Knox
I stare at the ceiling, wondering how it’s possible to feel both exhausted and wired at the same time. I slept like shit. Each time I managed to drift off, an image of Cheyenne slid behind my eyes, followed by the memory of what her lips felt like beneath mine.
Soft and warm.
Too damn responsive.
The little sound she made when I’d deepened the kiss echoes through my head. Or maybe that had been me. At this point, I don’t know.
I scrub a hand over my face and blow out a slow breath.
One kiss.
That’s all it was supposed to be.
Proof that Cheyenne Benson isn’t any different from the other women I’ve been with.
Proof that I’m still in control.
Instead, all it did was blow a massive hole through those theories.
I spent half the night replaying that kiss in my head like a highlight reel I couldn’t shut off. The way she’d melted into me for one reckless second before everything had gone still. The way my hand had threaded through her hair. The way I’d wanted to drag her closer and—
I sit up before the thought can finish forming. There’s no point lying here and pretending I’m going to fall back asleep. The clock on the nightstand says it’s barely after six.
It’s too early for her to be awake. I could use a few minutes to get my head on straight before I have to face her and pretend that kiss didn’t shift everything between us.
I shove out of bed, yanking on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt before heading to the kitchen.
The penthouse is quiet, the city beyond the windows just beginning to stir as pale morning light bleeds between the buildings.
For a few blissful seconds, there’s nothing but silence and the low hum of the coffee maker as I fill it with water.
Coffee.
That’s exactly what’s needed here. Something bitter and strong that will cut through the haze in my brain.
I lean against the counter while it brews and drag a hand through my hair, trying to talk myself down from the ledge.
This is a temporary situation. Once her ex gets the message and backs off, we can end this charade and go our separate ways.
I’ll see her once or twice a year, at most. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to stop thinking about her so damn much.
With a scowl, I take a long swallow of coffee as soon as it’s ready. And swear under my breath as it burns the entire way down. Every muscle goes rigid when a door opens down the hall. I glance up just as Cheyenne steps into the kitchen.
Fuck.
She’s wearing black yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt that slips off one shoulder. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail and her face is bare of makeup as the lingering softness of sleep clings to her features.
The sight of her shouldn’t hit me like a gut punch.
Early sunlight touches her face, and my stomach plummets like I’ve just stepped off the edge of a building, falling a hundred stories to the ground.
“Morning,” she says.
Her tone is careful. It’s not cold or even awkward. Just… careful. Like she’s tiptoeing through a minefield, afraid one wrong step will blow everything apart.
Is she remembering what happened on the couch?
Did she spend all night tossing and turning, obsessing about that damn kiss the way I did?
My gaze drops to her lips before I can think better of it. They’re full, pink, and slightly parted.
I jerk my attention away before she catches me staring.
“Morning,” I mutter.
Silence stretches between us. It’s not long. Maybe two seconds. Three at the most. But it’s loaded. Heavy with everything neither one of us is willing to voice out loud.
Chey crosses to the fridge and reaches in for a water bottle. The sweatshirt shifts with every movement, riding up just enough to expose the narrow strip of skin at her waist.
It’s impossible not to stare. “You’re up early,” I force myself to say, trying and failing to sound like my normal self.
She twists off the cap and takes a drink before glancing at me. “I’m going for a run.”
“Alone?”
Her brows lift. “That was the plan.”
I set my mug on the counter with a thud. “I’ll come with you.”
A small laugh slips from her. “Knox, you don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
She studies me for a second. “You actually want to run?”
My face scrunches. “Fuck no.”
That response startles a smile out of her that’s quick and unguarded. My chest tightens at the sight.
She tips her head. “Then why bother?”
“Because your safety is my number one priority.”
Her gaze flicks over my face. “Are you absolutely sure? You don’t look like you slept well.”
“I slept just fine,” I grumble.
“Okaaay.” She stretches out the word, as if she doesn’t believe me.
Smart woman.
“It really isn’t necessary,” she says. “I won’t be gone long.”
“If I’m not going with you, you’re not going at all.”
One brow arches. “Is that so?”
I plow a hand through my hair and force myself not to snap. “It’s six in the morning and you’re in a city you don’t know. You’ve also got an ex who tracked you to a hotel two thousand miles away. So, yeah, I’m not wild about the idea of you out there on your own.”
Her expression softens, but only slightly. “Knox—”
“He knew where to find you,” I cut in, more quietly now. “That’s not something to fuck around with.”
I can see the exact moment it all comes tumbling back to her. The hotel. The flowers. The note. The way her ex keeps slipping past lines he has no business crossing.
She lowers the bottle from her mouth, and I brace for an argument, because she’s stubborn enough to give me one on principle alone.
Instead, she examines me in silence before her shoulders lower. “Okay. Fine.”
Relief hits hard enough to weaken my knees.
“But only because you look two seconds away from having a coronary,” she adds. “And that’s not something I want on my conscience.”
I huff out a laugh. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”
I dump the rest of the coffee down my throat, knowing I’m going to need every drop of caffeine, before heading to my room to get dressed. By the time I return, Cheyenne is stretching near the elevator.
