Completion

My teeth ground together in something far worse than frustration. I couldn’t believe I let her talk me into coming to this party. My sister, I mean, really? My sister!

I watched as she physically entertained a professional football team: half-naked, drunk, behaving like she had not a single inhibition. Not that she did, especially when she was drinking. I couldn't care less if she wanted to behave this way, but I did not want to be around to see it. I looked away; my eyes needed disinfectant. No one should see their older sister having her nipples sucked. After a certain age, no one should see their sister’s nipples, period!  

The party was in full swing, football players at the end of downtime blowing off pre-season steam. The room had plenty of women, drunk and rowdy, enjoying the celebration. It was everything but an all-out gang bang. At least so far.  

I found the suite’s small kitchen to hide while I tried to think of a way out that included taking my sister with me. It wasn’t the best spot, because it opened on both sides; but at the moment, it was empty of partiers and sex-crazed athletes with their willing harems.

A noise behind me made me spin around.

“Heys, babes.” The low, drunken voice slurred, casting obnoxious alcohol breath from four feet away. He took a single step forward with his long legs, and his ham-hock hand unexpectedly landed on my shoulder.

I twisted back and rammed my hip into the counter, forcing a grimace of pain from my lips.

What the hell?

He lifted me beneath my arms and turned me so my back was to the same counter. His arms then pinned me in as he brought his mouth down to mine. I turned my head at the last moment, and his wet lips went to my neck.

I placed my hands between us and pushed, which did absolutely nothing.

Shit!

I tried to scramble from his hold, but he was immovable. His alcohol-laden breath was too much, and bile rose in my throat. I was going to vomit.

His hand went into my hair, and he mumbled something. I jerked away hard, causing what felt like half my hair to tear out.

“Don’t be thataway,” he slurred as he tried to find my lips again.

He kept hold of a chunk of my hair, which made escape nearly impossible. I jammed my elbow into his side and started to scream. As the shriek worked its way from my throat, more of my hair tore out by the roots, and he staggered a foot back.

I pushed harder, and he released my hair. I twisted and tried to escape the kitchen but didn’t realize his foot was in the way. I landed on my hands and knees, which was not a good thing in my current situation.

He stumbled as he tried to lift me to my feet, but I didn’t want his hands on me and scrambled back.

“Leave the lady alone, Stump.” The unidentified voice was gravellier than—my mind zeroed in on the name. Really? Stump?

Even at a time like this, my morbid sense of humor got the best of me, and I fought a full-out laugh. The football player causing all the trouble was a tree trunk. Stump did not fit in the slightest. My laugh was giddy with relief.

“What the fuck, Mac? I just wanted a kiss.”

As the half-slurred conversation ensued, I went to my knees, placed my hands behind me, and then crab-walked backward away from both men. My palm hit something slippery, and I landed on my ass. The short skirt I wore had ridden up my thighs, and my lacy underwear was on full display.

I’d worn the clothes at my sister’s insistence. Now I showed a totally undignified amount of flesh, and heat rose up my neck into my cheeks.

“She doesn’t seem to want your kiss,” the man ground out. “I’m about to bruise my throwing arm planting my fist in your face,” he continued. His voice didn’t rise, but the forceful, tightly controlled words revealed anger.

“The scunt owes me one kiss,” the asshole said.

Stump literally went airborne. He landed with a thud against the tile. An “Oomph” followed when the other man landed on top of him.

How many football players can you get in a compact kitchen?

I found out when multiple legs, not caring that they trampled me, piled in from two directions. Even with numerous sets of bulging arms, they struggled to hold my irate savior back once they had him on his feet.

“He’s drunk, Mac. Let it go,” one of them shouted.

“All’s good. She’s okay,” said another one.

At this point, a zillion sets of eyes turned to me. I looked up, blinked twice, swallowed, and saw the god of football, the man who had come to my rescue stood before me.

Killian MacGregor, The Mac, or Mac the Knife, as fans called him because of his throwing arm, was staring. At me, and my baby blue lacy panties. Maybe I could have saved some of my humiliation by trying to peel the skirt down, but no. I gaped at six and a half feet of boiling testosterone. Broad strokes made his face a work of art, heavy eyebrows, dark pools for eyes, high cheekbones, and his jaw, almost too perfectly square with full lips displaying a not-so-pleased scowl. My eyes traveled from his corded neck to his black t-shirt, which looked painted over each straining muscle. Those muscles were restrained by two teammates. Jeans encased his long legs all the way to his black leather boots. My eyes, with a will of their own, traveled back up to see him shake the guys off like ants. He elbowed his teammates aside and scooped me off the floor like I weighed nothing. Yes, I was thin, but at just under six feet, I wasn’t small. For the first time in my life, I felt like Tinker Bell.

