Chapter 2

Killian's POV**

I shouldn't have texted her.

But I couldn’t get the scene of my mind. I wanted the embarrassment of knowing someone just saw you touching yourself burn itself into her mind until she couldn’t think about anything else.

I leaned against my kitchen counter, phone in one hand, cold coffee in the other. The apartment felt too quiet now that Mandy had left. She'd been pissed when I told her to go, muttering something about me being distracted lately.

She wasn't wrong.

My phone buzzed.

**Daisy: Who is this?**

I smirked. She'd taken longer to respond than I expected. Most women would've texted back immediately—either furious or flirting. But the woman across the street wasn't like most women.

I'd noticed that the day she moved in was three months ago.

**Me: Your neighbor. The one you were thinking about five minutes ago. And five hours ago. And probably right now.**

I hit send and waited.

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

She was typing. Deleting. Typing again.

Good. I wanted her frustrated.

My phone rang instead of buzzing with a text. I answered on the second ring. "Didn't expect a call."

Silence. Then her voice came through, sharp and breathless. "How did you get my number?"

God, even angry she sounded sexy. That slight rasp in her tone, like she'd just woken up. Or been screaming.

"You're not as anonymous as you think you are, Daisy."

"Don't call me that."

"What should I call you? Miss Macklin? The woman who likes to touch herself while listening to strangers fuck?"

"You're an asshole."

"And you're a voyeur. Guess we both have our flaws."

She hung up.

I laughed, setting my phone down on the counter. I'd moved into this building on a whim six months ago—nice view, good security, close to work. The fact that my neighbor turned out to be a gorgeous brunette who wrote dirty books for a living?

That was just lucky.

The fact that she apparently got off on listening to me? Even luckier.

I walked to the window and looked across the street. Her blinds were still closed. Probably would stay that way for a while. But I'd seen enough this morning to keep me entertained for days.

The way her head had fallen back. The arch of her spine. The tremble in her thighs as she'd spread them wider, completely lost in her own pleasure.

And those eyes when she'd finally looked up and seen me watching.

Terrified. Aroused. Ashamed.

Beautiful.

My phone buzzed again.

**Mandy: Why did you make me leave? I could've stayed.**

I typed back quickly.

**Me: Had things to do.**

**Mandy: Things? Or that bitch across the street?**

I didn't respond. Mandy and I had an arrangement—casual, convenient, no feelings involved. But lately she'd been getting territorial. Asking questions. Making assumptions.

I'd need to have a conversation with her soon about boundaries.

Another buzz. Different numbers.

**Daisy: Stop texting me.**

I grinned and typed back.

**Me: Can't. You're too interesting.**

**Daisy: I'm blocking this number.**

**Me: Go ahead. I have others.**

No response. But she didn't block me. I could tell because the message showed as "delivered" instead of bouncing back.

She was reading. Thinking. Probably hating herself for being curious about what I'd say next.

I typed one more message.

**Me: For what it's worth, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. That was the hottest thing I've seen in years.**

Still no response.

**Me: Next time you want to put on a show, leave the blinds open. I'll return the favor.**

This time she did block me.

I laughed and tossed my phone onto the couch. This woman was going to be fun.

I'd noticed her the day she moved in—petite, pretty, always carrying stacks of books and her laptop. She kept to herself mostly. No visitors except for one guy who came by occasionally. Boyfriend maybe, though they never seemed romantic when I saw them together.

I'd looked her up out of curiosity. D.R. Macklin, bestselling erotic fiction author. Wrote under her initials to stay somewhat anonymous. Had a decent following online but kept her personal life private.

Smart and sexy. Dangerous combination.

I hadn't planned on doing anything about my interest. She was my neighbor. Getting involved would be messy. Complicated.

But then this morning happened.

And now I couldn't stop thinking about what else I could make her do.

I grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and returned to the window. Her blinds were still closed, but I saw movement behind them. Shadows shifting.

She was pacing. Probably freaking out about what I'd seen. What I knew.

My phone buzzed with a new number.

**Daisy: If you ever text me again from ANY number, I'm calling the police.**

I typed back from my original number—the one she'd just unblocked to send that threat.

**Me: No you won't. Because you want to know what happens next just as much as I do.**

I hit send and waited.

No response.

But ten minutes later, I saw movement across the street.

Her blinds opened. Just a crack. Just enough for her to peek through.

She was looking for me.

And when our eyes met through the glass—her standing in shadow, me leaning against my window with my coffee—I raised the mug in a silent toast.

She slammed the blinds shut again immediately.

But this time, I caught something different.

The smallest hint of a smile.

Good. She was curious. Intrigued despite herself.

I had no idea where this was going, but I was damn sure going to enjoy finding out.

My work phone rang—the one I used for my security company. I glanced at the screen and answered.

"Darth."

"Mr. Darth, we have a new client inquiry. High profile. Requesting personal protection for a family member. They specifically asked for you."

I frowned. I didn't usually take individual assignments anymore. I ran the company. Other people did the fieldwork.

"Forward it to Richards or Chen. They're both excellent—"

"Sir, the client insisted on you personally. It's General Richard Macklin."

I went still.

That name. Why did that name sound familiar?

"What does he need?"

"Protection for his daughter. She's been receiving threats. He wants someone living close by, available 24/7. Willing to pay premium rates."

My eyes drifted back to the closed blinds across the street.

No. It couldn't be.

"What's the daughter's name?"

Papers rustled on the other end. "Daisy Macklin. She's a writer living in Manhattan. The general wants to keep it discreet—she doesn't know he's hiring protection yet."

I stared at her apartment, my mind racing.

The universe had just handed me access to the woman I'd been fantasizing about all morning. The woman who'd just blocked my number. The woman who was probably still thinking about me touching her.

I was going to be her bodyguard.

"Tell the General I'll take the case personally," I said slowly.

"Excellent. He'd like to meet with you tomorrow to discuss—"

"Tomorrow works. Send me the details."

I hung up and looked back at her window.

This just got a lot more interesting.

And Daisy Macklin had no idea what was about to hit her.