Knight

Chapter Five Wars Fought Over a Face Like This

Call me crazy, heck, even I thought I was crazy, but the next day, at quarter ‘til one, I was in my car heading to Knight’s high-rise.

I did not call the police.

No, not me.

But I did call Vivica and Sandrine and gave them the lowdown because, if I disappeared, I figured someone should know where to begin to search for my body.

Last night, shortly after Knight left, a waitress came in accompanied by a bouncer who was there, I knew, so I wouldn’t try to escape.

I tried ordering a sparkling water again hoping that if Knight got that pissed that Nick put his hands on Sandrine, he wouldn’t order a bouncer to wail on me for ordering water.

He didn’t. They retreated and in order to attempt to calm my terror, I looked around.

The walls were a rich, warm red, not blood, bordering on wine. A huge, dark wood desk covered in stuff. Knight worked, that was obvious. Laptop, multi-line phone, papers and folders strewn, two (that I could see) expensive-looking pens lying on top of papers, big manila envelopes, etc. There was a high-back black, swish-looking swivel chair behind the desk, in front of it, two supple, burgundy leather chairs. There was a matching sofa against the wall, in front of it a dark wood coffee table. In a corner, another dark wood table, this round with five, burgundy leather chairs surrounding it. A long, low chest against the wall opposite the couch, on it were bottles of booze. No fancy decanters. Just a bottle of Jack Daniels, one of Grey Goose, one of Tanqueray, one of Patron tequila. A variety of heavy, cut, crystal glasses. Down from the booze and glasses, a smooth piece of warm-colored wood intricately, artistically and interestingly carved into the shape of a voluptuous female’s torso from neck to top thigh, arms wound behind her back, the wood and curves of her figure all waves, undulating with the grain. It was fantastic though I didn’t want it to be because that would say Knight had good taste (or even better than I already expected) and I didn’t want to think anything good about him.

But there was further proof of it in the prints on the wall. Enormous panoramas of black framed, cream matted, black and white shots of Denver skylines.

There was a credenza behind Knight’s desk also covered with work detritus. On one side there were two narrow cases with glass fronts that held a whopping huge collection of CDs. Mounted on the wall was a slim but tall CD player that held ten CDs. It was a work of art, I’d seen it on the website of where he bought me my phone and although I didn’t check the price, I knew it had to cost way more than my phone. To top that, there were awesome speakers set on curved wood stands in each corner of the room.

After I was served my water, I sipped it and waited. I did this as I stared at the heaving club through the big, what I knew was one-way window that started at my waist and took nearly the rest of the wall. And I did this watching the dancing bodies, the lights, the flirting, the laughing all bizarrely incongruous as the strains of soothing classical music drifted around me.

I would not guess Knight was a classical man. I would guess he was an unbelievably good-looking psychopath but not one who listened to Beethoven (or whoever).

But there it was.

I had about ten minutes to sip my water before I was whisked away by a bouncer who didn’t introduce himself, didn’t speak and looked somewhat like the Incredible Hulk but without green skin. But even though I didn’t know his name, he walked me up to my apartment, walked through it then, luckily, walked out of it.

I did not dream of Knight last night mostly because I did not sleep a wink.

What I did do was get up, prepare carefully for my confrontation with him, call my friends to share my story and organize my stuff to take my client.

Incidentally, neither Vivica nor Sandrine were hip on me confronting Knight Sebring on my own. Vivica because she was smart enough to be terrified and equally smart enough to do the right thing, like call the cops. Sandrine because she had a taste of the Sebrings last night, she didn’t like it much, it pierced the Daddy’s Little Princess fortress she wandered through life behind and she was terrified for me. I was pleased this fortress was pierced and hoping that maybe she’d wake up a bit but I was absolutely not pleased by how this happened.

We would see.

Now I was wearing my best pair of jeans. And also my best pair of high-heeled, brown boots (yes, crazy, but I wanted height and the toe was pointed so if I had to kick him in the shin, that would sting). I paired this with my best sweater, cashmere, a pale pink, another secondhand store purchase. It had a super-low dip in the back. But I covered up the expanse of skin it would show with a creamy, pointelle racerback tank. Sure, you could see my pink bra straps and often the sweater drooped off a shoulder but I also had on my smart, blazer-style brown leather jacket (bought two seasons out at a discount designer warehouse at the outlet stores in Castle Rock). I didn’t intend to take off the blazer so the sweater didn’t matter anyway.

Smoothed out hair. Enough makeup to hide I had no sleep but subtle. A spritz of perfume mostly out of habit. Silver hoops in my ears also mostly out of habit. And the rest, just me.

Unfortunately, the only parking spot I could find was around the corner and half a block up from his place. This meant, after I fed the meter enough to give me fifteen minutes wondering why in this ‘hood they didn’t give Sundays free, when I hit the lobby of his place to see the doorman worked Sundays, I was seven minutes late.

If Knight was livid, screw him.

This was going to stop, now. Both him and his brother. And I was going to make that point. Personally.

If it didn’t, the next stop, the police.

“Miss Gage,” the doorman greeted, smiling at me, freaking me out that he knew my last name and picking up the phone, “Mr. Sebring said you’d be arriving. I’ll ring up.”

Then before I could say word one, he had the phone to his ear.

I took in a breath, smiled back because he wasn’t a jerk, just one – no, two – of his tenants were and I settled in to wait, mentally girding for battle.