My brain did a backflip.

Killian MacGregor saw me scrambling like a clown on a kitchen floor in my all but bare glory. Oh, god, please just strike me dead.

He let my feet stabilize but held onto me with a secure grip. His hold made me feel safe and I leaned into him while I tried getting my legs to support me. His head dipped and warm tequila breath feathered across my cheek. It had the exact opposite effect that his teammates breath had on me and I felt lightheaded.

“Are you okay?” He rearranged my skirt without taking his eyes from mine.

“Uhm.” No words came out. His hand, running across my hip and ass, made me suck in air.

It wasn’t just the tequila I smelled.

Musky, salty, man was sinking my IQ level to my shoe size. I couldn’t get a word out of my suddenly closed-off lungs and heat pooled low in my belly.

“Come on, let’s check you out.”

And did I mention, when not angry, his voice was smooth velvet?

He didn’t give me a chance to respond; his hand wrapped around mine, and I mean wrapped. There was nothing left of my fingers. He used his body to block me from the other guys and backed me up slightly before turning me around so I preceded him through a short hallway. His small touch to my shoulder guided me in the direction he wanted. He gave a gentle backward pull on my hand, so I stopped. Reaching in front of me, he opened the door, ushering me into a gargantuan bathroom.

The party suite was located in one of the most exclusive hotels in Phoenix, and if the incredible front room didn’t give it away, this one did. Large gold fixtures and marble countertops made every detail luxurious. My tiny apartment bedroom would fit in here.

The door gave a soft thud and then he turned and locked us in. He followed my nervous gaze as I glanced at the bolted door. Yes, he saved me, but I’d just had a bad experience and it might not be a good idea to be locked in a room with another drunk jock.

Reading my mind, his low voice assured me, “The lock is to keep them out. You can leave anytime you want. Now, up you go.”

He lifted me so my ass landed on the cold marble. Involuntarily, my hands went onto his shoulders. I blinked in the stark light of the room, suddenly realizing my hair must be a scary mess. Like Medusa hair with the most gorgeous man on the planet.

I turned toward the mirror and managed to fight back a hysterical scream.

Medusa had an ugly sister.

Before I could bring my hands up, his were there, smoothing down the messy tangles. Oh. My. God. I, the connoisseur of male arms, drizzled into a puddle of lust as his sculpted biceps took over my peripheral vision, causing me to wobble backward toward the mirror. At that moment, I had absolutely no control. Did I pant?

Oh God, what if I was turning into my sister?

His powerful arms steadied me. “Did you hit your head?” Concern deepened his voice and his long fingers moved to my scalp, running over the contours, checking for bumps.

I’d yet to utter more than a semi-coherent grunt. My shaking fingers reached for his forearms.

Pure, hot, steel.

I sucked in air, trying to speak. “I’m fi fine.” Shit, if I could only articulate a single sentence.

I stopped breathing when his gaze returned to mine.

He released my head, lowering his hands to rest on the counter beside my hips, his nose an inch away. “Sorry about Stump.” His breath whispered across my lips. “He’s usually pretty tame, at least when not drinking. I’m Killian.” His eyes quickly dipped below my neck but came immediately back up. “And you are?”

I wondered how badly my shirt gaped open. Not much to see, but his irises had expanded at the quick glance or maybe it was him adjusting to the light. I tried to speak, realized my mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut.

Damn, I bit my tongue.

“Owww.” My head involuntarily went forward and my forehead cracked against his nose.

“Whoa, it’s all right. I’m sorry.” He moved back, his hands coming up in a defensive motion.

He thought I was angry about him checking out my practically non-existent chest. My life couldn’t get worse. Medusa hair, mono-syllable communication, bloody tongue, and I’d banged the Scorpions’ star football player in the nose. It was time for me to melt onto the floor. Someone needed to throw water and get the process started.

“I, I bwit my tongue.” I said as a way to apologize He rubbed his nose and checked for blood. There was none, which was maybe the only thing I could be thankful for. The corners of his lips tilted upward.

“Let’s try this again.” He extended his hand. “I’m Killian.”

My fingers rose. “I’m Webecca Re…becca.” Damn, no water splashed me. Where was Dorothy when I needed her?

He grasped my hand. The small tilt to his lips went into a full-blown grin and fuck, I kid you not, dimples.

Jacob Elordi who?

