And things start to heat up...
Trying hard to lose himself in the feel of her lips, he curses internally when his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. He sighs deeply, sliding his hand from where it is residing on her hip to check it. It's Robin.
"Problem?" she asks.
Diana? Diane…?
He thinks for a second. He could easily blow off his friend and continue this to the inevitable… But he realizes, startlingly, that he doesn't want to.
"Aye, sorry, I-"
She simply shrugs and bends down to pick up her purse. Leaning forward she presses a damp kiss on his lips before whispering in his ear, "Another time."
Then with a wink and in a mist of over-sweet perfume, she's gone.
Killian takes a deep breath and then goes to find Robin.
/
Emma's washing the used tumblers and smiling to herself when she realizes something: that was the most relaxing night she had spent in a while. And with an adult she didn't work with, too. Now that was unusual.
Setting the glasses aside, she turns back to the living room to find her phone.
/
He finds Robin slumped against the bar, drunkenly tapping away at his phone. "Mate-" he begins.
Robin turns his head. "She won't answer her phone. She hates me."
This was the usual; the drunken declarations of self-pity when Regina refused to listen to his drunken expressions of love. Killian takes the phone from his hand and notices a garbled, half-written text message to Regina filling the screen. He quickly deletes it.
"Perhaps trying to sweet talk her when you're three sheets to the wind isn't your finest idea."
Robin flashes him a scowl and snatches back his phone. Stuffing in it back in his pocket, he ruefully stares at his half full glass of beer. Pushing it back further across the bar. "Fine," he mutters as he stands.
Just then, Killian's phone buzzes again. While Robin is settling his bill, he picks it up and swipes across the screen.
Hey. Just wanted to say I had a great time tonight. I'd forgotten what adult company was like! Let me know when you're free to finish up. Emma.
A smile crosses his lips as he guides Robin to the exit. I certainly shall, he thinks.
/
And then life got in the way.
The week started well enough. A few shared texts and it had been arranged to resume their planning that Wednesday. Then Killian found out two of his classes had been cancelled due to field trips, meaning an early finish on Friday. Perfect.
Things took a turn when Henry was absent on Wednesday.
A text at lunch let him know that their plans have to be cancelled - Henry is running a fever. He frowns as he reads it, knowing that this creates a delay in his plans, but what can he do?
Thursday is a bust. His sophomore literacy class have a test and half of them flunk and then he finds out his free periods have been replaced with study hall monitoring. He's not in the best of moods when he sees Robin in the teacher's lounge.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Robin teases as Killian storms in, slamming his insulated cup on the countertop next to the coffee maker.
"Shitter of a day, Locksley," he complains, pressing the on button and waiting for a fresh pot to brew.
"Well I have something that may cheer you up."
"Oh?" Killian asks as he turns to face his friend.
Robin gives a small nod and saunters a little closer. "Guess who I saw last night?"
Turning his face into a frown, Killian sighed, "Regina."
"Yes," Robin hissed, "She has forgiven me and we are back together."
"Well, congratulations mate, but why on earth would that be good news for me?"
The coffee maker began to make soft noises as the brewing began.
"It just so happens that the love of my life is holding a cocktail party on Saturday."
Killian stared at him blankly.
"And guess who will be there?"
Then it dawned on him. Of course. Emma worked for Regina. It made sense for her to be invited to a party she was holding.
"So, what? You're inviting me?"
"Sure, Regina told me to bring a friend or two."
"But she hates me."
"Hate is a strong word Killian-"
Killian pursed his lips as he thought of his last encounter with Ms. Mills. "I believe the words 'man whore' were used on more than one occasion."
Robin pulled an annoyed face. "Look do you want to come or not?"
The coffee machine beeped and Killian pulled the jug out and poured a fresh cupful. He turned and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And anyway, why would you want to help me? We have a bet-"
"Call it being in a good mood. Or perhaps a confident feeling that no matter how hard you try, this woman will not end up being another notch on your bedpost."
Smirking, Killian added a sachet of sweetener to his drink and then stirred it thoughtfully. This wasn't in his original game plan, but a whole evening with free flowing alcohol certainly seemed like a positive development. "Fine," he nods before taking a sip. Too bitter. He picks up another sweet 'n' lo. "If only to prove you wrong. By the end of the night, I will have Ms. Swan eating out of the palm of my hand."
Robin raises his brows and gives a small nod, "We'll see."
/
It had taken a lot of convincing to get her to agree to go.
Sure, Henry was improving and finally returning to normal, but she still wasn't comfortable with the idea of leaving him, even with a babysitter. Regina had been quite persuasive, offering the services of a family friend as babysitter and also arranging for her driver to pick her up.
