Page 66 of Bad Influence
“I will do green. Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes.”
I rush off before he can say anything else. I know he’s only playing tour guide to keep some distance between us and I’m fine with that. Mostly. I’d rather make out, but the man has his principles.
It’s definitely a good thing he’s not rushing me, right? His patience is a good thing for me because who doesn’t like a patient man? Still, making out sounds so much fun.
I find lots of green things to take photos of, graffiti, and awnings, faded words written on the side of a brick building. There’s a vibrancy of color in this concrete jungle, sometimes obvious, sometimes hidden away if you’re only willing to look.
“Let me know if you need to return to the Tower of Exhaustion,” I say to Killian, when we meet back up.
“The tower will survive without me,” he replies dryly. “These are for you.”
It’s only then I notice the bouquet he’s holding in his hands. I blink at the pretty pink and yellow flowers in confusion.
“For…me?”
Killian looks down at me, his face blank, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “Yeah, butterfly. For you.”
I accept them with some hesitation, holding them close to my chest.
“No one has ever gotten me flowers before,” I say softly.
“That’s because you’ve been surrounded by idiots your whole life,” Killian says. He drapes his arm over shoulder and starts walking. I have no choice other than to follow.
“You were also a part of my life for a long time,” I remind him.
“I’m possibly the biggest idiot of all.”
“I can’t deny that.”
Killian lightly pinches my side and I giggle.
“What do you think of these?” Killian gently rests his chin on my bare shoulder as he whispers in my ear.
His body is pressed against mine, and for a man who insists we should take things slow, he sure does touch me a lot. Not that I’m complaining. All I want is for him to lose all that well-oiled control and take me against a wall. A bed. A couch. I’m not picky.
I use the brochure I’m holding to fan myself. It’s humid in the greenhouse and my salacious thoughts aren’t keeping me cool. We’re visiting the Bronx Botanical Garden today which is just coming to full bloom as we creep towards the end of May. The greenhouse is empty except for the two of us, though there was a big group in here earlier.
“It’s a plant, Killian,” I whisper. “What am I supposed to think of it?”
“You always have an opinion on everything,” Killian says.
“Are you calling me opinionated? Should I be offended?”
“I like to hear your opinions.”
His hand comes to rest on my back partially on my bare skin since I’m wearing a halter sundress which dips low in the back. The heat of his palm seeps into my body. I need a cold bath. Ice cold.
“Are you okay?” Killian asks, peering down at me. “You’re all red.”
“It’s hot in here,” I say.
Killian rests his hand on my forehead to check my temperature. He lowers it to my cheek, down to my neck. My lips part on an exhale. He’s standing so close his woodsy scent mixes with the scent of the soil. I feel like I can’t breathe properly.
“Killian,” I whisper, as his fingers trace my collar bone.
“You might be having an allergic reaction to something,” Killian whispers, his eyes focused on his hand as he trails it across my bare skin.
“I’m having an allergic reaction to you being an absolute tease,” I reply. My whisper seems somehow too loud.