The man I was currently fixated on was the sexiest man alive.

“Nice to meet you, Webecca.” His dimples hollowed farther.

I circled my tongue inside my mouth trying to get feeling back. His eyes followed the movement. I licked my lips like the complete needy woman I was turning into and god, he looked like he wanted to devour me. His gaze shifted to my neck, my chest, belly, and then slowly down my legs. With leisurely concentration, his gaze traveled back up. He hadn’t released my hand and he moved in close, using his hips to spread my knees.

Anxiety took over. “I ne need to go.” I’d made a big enough fool of myself already. I couldn’t handle Killian MacGregor and I knew it.

My fingers slipped from his grasp while every rough callus on his hand caused shivers to trail up my arms.

He sighed roughly, giving me a slight look of disappointment, but backed away. “I’ll walk you out. Did you come with someone?”

“My, umm, my sister.” Two semesters from graduating with a bachelor’s in medical laboratory science and I came across as a complete dunce.

“Then let’s go find your sister.” His fingers tightened on my hips, and I found myself standing again. The heat in my lower belly ignited again.

His dimples had disappeared, and for the first time, I managed a stable sentence, “Thank you for what you did.”

His eyes turned guarded. “Stump could get in a lot of fucking trouble from the coach. Or you could even press charges. There is no excuse for what he did.”

I stood there in shock. Stump, obviously his teammate, had tried to kiss me at a party where a lot more than kissing was going on. My sister would have had sex with him there in the kitchen. I was a woman who believed no meant no, but the last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to myself and why I was at the party.

I shook my head slightly. “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry to have taken your time.” I couldn’t look at him anymore. I turned and tried to grab for the door handle. He leaned around me and unsnapped the lock, then opened the door.

His lips practically touched my ear. “The pleasure was mine.”

I escaped from the enclosed space with Killian, in search of my traitorous sister. She probably had no idea I was in trouble and she would simply laugh at what had happened. Killing her after I got her home was an option.

Killian didn’t touch me, just stayed close enough that I felt the heat from his towering body. Curious eyes followed our movement. Men, some football players, some obviously not, and women who dressed in scanty clothing gave the party the exact vibe it was going for. I should have turned around and left as soon as I saw what was happening. No wonder Stump thought he had a kiss coming. I searched for Candi. Yep, a name fit for this exact circumstance; given at birth by our parents. She’d tried to live up to the name since she was fifteen. Mine, Rebecca; good, plain, old-fashioned, Rebecca. The responsible one. The one with extremely uncomfortable lacy underwear that Killian MacGregor and half his team had seen.

My eyes scanned the room and I tried to avoid naked breasts even though they might be my sisters. She wasn’t in the front room, kitchen, or dining area. No Candi.

The bedrooms.

Damn. I couldn’t look there. No way.

“She’s not here,” I said, trying not to panic.

I turned and glanced up at Killian. His eyes betrayed the fact that he knew exactly where my sister was.

“Did you drive?” he asked.

“I’m the DD. It’s my sister’s car and she drove here and kept the keys.” I should have taken them as soon as we arrived, but no, it was one more stupid thing to add to tonight’s long list.

“I’ll take you home,” he said casually, though I wasn’t sure his eyes appeared happy.

“No. I mean thank you, but I’ll call a cab.”

He ran his hand through his hair, not brown, not blonde, but soft, mouthwatering sable. “I haven’t had a drink in over an hour and then it was only one shot. After what happened, I’m seeing you home.”

It was a statement. Final, absolute, no arguing back.

I exhaled slowly and gave in. “Thank you.”

Killian took my hand. Cripes, this man liked to touch. He escorted me out of the suite and then the hotel. A valet brought his car around. Not what I expected. No flashy sports car, but a BMW. He opened the door for me and I sank into the blissful leather.

“Buckle up.” His hand was already pulling the strap across my chest and sliding it effortlessly into the clasp next to my hip.

I gulped and prayed the sound was silent. Killian MacGregor was taking me home to my semi-rundown apartment building, a mile from the state college. I took another long breath trying to slow my heart rate. It didn’t help. The car smelled just like him. Someone could bottle this and make a fortune.

“Where to?” he asked with one confident hand on the steering wheel.

“The university.” At least it didn’t come out breathless.

He was a shadow in the dark interior, but I felt his eyes on me. His head dipped slightly and I had the craziest feeling he was staring at my legs.

A moment later he asked, “Dancer?”

“Runner.”