In the end, she had left it up to him.
"Mom," he groans over his cereal that morning when she asks him. "I'm not a baby. Go out. Have fun."
"You sure?" she asks, her face crumpling in uncertainty.
"Yes," he insists. "You deserve it. I told you mom, I want you to be happy here. Just like you want me to be."
And she couldn't resist pressing a kiss onto his cheek.
He didn't resist that much.
/
It wasn't like he hated Regina Mills. It was more of a mutual dislike that had been brewing for the entirety of her involvement with Robin (currently two years, on and off). Things had started off well enough, until he had slept with her secretary and from there on he had been branded as the worst of all men.
A little harsh, he thought.
Never had he made promises to a woman. Never had he insinuated that a dalliance with Killian Jones would ever be anything more that. He liked his freedom too much. When he had moved to Storybrooke five years earlier, he had promised himself not to get tied down; not to commit to anything. Because he knew, deep down, he wasn't ready and frankly anything else would have been the true crime against women. But of course, Regina didn't see it like that.
He had insisting on arriving with Robin, convinced he would have been tossed out onto the curb had he rolled up to her mansion on the outskirts of town alone.
It was just past seven when they arrived. Leaving their coats with the door attendant, they were ushered towards the billiards room and patio where the party would take place.
"Robin," Regina greets them with a smile. It quickly drops when she sees who is by my side. "What's he doing here?"
"He's my best friend," Robin explains.
"Who has slept with half the town."
"Now that's a slight exaggeration-" Killian insists until she shoots him a cold look and he pauses.
Robin slips his arms around her waist and pulls her closer. Killian keeps his distance, always amused by the way his friend can turn the local ice queen into a girly mess.
She's smiling and Robin is whispering into her ear. Then they are kissing. Killian looks aside, feeling ever so slightly awkward. He hears Regina's name called and watches as she pulls herself away and dashes towards the kitchen.
Robin's cheeks are flushed when he turns around. "Sorted."
"Indeed," Killian snips, "You seem to have some kind of hold over that woman I will never understand." Or what you see in her, he thinks.
"Let's just say a few small promises for later go a long way-"
"Mate," Killian begins, pressing his eyes shut, "For once, I don't want to hear all the gory details of your sex life." Robin shrugs and laughs lightly. "Come on, time for drinks."
/
No sooner is she inside than Regina is greeting her, pressing a glass of champagne in her hand.
"Oh, thank you," she mumbles as she shrugs off her wrap and follows her boss further into the house.
It's busy already: she's a little late after having a crisis of confidence in what to wear, finally settling on a simple black sheath with a boat neckline, that narrowed towards her knees, with a hint of flesh revealed by a daring slit up one thigh.
She's self conscious as Regina introduces her to more people than names she can remember. She chews on her lip, stopping when she remembers her dark pink lip gloss, shakes many hands and finally feels so overwhelmed; it must have shown on her face.
"Oh I'm sorry," Regina apologizes, "I've not given you a moment to catch your breath." The other woman shakes her head, "I'm just so eager for you to meet everyone."
"And I am grateful. Really. The hardest thing about being in a new town is making connections."
Regina smiles, her red stained lips highlighting her perfect cupids bow, "Well I'm sure that won't be a problem for long. Storybrooke is a small town, pretty old fashioned too. Give it a few months and you'll know everyone."
Emma didn't know whether that frightened or excited her, but her thoughts were interrupted when a waiter holding an empty platter tapped her boss on the shoulder and whispered in her ear.
"Catering emergency. Hey, go look around, the gardens are well lit, the library is open… My house is your house."
Nodding, Emma finishes her champagne in one gulp. Her heart is thudding just a little with nerves and she's self conscious in the tightly fitting dress. "Time for another," she mutters to herself as she heads towards the bar set up in one corner.
/
The rum is sweet and coats his mouth lovingly as he swirls it over his tongue.
It's going to his head, just a little, but that's fine. A slight alcohol buzz relaxes him just the right amount. And he's feeling pretty relaxed right now.
"Another?" Robin asks, raising his empty glass. Killian nods and leans against the billiards table as Robin saunters off to find a waiter. The room is filling up now. Men in suits and women in fancy cocktail dresses. He checks his watch: eight pm. He hasn't seen her yet, but tells himself this is fine. It's not like he's going to wander around on a search for her. Not yet, anyway.
And of course when he is thinking of her, that's when he spots Emma Swan. She's with Regina. Her back is to him and her tumbling hair is almost reaching her waist. He briefly thinks about what it would feel like to have her tresses wrapped around his hand.