She’s bent forward with her palms pressed flat against the floor. The hem of her sweatshirt slides up again, exposing that same tempting strip of skin. My gaze locks there for one beat too long before I force it upward.
“Ready?” I ask.
She straightens before meeting my gaze. “Yup.”
The entire ride down to the lobby, I wait for her to bring up the kiss.
She doesn’t. And neither do I.
I’m not even sure what I’d say. It certainly wouldn’t be the truth.
The electricity sizzling between us continues to ramp up with every floor we descend.
I’m barely holding on by a thread when the doors open to the lobby.
It’s a small blessing when the frigid morning air slaps at my cheeks.
The city hits us all at once. There’s traffic whizzing by, a few pedestrians on the street, and the sun rising over the buildings.
Chey glances at me. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
She takes off at an easy pace and I fall in line beside her. It only takes half a block to realize she’s not screwing around. Her stride is smooth, efficient, and strong.
When I glance at her, she catches me looking. “Problem, McNichols?”
“Not at all.”
“Interesting, because your expression says otherwise.”
I grunt, not bothering with a response.
A laugh slips out of her. “You didn’t think I was a serious runner, did you?”
“Did I say that?”
She smirks. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
I stare straight ahead. “I was just assessing the situation.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure.”
I side-eye her. “What?”
“Not much of a morning person, are you?”
“And here I was thinking you might be too much of one,” I shoot back.
When she flashes a grin, awareness coils low in my gut.
A few more blocks pass before she glances my way again. “You’re good with five miles, right?”
I scoff. “Of course I am.”
It’s official… I’m going to die.
Five miles?
Who the hell voluntarily runs five miles before sunrise?
Cheyenne Benson, that’s who.
We head toward the lake, our footsteps falling into an easy rhythm on the sidewalk.
The wind off the water whips at my face, but Cheyenne doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. If anything, she grows more energized with every stride.
Her shoulders are looser and her breathing is steady.
Once or twice, she tips her face toward the sun like she’s actually enjoying herself.
“Kind of looks like you’re hating life, McNichols,” she says after another block.
“Not true at all.”
She gives me a skeptical look.
I glare back. “You might not have realized it, but I’m an elite athlete.”
“You play hockey.”
“Exactly. Everyone knows it’s the superior sport.”
“That is so adorable.”
When I bark out a laugh, she glances over, as if startled by the explosive sound just as much as I am. We continue running along the lake. At some point, the silence between us shifts. It stops feeling like something we’re navigating around, and it settles in, becoming comfortable.
I’m used to attraction and tension. To wanting a woman and moving on before it has the chance to turn into anything real.
But this?
It’s different.
Like falling into step beside her is the most natural thing in the world.
A cyclist comes up fast on our left, not bothering to call out until the last second, and I react without thinking. My hand closes around Cheyenne’s arm and I tug her toward me, guiding her out of the way as the bike whips past with an irritated mutter from the rider.
She stumbles half a step into my side, and my hand lingers on her arm longer than necessary. I’m all too aware of her beneath my grip.
“Are you okay?” I ask, breathing hard.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Almost reluctantly, I release her, forcing myself to take a step back. “People are idiots.”
She stares at me for a second, emotion flashing in her eyes as her tone turns teasing. “I guess you really meant it, huh?”
I frown. “Meant what?”
“That you’re not taking any chances with my well-being.”
This woman has no idea that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
Instead of telling her the truth, I force a shrug and try to keep it casual. “You’re staying with me. It’s kind of hard not to feel responsible.”
As soon as the comment is out of my mouth, I realize it’s complete bullshit.
Cheyenne’s lips curve into a smile. It’s not a full-blown one by any means, but something softer. I get the feeling she sees straight through me and is choosing not to call me out on it.
By silent agreement, we start moving again.
I’m more aware of her beside me now than ever. Of the cadence of her breathing and the sound of her shoes hitting the sidewalk. Every time she glances at me, my gut tightens.
After another mile, she says, “For the record, I’m glad you came with. This is nice.”
I glance at her, surprised by the admittance. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” A beat passes before she adds, “But don’t let it go to your head, McNichols.”
I snort. “Impossible. My ego’s enormous, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
She smiles again, and, damn, I like it.
Way more than I should.
After that, we pick up the pace. It doesn’t take long before I’m sweating, mildly annoyed by the existence of long-distance running, and fighting the urge to stare at her every five seconds.
Cheyenne, meanwhile, looks reinvigorated. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, there’s a damp sheen at her temples, and a few wisps of hair have loosened from her ponytail to curl around her face.
She looks beautiful. Not in the polished, camera-ready way most people probably notice first. But in a real way. I force my attention back to the street. This is exactly why spending time alone with her is a terrible idea.
Under normal circumstances, I’d hate every second of this. I hate running, mornings, and being dragged into anything before coffee has a chance to do its job.
But with Chey?
I don’t hate any of it.
Which is bad enough.
What’s worse is that somewhere between her laughing, falling into step beside me, and admitting she was glad I came, this stopped feeling like an obligation and started to feel like something else entirely.
The realization that I wouldn’t mind getting up and doing this again tomorrow is the moment I know I’m well and truly fucked.