Knox
The warmth of her fingertips disappears as her hand drops from my face. The absence of her touch hits harder than the punch to my eye.
“You didn’t answer the question. Is that what you want?”
The thought of waking up and not seeing her face or stepping into the living room and not finding her curled up on the couch has a tight, unfamiliar knot forming at the bottom of my gut.
I don’t believe this is what she really wants.
And I know for damn sure it isn’t what I want.
She’s standing in front of me in nothing but a sports bra and panties, her hair mussed, her eyes wide with a kind of resolve that doesn’t match the tremor in her voice.
She swallows. “It makes sense. I can stay with my family, and you won’t have to deal with—”
“I don’t give a shit about any of that.”
Her mouth snaps shut, and the silence that stretches between us is thick enough to choke on.
I hold out my hand and hope like hell she’ll take it. For a beat, she hesitates before placing her fingers in my palm. The contact is enough to make my pulse jump. My grip tightens before I give her a gentle tug.
She stumbles forward half a step before landing in my lap. Her arms slip around my neck, and suddenly she’s close enough for the perfume she wore this evening to tease my senses. Close enough that everything I’ve been trying to keep buried starts pushing to the surface, threatening to break loose.
One arm slips around her back to steady her.
Chey’s eyes widen as she sucks in a breath. “Knox—”
“You’re not going anywhere, Hollywood.”
It comes out like a fact. Not a suggestion or even a question.
Her lips part, probably to argue, but I don’t give her the opportunity.
“I don’t care about this.” I gesture toward the bruise. “It’s nothing.”
Guilt, regret, and something else I’m unable to name flash across her expression.
“I can handle Dakota,” I continue.
What I don’t mention is how much I want her. How she drives me crazy. Or how no other woman has tempted me the way she does.
My hand tightens at her back when she shifts. “What you’re not going to do is run back to LA and hide. You’re going to stay in Chicago and live your life.”
Her throat works. “That’s not—”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what it would be because he’s not giving you a choice.”
Silvery moonlight spills through the windows behind her. She looks so damn beautiful sitting on my lap, all soft skin and messy hair and that stubborn tilt to her chin.
She wants to run and make a clean break. To put distance between us so she can pretend none of this matters. But it matters to me. The idea of her going back to California, where I can’t see her in the morning, make sure she gets home safely at night, or be there if something goes wrong…
It’s enough to send panic crawling down my spine.
I lift my chin and meet her eyes. “I’ll be the one who keeps you safe. Not your family or security. Me.”
The words hang between us, possessive as hell. I hear them for what they are, and I’ll be damned if I take them back.
Surprise flickers across her face before her gaze drops to my bruise and then dips lower to my mouth. Her breathing hitches, and the air between us turns electric.
My attention settles on her lips.
Christ.
I want to taste her again so badly I can barely think straight. Is her mouth as soft as I remember? Would I be able to coax another sound from her as my lips rove over hers? Would she cling to me as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear?
My hand flexes at her waist, fingers digging in just enough to make her inhale before I force them to loosen.
Here’s what I know—if I kiss her right now, there’s no turning back. The first kiss was practice. The second was for show, to convince everyone we’re together. A third, alone together in the dark of night, would be something else entirely.
There’d be no pretending this thing between us is harmless anymore.
No pretending I’m not already in too deep.
I drag my gaze back to her eyes, and it takes every ounce of control I have to keep my voice steady. “We should probably get some sleep.”
She blinks, as if surfacing from somewhere deep.
My pulse pounds in my ears as she shifts on my lap, sliding against me.
The movement is enough to make my jaw lock.
I swear under my breath, helping her to her feet before I do something I’ll regret.
I’m not thinking clearly, and my hands linger at her hips a second too long before I force myself to let go.
We walk down the hallway, and the silence that settles around us isn’t awkward.
It’s loaded and on the verge of combusting.
When we reach her door, she turns to me.
Her lashes cast faint shadows against her cheeks as I brace one hand on the frame above her head, needing something solid to hold on to.
“Good night,” she whispers.
My mouth turns cottony. “Night, Chey.”
She lifts her hand, and her fingers slide along my cheek with a featherlight touch.
I’m pretty sure it does far more damage than any kiss would’ve.
I freeze, and it’s so damn tempting to lean into her palm, but I know exactly what will happen if I do.
Disappointment and longing flood through me when her hand falls away and she slips into her room.
The door closes between us.
For a second, I stand here before leaning forward and resting my forehead against the molding, forcing myself to exhale.
I want this woman so much it hurts.
That truth settles deep into my bones until it becomes a permanent part of me.
I shove away from the door and head back to my room before I do something I shouldn’t, like knock.
My bedroom is dark as I cross to the nightstand and reach for my phone. That’s when I notice a text from an unknown number. I hesitate before opening it. A photo of Chey and me on the red carpet fills the screen. Our arms are wrapped around each other and we’re caught in the middle of a kiss.
Unknown Number:
She will never belong to you