She's turning and he steps back a little into the shadows of the room. It feels a little voyeuristic, watching her like this, but he settles his mind by calling it research. He licks his lips as she moves around the room. Her dress is tight, but not too tight - leaving a little to the imagination. Frustratingly it covers her from neck to knee. His gut contracts, wanting to see more flesh, his usual instincts kicking in. Women mean sex. No strings, just fleeting moments between soft cotton sheets. He imagines her lain out on his bed, naked and purring for him.
He's glad when Robin arrives with another drink.
"It seems the lovely lady herself has arrived," he smiles, handing Killian a glass filled with two finger's of dark rum, "And may I say, up close she is pretty damn hot."
Killian flashes him an annoyed glance. Why does it bother him, his friend calling her attractive?
"And you are currently taken so she is off limits."
Robin raises his hands in mock surrender, "Alright mate, keep your pants on. Just thinking, I'd say it makes the bet a little easier."
"You could say that," Killian replies, taking a swig, letting it burn his throat, knocking some sense into him.
Because that tasted a little like jealousy, Jones, he told himself.
"So aren't you going to say hi? Put on some of that famous British charm?"
"Not quite yet," he insists, licking his lips, "The night is young, after all."
/
It's nine and she's already tipsy. It was only on the third glass that she realized the champagne was actually a champagne cocktail with a shot of vodka included. Of course, she mused, cocktail party, not champagne party.
Her skin was buzzing hot with the alcohol and the accumulating body heat about her. There must be over 100 people there already and Regina had introduced her to at least half. With each one she had tried to take a mental snapshot of their name and face, but she knew it was pointless. That kind of recall had never been her forte.
She takes a fresh glass from a waiter who passes by, pressing it to her forehead and letting the light condensation cool her forehead as she sucks in deep breaths to cool her body from within. She needs cooler air.
Regina has left her again to mingle with a few local clients. Wandering back into the hallway that leads to the door, she sees the library, or more correctly smells it: the scent of leather bound volumes and aged sheets of paper.
Slipping inside, she admires the tall shelves full of books. It's the kind of library you'd see in a movie: all old, noble volumes of books: no chick lit or Dan Brown to be sure.
Champagne glass in hand, she runs her fingers along the spines lined on one shelf. Copies of every Shakespeare play and collection of sonnets: aged but gracefully so, with majestic golden lettering and covers in a regal shade of burgundy. Her fingers stop at Twelfth Night. Dipping her finger into the top rim of the spine, she pulls it forward and into her palm, allowing it to fall open. Her eyes flicker over the chosen page.
VIOLA: There is a fair behavior in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character
"Emma?"
With a start, she slams the book closed, her head cocking towards the source of the noise. She swallows hard when she sees the origin. Mr. Jones. Killian Jones.
Momentarily she is dumbstruck, her quiet interlude interrupted. Her mouth drops open and she blushes when she registers how damn handsome he looks in his white shirt, open a few buttons, and charcoal grey suit.
"Mr. Jones?" she finally manages, placing the book on a nearby table and taking a step closer to him.
"Guilty," he replies, cheekily raising a brow which makes he smile in spite of herself.
"Um, what, um, I mean, why- um- you know Regina?"
She creases her brow in confusion and the words she speaks come out in a tumble, tripping over one another as they battle with her tongue for dominance.
The cocktails have a lot to answer for.
"In a way. She's dating a friend."
"Oh," she replies, her lips staying paralysed in the 'O' shape. In the half lit room she remembers how sharp his jaw is and the way his stubble makes it even more obvious. He could cut glass with that jawline. She shakes herself.
"Yeah, well she's my boss-"
"I know," he nods. Of course he does. She feels a moment of awkwardness. The noise of the party seems far away and the library feels way too small. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yeah," she admits, shaking her head, "Well, maybe a little overwhelmed."
"Regina's parties have a way of making you feel like that. At least the first time." He flashes her a wide toothed smile and she feels a little jump in her chest. He's too smooth, too likeable.
And she likes it.
"Well, I suppose I did come to this town for new experiences…"
Kindly, he laughs. Surely he can hear the nerves in her voice.
She's twirling the glass of champagne in her hands, the stem between her fingers when he closes the gap between them. He has a tumbler of something dark and strong looking in his hands, which he reaches out towards her.
"To new experiences," he whispers.
For a moment, she stares. His face sincere, they meet eyes for a split second. Her cheeks color even more than they had in the other room and she looks down.
She taps her glass to his. "To new experiences," she echoes.
Damn, it's too hot in here, she thinks to herself, letting out a breath up towards her forehead.
