Page 105 of Third Strike Smitten

I move into his space willingly, drawn by the intensity in his eyes. His hands find my waist, fingers splaying across the teal fabric of my dress. “You were incredible tonight,” he says, his voice barely audible. “The way you stood up there and told your story...I’ve never been more in awe of anyone. You should be so damn proud of yourself.”

My heart swells at his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you there, Kill.”

He shakes his head slightly. “That’s not true. You’re the strongest person I know, Isla, and you could’ve done it a thousand times over all by yourself. You had it in you the whole time.”

The way he says my name—like it’s something precious—makes my heart swell. I reach up and trace the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath my fingertips.

“I meant what I said about you being there for me. You make me feel safe, Killian. You make me feel like I can be brave.”

Something shifts in his expression; a vulnerability I’ve seen glimpses of before. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush against each other. I can feel his heart hammering against his ribs.

“What is it?”

“I need to tell you something,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “Something I’ve been trying to find the right moment for all night.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “Okay.”

Killian takes a deep breath. “Isla, I—” He stops, swallows hard. “Fuck, I practiced this in my head a hundred times.”

“It’s okay.” I shake my head gently. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air between us, simple and vulnerable in their honesty. I feel them settle into my bones, warming places I didn’t know were cold.

“I love you, Isla,” he repeats, his voice steadier now. “And I know this wasn’t part of the deal. I know we said no feelings, no complications. But I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that what I feel for you is anything less than the most real thing I’ve ever felt.” His voice cracks on the last word, and I watch his throat work as he swallows. “I know you’re leaving. I know this isn’t what you signed up for. But I couldn’t let you walk out of my life without telling you the truth.”

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. The words are there—I love you too—right on the tip of my tongue, but fear has me paralyzed. Because loving him means staying. It means commitment. It means opening myself up to the possibility of losing him, and I don’t know if I can survive that kind of pain again.

“Killian...” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His hands slide up to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “It’s okay. I just…needed you to know.”

I shake my head, trying to find the words that won’t come. “It’s just...”

“I know.” His eyes search mine, so full of understanding it takes my breath away. “I know this is a lot. I know you didn’t ask for this. In fact, you specifically told me not to let my feelings get involved, and I failed. I failed, Coach, and I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for falling in love with you, because fuck me, I couldn’t help it. You’re so damn easy to love.”

My heart is racing so fast I’m afraid it might burst from my chest. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to run, to put distance between us before this gets any more real. But my feet won’t move. My body won’t let me pull away from him.

“I…I don’t know how to do this,” I finally manage, the admission tumbling out raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t have to do anything, Isla. Not a damn thing okay? I just needed you to know. I needed to say it before…”

“Before what?” I ask, my gaze shifting between her eyes.

Killian takes a deep breath and then lowers his lips to mine. The kiss is soft at first, a gentle press of lips that feels like a question. I should pull away. I should tell him I need space, time to process what he’s just said. But his hands are warm on my face, and his breath is sweet against my mouth, and I can’t make myself do anything but kiss him back.

His lips move against mine with a tenderness that makes my knees weak. This isn’t the desperate, hungry kissing from the hotel room or the teasing brushes we’ve shared in public. This is Killian pouring everything he just said into physical form, and I’m drowning in it.

My hands find his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The words are right there, burning in my throat, but fear keeps them locked away, so instead, I deepen the kiss, trying to show him what I can’t say.

Killian seems to understand. His arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him as the kiss deepens. One hand slides down my back, fingers finding the ties of my dress. With practiced ease, he begins to undo them, his movements slow and deliberate as if he’s giving me time to say no.

The teal fabric loosens around me as he works the ties with patient fingers. Maybe I should feel exposed. Maybe I should feel vulnerable, but I don’t. I’m in Killian’s arms and that’s the safest place I could ever be. He makes me feel protected and cherished.

He makes me feel loved.

When my dress finally falls away, pooling at my feet in a pile of silk, he steps back just enough to look at me, naked from the waist up. The golden lamplight paints his face in soft shadows, and his expression is one of such absolute reverence that my breath catches in my throat.