He didn’t comment, just pulled around the long circular drive and headed out to the main road. The campus was twenty minutes away without traffic, and for once I wished there was a mile-long pileup. I wanted to breathe in his scent for the rest of the night. Maybe the rest of my life because a girl deserved to dream. Sable-haired babies; tall, coordinated athletes. We’d make the perfect children if they looked like their father. A laugh escaped my lips. Crazy. I was absolutely certifiable.

“Do you want to share the joke?” he asked.

In the close confines of the car, his thick, molasses voice made me fidget. My good-girl sense of honor got the best of me and I spilled part of the beans. “This is unreal. I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but really. You, Killian MacGregor, driving me home.”

He gave a low, sexy chuckle. “My mother would be proud.”

“Oh gosh, you even have a mother.”

This time he laughed long and hard. Every nerve ending I possessed sizzled and my breathing grew shallow again.

“Yes, and I was even created the old-fashioned way,” he replied when his laughter died.

He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.

His next words drew me out of the fantasy.

“How old are you?”

I turned and looked at his profile. The line of his jaw and curve of his nose where still perfect even in shadow.

“Twenty-one and old enough to know better than to let my sister drag me to a party like the one we just left. Sorry, no disrespect, but that’s not my scene.”

I had completely blown it now. Given away the fact that “easy college girl” wasn’t my thing even if, for the first time in my life, I wanted to qualify for the slut Olympics. I couldn’t help thinking about what he saw. My favorite skirt, a tad too short, but it accented my legs, which were by far my best feature. Unfortunately, when it came to my chest, there was nothing much to show. I’d worn a peach-colored, button-up blouse with just a touch of lace on the shoulders for sleeves; more clothes than any two girls at the party wore, including my sister. I refused to think about the panties. My nothing-special brown hair had been curled but was now in complete disarray. I was tall and gangly looking, though he had no idea I was usually quite coordinated and lithe. Well, maybe he did. He asked if I was a dancer.

He glanced at me and the headlights from an oncoming car showed that sexy tilt to his lips.

“Do you run for the college team?” He turned his head back to the road.

“Yes. Scholarship.” I wasn’t ashamed.

“So, you’re good?”

Well, maybe I was ashamed. “Middle of the pack.”

He didn’t say anything after that. I gave directions when we got closer. He pulled in front of the dilapidated college dorm apartments and my hand went to the door handle.

“Do not touch that.” There it was again, his “do what I say” voice.

Funny, because I didn’t even consider going against the order.

“I’m sorry as fuck about tonight,” he said, surprising me.

He turned his head my way but remained completely in shadow. I could still picture every gorgeous line on his face.

My heart thumped so loud he should be able to hear it. “I’m okay. No harm, no foul,” I told him.

His deep, throaty chuckle was back. “You a baseball fan?”

“Not really.” I ran track, but wasn’t much for any sport, and didn’t they have fouls in football?

“Football?”

“No.”

“But you came to a football party?”

I would dream of his voice tonight. “My mistake but thank you for your help.”

“You made the party,” he hesitated, “interesting. I watched you all night. I don’t suppose you’ll come to another one?”

He’d watched me!

“You suppose right,” I said. I would give anything to stop the chit-chat and slide into the back seat with him. Why was I pushing him away?

“You attached?”

“Attached?” Did I really need to repeat everything he said?

“Significant other?” I heard the laughter in his voice again and knew his dimples flashed. “Boyfriend?”

“Uh, no.”

“I’ll walk you inside.” He stepped out before I could protest.

My door opened and his hand took hold of my forearm and then slid down to my hand. I couldn’t remember the last time I held hands with a guy. Grade school maybe. I entered the security code at the lobby entrance and turned to say goodnight.

“To your door.” Again, no room for argument, and I scurried along like a trained puppy straight to my apartment door.

I should stand up to him and tell him he was pushy, but that wasn’t me. My wimpy persona was exactly why I let my sister force me into going to the party.

“Key.” The hand not holding mine came out.

I dutifully placed the key in his palm and watched his large, deft fingers unlock my door.

He looked up.

I failed to breathe.

His incredibly full, sensuous lips leaned in and he kissed my forehead. I mean really. My forehead and placed the keys in my hand.

“Goodnight, Webecca.”

I couldn’t get any words out and turned and walked inside.

“And, Legs,” he said.

I peered over my shoulder.

“If you do come to another party, say hello.”

I nodded then shut and locked the door behind me.

Holy fucking shit. The dream father of my future children just walked away and I knew I’d never see him again. But I would fantasize and dream about him for at least ten years.

Killian MacGregor’s warm lips had touched my forehead and I was a goner.