"Have you been outside?" he suddenly asks.
For a second, she fumbles for a response. No she hasn't, but his question seems to imply more-
"The gardens are spectacular," he continues.
"I haven't," she finally manages.
"Care to take a look?" he askes.
And she finds herself saying yes.
/
She looked so flustered when he happened upon her that it was almost endearing.
He'd seen her slip away and decided that it was now or never. He didn't fancy the idea of her perhaps getting drunk before they talked. He may love women, but only women who showed an interest and were able to tell him so.
He'd suggested going outside on a whim. The library opened out onto a private patio (which he may have used before…) and as soon as she had said yes he was walking towards the glazed oak doors and pushing them open.
The air outside was chilled but scented with autumn flowers and the leaves of perennial trees. The grey-stone patio was swept clean and edged with a wall of columns from which they could look out on to the garden.
"It's so pretty," she sighed as she looked out across the garden, lit as it was with pretty little lights in the trees and interspersed street lamps along the paths that meandered into the distance.
"Being a millionaire has it's perks, I'd say," he agreed, folding his arms and leaning over the wall. He took a few sweet, deep breaths. This part of town was quiet. The party was off to their right. He could just see the other patio that the guests were spilling out onto; the sound of soft jazz filled the air.
"And it's minuses," she added, joining him at the wall, her glass of champagne dangling in her overhanging fingers. "I'd hate to be that rich. It's too much."
"Yeah?" he asks in surprise.
"Yeah," she smiles, tilting her head towards him and flashing a smile. "I guess money helps, but for me, all I want is happiness."
He stares out over the illuminated gardens as they both take a drink. Despite the party sounds it feels surprisingly secluded. His body relaxes, defenses down, as he digests her words.
"Happiness is a good goal," he finally replies.
"Yeah?" she asks. "What will make you happy then, Mr. Jones?"
Good question, he thinks, as he swipes his tongue around his mouth, drinking in the thick, rum flavour as he shifts on his feet.
To be honest, he'd never really thought about it. Living for the moment had been his thing. Sex was sex. Work was work. Friends were… a necessary evil. Thinking forward, thinking happy, had never really occurred to him.
He flashes her a glance, his eyes serious, his lids dipped. "I don't know," he admits.
And he may be overstating this, but he swears he sees a flickering of something over her face.
It's getting a little too raw. She's digging a little too deep. And the normal, regular Killian would turn on the charm and change the subject. But for some reason, he can't.
"Well," she smiles, "Maybe you need to think about that?"
/
She's being way too flirty.
This is her son's teacher, for Christ's sake!
She's laying against the wall edging the patio, the cool air removing her fever while at the same time igniting the flame of alcohol inside her.
She hated how fresh air did that.
He was staring at the garden. His profile in relief against the dark background. The turn of his countenance seems strained. She was a little confused and even more intrigued.
"I'm sorry if I pried-" she began.
But in a second he was beside her, his hands on either side of her body as she lay back, breathless.
"No apologies needed, Miss Swan."
His gaze was goddamn devastating. His gorgeous blue eyes were dancing over her face and she felt weak and strong all at once.
"O-okay," she stuttered, fixing her eyes on his gaze on her full lips. God they were pretty. She bet they tasted like honey.
A crackle of electricity seemed to flow between them. Her hips pressed forward involuntarily. His eyes glanced over her body, and her breath caught.
The air was thick with wanting and she felt an internal conflict brewing that was quickly overridden by more urgent sensation.
Tilting her head back, she looked down at him through her nose. One leg slipped behind his, hooking it close until his chest fell against hers and he let out a soft groan. She licked her lips, looking deep into his eyes, seeing it he wanted the same, seeing only a mist of confusion and a lustful glare.
"Emma-"he begins.
But words would break the moment.
So she kisses him.
Cupping his head with one hand, the other around his waist tugging his firm body flush with hers: not caring of the consequences.
He kisses her irreverently. All tongue and stubble branding her cheeks as his hands circle her waist and their bodies press together just enough that she can feel how much he wants her.
God. She's been out of the game so long she's not sure if she should play coy or go with it. The alcohol wins and she's rocking her hips into his. Shit. She hears the slit of her dress tear.
/
She lays back over the wall and he thanks whatever god has brought him to this moment. Every kiss is a combination of pleasure and abject pain: knowing he needs more, but knowing it's not the time.
His fingers slide under her dress.
Emma gasps when he grabs her ass. He takes her bottom lip in his teeth and teases it before pulling tight.
"Damnit," he whispers. Not sure what he is feeling. Knowing he doesn't want it to stop.
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