“Take me back to bed, Killian.”
The very core of his being agreed with her husky murmur. His hands even started lifting her up into his arms. But that part of him, that little voice that reminded him her wellbeing needed to come before his needs, propelled him back to sanity.
“No.” Breathing hard, he jerked back just enough to breathe in something other than her sweet, musky scent. “You need to eat first.”
Brown eyes shimmered up at him with the sort of dark hunger that implied that she would be eating if he did what she asked. It was nearly impossible to ignore.
“Stop it!” Drawing back his hand, he swatted her smartly on the left ass cheek, making her yelp and blink with surprise. “Food first.”
The corner of her mouth twisted downward, but she didn’t protest when he led her the rest of the way to the kitchen.
Leaving her to find a spot at the island, Killian made his way to the fridge. Molly’s neatly labeled containers sat in several neat rows in the freezer. Any one of them would take mere minutes to heat up, but something stopped him. Maybe it was because he was tired of stew and broth. Maybe it was because he just didn’t want to stay home, but he turned to Juliette and found her gone. The kitchen was empty, save for him.
Bemused, he shut the freezer door and went in search of her and found the French doors open to the garden. Something tightened in his gut, a swell of dread that had no grounds. Aside from the gardener and himself, no one had ever been out there, not since his mom.
Moving carefully, he stepped out onto the stone patio and spotted Juliette almost immediately.
She stood at the railings overlooking a soft landscape of neatly trimmed grass surrounded by an array of flowers and shrubbery. A stone pathway cut along the side of the house and disappeared around back to where the garden really started, but she stayed on the patio.
“It goes on,” he told her, breaking the silence.
Juliette turned her head and met his gaze. “Show me?”
He should have said no. His home had too many ghosts and he didn’t care to share them with anyone. Instead, he found himself moving towards her. Found his hand slipping into hers. He guided her down the steps to the path.
The humid day had cooled to a soft, whispering breeze that wafted through the branches of a nearby oak tree. The leaves shivered, flashing almost silver in the fading light. Alongside him, Juliette’s bare feet made no sound at all as they turned the corner and came upon the main part of the garden.
“Oh my God!”
While most people had swimming pools and tennis courts in their backyard, his mother had built a paradise. Her own personal Eden, she’d called it. Growing up, Killian remembered being dragged across the globe in search of new ideas to bring home to their backyard. His mother had taken a bit of every place and somehow made it all possible right there in a breathtaking jungle of wonder. Flowers in all shapes, colors, and sizes ran rampant on either side of the path that wound deep into the heart of the maze. Trees and shrubbery loomed high and powerful in makeshift alcoves for sitting. A creek cut beneath a bridge that branched off into different sections. Each one held a new secret, secrets even Killian hadn’t discovered. It was three hundred and thirty acres of magic just waiting to be explored.
“This is … incredible!” Juliette breathed. Her hand slipped from his and she started forward. “It must have taken years to create.”
Thirteen, to be exact. His mom had started plans for the garden before the house was even built.
“A while,” he said, following her. “My mom loved the smell of soil. She liked the feel of it wet between her fingers. She’d spend hours out here, weeding and planting and growing things, even though she had an army of gardeners.”
Juliette shook her head. “No, something like this, you need to do it yourself to really feel pride in it. You can tell she loved what she was doing.”
“You should see the conservatory,” he said.
Juliette chuckled. “If I ever leave this place.” She exhaled. “I would have loved to be here as a little girl. It’s like a fairy garden.”
“That’s what my mom used to call it. She’d tell me that at night, when I was sleeping, all manner of creatures would crawl out of their hiding places and duel to see who was stronger. The elves, who were good and just, would battle the trolls, who wanted to destroy everything beautiful. During the summer, the elves would win and everything would bloom. Come fall, the trolls would dominate and everything would die. In the winter, both sides would hibernate, collecting their strength until spring when the elves would beat the trolls and unleash beauty on earth once more.”
Juliette laughed. “Your mom was clever, and very creative. I like that story.”
Killian gave a silent chuckle. “She was full of stories.”
“My mom used to read from books,” Juliette recalled. “Shakespeare mostly. She loved Shakespeare. She used to say that was why she married my dad, because the second she heard his last name, Romero, she knew he’d been meant for her. She’d climb into my bed and we had this fat book of Shakespearian plays and she’d say how Vi and I were both named after her favorite characters.” Her tone had taken on a wistful tone that made him want to draw her into his arms. “What were your parents like?”
It was strange, but no one had ever asked him that before. Most of the people he knew had known his parents. The rest … well, it wasn’t their business. So it took him a moment to think of something to say.
“Mom was beautiful,” he began. “Everyone loved her. It was hard not to. She had this aura around her that pulled people to her. She was kind and so giving. My dad used to tease that she would give her soul away if it meant saving another person. She loved to laugh. I remember her laughing and dancing a lot when I was growing up. But she had a temper.” He heard himself laugh. “Her Irish was strong, my dad would say. God help the poor soul that got in her way when she got her head fixed on something. My dad … he was a good man. He was fair and kind. He loved his family. I can’t remember a single time when he didn’t drop whatever he was doing to play with me. I never got told one minute or later. Nothing was more important than me and my mom.”
He broke off, horrified not just by how hot the skin around his face had grown, but by how easily she had coaxed something out of him that he hadn’t shared with anyone. The memories burned behind his eyes and lodged in his throat. He stared hard at the path beneath his feet and tried not to curse.
A small, cool hand slipped into his, silent, but screaming with so much emotion he almost jerked back. That simple gesture slammed into him with the weight of an iron fist; it had been so long since anyone had given him comfort, he had no fucking idea what he was supposed to say.
But she didn’t seem to want any words. Her fingers threaded through his and they walked on in absolute quiet.
Nearly an hour later, they returned to the estate. Killian shut the terrace doors and turned to the woman next to him. She was peering down at her feet, at the dirt clinging to pale skin. Her nail polish had chipped in several places, he noted when she wiggled her toes. Her head came up and her eyes met his.
“I should clean up before I get dirt all over you floor.”
It didn’t bother him, but he showed her to the washroom and left her there while he decided on supper. Molly’s care packages were out and it was too late to get a reservation anywhere decent. He decided on takeout, Chinese, preferably. He made the call quickly, ordering two of everything off the menu before walking down the hall to leave money with the guard stationed outside.
He was about to head back inside when he caught sight of John leaning against the side of the SUV parked out front. He had a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other and was idly flipping through it. Killian wondered if he should ask the other man how Juliette’s first day had gone, if anyone had given her any trouble, if she was able to fit in, and if she was happy. But he opted against it. Instead, he shut the door and ventured back to the kitchen just as Juliette left the washroom—her feet clean.