesper taps her boot against the floor, her arms still firmly crossed.

"How are you comfortable with your friend marrying your brother’s ex?" she asks.

Hmm. She went right in for the kill. I respect the retaliation.

"Scarlett is a gold digger. Barrett has the money," I say.

"Ah. Classic."

"Barrett is my friend. I might not like his choices, but as a friend, I respect them."

"Are you really a friend if you cannot fight some sense into him?"

"That would only make me the enemy. You will not win a fight against love, Vesper."

She glares at me, her dark eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. "I can definitely try."

I smile, unable to help myself. Her naivety is both endearing and tragic. She actually thinks she can control other people's messy emotions. She thinks her sheer willpower can fix Caleb's broken heart and stop a wedding.

"How long have you been trying with Caleb?" I ask. "Where has that gotten you?"

Her entire body stiffens. I hit a nerve. A deep, raw nerve.

I know I should stop. I should not push her any further. We just met, and this is none of my business. But there is a dark, predatory instinct waking up inside me. There is something about seeing a woman so fiercely loyal and painfully innocent that makes me want to crack her open. I want to break her apart just to see what she looks like on the inside.

"The universe is going to align people who are meant to be together," I say. I keep my eyes locked on hers, refusing to let her look away. "Whether they are good or bad. Whether it makes sense or not. The best you can do is let people live their lives, Vesper."

Her eyes are blazing now. The anger in her is palpable, hot and bright.

"You are not a very good friend, Killian," she says.

"Because I tell myself the truth?"

"No. Because you are selfish."

I smirk. A cold, sharp rush of adrenaline floods my veins. She wants to play rough.

"Oh? And where has selflessness gotten you?" I step closer, invading her personal space. I look down at her, letting my voice drop into a cruel, mocking octave. "Have you had a proper date in months? Are you seeing someone right now? Or does your entire life revolve around Caleb Ashford and his pathetic obsession with a woman who does not give a shit about him?"

Her eyes darken with something violent.

For a breathless second, I think she is going to slap me. I watch her hands clench into fists at her sides. God, I almost wish she would. I want to feel the sting of her palm against my jaw. I want an excuse to grab those wrists and pin them behind her back.

But instead, she rises onto the toes of her boots, bringing her face inches from mine. Her eyes burn holes straight through my soul.

"Fuck you," she spits.

She turns on her heel, shoves the heavy glass door open, and storms out into the humid night air.

I lean back against the checkout counter, accepting the wrapped box from the clerk without looking at it. I watch Vesper walk away through the glass window.

Her hips sway in those tight leather pants, a sharp, angry rhythm that draws my eyes right to her ass. The short, blunt cut of her hair bounces over her shoulders as she marches toward my car, disappearing into the shadows of the parking lot.

Perfection.

I am going to have a very hard time keeping myself from provoking Vesper throughout this entire wedding weekend. I am also going to have a hard time keeping my eyes, and my hands, off her body.

She is trouble. She is exactly the kind of trouble I want to drag into my bed and ruin.

~~~

Vesper stares out the passenger window throughout our trip home.

Her arms are crossed over her chest. Her jaw is tight. She remains dead silent.

It is honestly impressive how committed she is to ignoring my existence. The drive from the sex shop into the wealthy, sprawling suburbs takes over forty minutes. She does not offer a single glance in my direction. Not even when I deliberately drop a gear and rev the powerful engine of the sports car just to see if she will flinch. She remains an immovable statue of rage.

I grip the leather steering wheel, tapping my thumb against the curve. I will admit, I miss the talkative Vesper. The silence in the cabin is thick, heavy with sexual tension and unresolved anger.

When I turn off the main road and pull up to the towering iron gates of my parents’ estate, her head finally jerks up.

I punch the security code into the keypad. The massive gates swing open, revealing a quarter-mile driveway lined with ancient oak trees and manicured hedges. At the end of the drive sits the Ashford mansion, a sprawling, multi-story stone estate lit up by landscape lights. It looks like a fortress of old money.

I can see Vesper looking at the mansion in shock. Her lips part slightly, and a dozen questions are written across her face. Caleb clearly kept his family's obscene wealth a secret from her. But whatever she wants to say, she swallows it back. Her stubborn pride wins out.

I park the car in the circular driveway. She unbuckles her seatbelt, gets out, and marches to the trunk to pull out her own duffel bag.

I walk around the back of the car. "Let me help you with that."

"No. I have hands. Thank you very much," she snaps, hoisting the heavy bag over her shoulder.

I raise my hands in surrender. I let her have that one, walking in stride beside her as she marches toward the grand entrance.

I unlock the massive double doors and push them open for her. When she walks inside, she stops dead in her tracks. Her eyes sweep over the grand foyer. The space features imported marble floors, a sweeping dual staircase, and a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling.

"Is there something I should know about your parents?" she says, finally breaking her vow of silence.

"Like what?" I ask, though I know exactly what she means. I have seen this exact reaction from every person who steps foot in this house for the first time.

"Like, are they from old money or something?"

"You can ask your best friend. He is upstairs."

She rolls her eyes in frustration. She turns her attention to the massive, sweeping staircase stretching up to the second floor. I watch the gears turn in her head. She is wondering how she is going to drag that heavy duffel bag all the way up those marble steps without looking ridiculous.

"Just put the bag down, Vesper," I say, highly amused by her stubbornness. "Someone will take it up to a guest room for you."

She does not argue this time. She drops the bag onto the marble floor with a heavy thud.

"Where are your parents?" she asks, glancing around the empty, cavernous hall.

"Out of the country. They should be back tomorrow or the next day."

"Great," she mutters. "So we have this giant house to ourselves?"

"Once you exclude the estate employees, I guess we do."

"Awesome." She gives me a withering look. "Please lead me to Caleb’s room."

I press a hand to my chest in a mocking bow. "Of course, ma’am."

I turn and lead her up the right side of the grand staircase. Our footsteps echo in the quiet house. We reach the second-floor landing and walk down the long, carpeted hallway. Portraits and expensive artwork line the walls.

We stop in front of Caleb’s bedroom door. I do not even bother knocking. I reach out, turn the brass handle, and push the heavy wooden door wide open.

"Little brother," I announce loudly, stepping into the room. "Your bestie is here."

And then we see it.

The scene in the center of the bedroom brings us both to a dead halt.

Caleb and Scarlett are tangled together. They pull away from each other in a messy, frantic hurry, their breathing heavy and their faces flushed.

They had been kissing. Deeply.

Two days before her wedding to Barrett, Scarlett is in my brother's bedroom, wrapped in his arms.

Caleb freezes completely, while Scarlett merely smooths her hair, asking if I've ever heard of knocking. Beside me, Vesper’s face turns to absolute stone.

"How stupid are you, Caleb?" she asks.