Then he put the phone in the receiver, smiled again and invited, “Mr. Sebring says to go right up.”

Apparently, after he exposes the full psychopath, he forgets how to be a gentleman.

Whatever.

I tossed another smile at the doorman then stomped to the elevators trying not to look like I was stomping. Though, I did stub my finger with the strength I used to jab the elevator button.

Doors to one of the two sets opened, I walked in and they closed on me.

And as they did, where I was, the confrontation imminent, belatedly, I considered this might not be the best idea.

Before I could rethink, the doors opened and I was nearly bowled over by two men wearing navy pants, matching navy shirts and carrying boxes.

“God! Sorry!” one of them exclaimed.

Movers. On a Sunday. Weird.

“No problems,” I muttered, skirted them, sucked in breath and headed to Knight’s door.

Right, go in, say what I had to say and get out.

When I got there, the door was wedged open with a triangle of wood.

There was music coming from inside, it was soft, it was also classical, it was all piano and I didn’t even have a guess as to what it was.

I reached in, knocked on the door and called, “Knight?”

“Kitchen,” I heard his deep voice call back.

Yep, psychopath out, gentleman gone.

I walked down the hall and nearly bumped into two more men in navy pants and matching shirts who were carrying a mattress.

Was it Knight who was moving?

“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, squeezing back against the wall to the kitchen and sucking in my stomach (like this would help, still, I did it) as they lumbered by me.

They passed. I righted myself, saw the living room in all its grandeur without bodies, empties and ashtrays and decided it sucked he wasn’t awesome and into me but psychotic and into me and turned the corner to the kitchen.

Then I stopped and stared.

No suit. Black tee, worn, fitting him way, way, way too well across the muscles of his back with, from what I could see with just his torso partially twisted to me, a faded out Metallica insignia. Faded jeans that also fit him way, way, way too well and since I had his back I could see his ass in them so I knew this for certain. Bare feet. Thick, black hair now definitely needing a cut, tousled and messy. Hands engaged in unwrapping something in white butcher paper. Face expressionless but no less gorgeous. Vibrant blue eyes on me.

Holy crap.

Metallica?

“Babe, come here.”

An order.

I instantly jolted out of my Knight’s a hot guy reverie.

Jerk!

I didn’t go there.

Instead, I asked, “Are you moving?”

“Fuck no,” he answered. “Kickin’ Nick out. You’re late. Come here.”

I crossed my arms on my chest. “Actually, no. I don’t have time to go there. I’ve only got fifteen minutes on the meter but it won’t take that long to say what I have to say to you.”

His eyes never left me as I spoke and they stayed on me when I was done. They did this a while. Then they stayed on me as he moved to the phone, pulled it out of its charger, hit a button and put it to his ear.

“Spin? Yeah, Knight. Listen, there’s a blue Corolla parked somewhere on the street, rosary beads and St. Christopher medallion hanging from the rearview. Meter’s gonna run out. Feed it. I’ll get the keys to you to move it into the garage in ten, maybe fifteen. Yeah?” Pause then, “Great. Later.”

Then he put the phone down and went back to his butcher wrapped meat.

I stared.

Knight looked down at meat, declaring, “Shit car, babe. Gotta get you something decent.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my car,” I snapped.

His neck twisted and his eyes came back to me. “Boring.”

“It gets me from point A to point B,” I replied.

“Yeah, but it does it with absolutely zero style.”

Why were we talking about my car?

“You sent Spin or… whoever on a wasted journey. I’m just here to tell you it would make me very happy if I never saw you or your brother again and if I do, it would make me very unhappy in the sense that I would feel the need to phone the police. If you would like to avoid that hassle, I’ll avoid your club and you make sure you and Nick avoid me.”

“Babe, come here.”

Was he high?

“No, I’m leaving,” I fired back.

“You don’t wanna walk away from me.”

My brows shot up. “I don’t?”

“No.”

“Wrong,” I retorted. “I do. Sorry,” I went on then finished, “Good-bye Knight.”

Then, as I heard movers coming back, I turned to round the wall of the kitchen.

I got one step in. Then I was not only in the kitchen but across it, my back pressed to the counter and Knight pressed into me.

I had my hands clenched in the sides of his tee at his waist, my head tipped back, my chest was rising and falling rapidly and I was freaked.

He had movers, right there in the house and he manhandled me.

“Move away,” I whispered mainly because I couldn’t make my voice get louder.

“No,” he whispered back.

Then his hands came up toward my face and I flinched, preparing for anything but they settled cupping my jaws and my squinted eyes opened wide. This was because his touch was gentle and, even freaked out, it could not be denied it was sweet.

And his face was different. Not expressionless. As those vibrant blue eyes moved over my face, there was something working at the backs of them, something I didn’t know him enough to get but something that I knew instinctively boded bad things for me.

“Wars fought over a face like this,” he murmured like he was talking to himself, my heart stopped beating and his thumbs moved lightly across my cheeks. “A man would work himself into the ground for it, go down to his knees to beg to keep it, endure torture to protect it, take a bullet for it,” his eyes came to mine, “poison his brother to possess a face like this.”

Oh.

My.

God.

“Knight,” I breathed.

“You are not walkin’ away from me.”

“Okay,” I found myself agreeing.

“He made his play for you last night, shoulda known, you on the scene, you’d catch his eye. I heard. I lost it. Was pissed at him, took it out on you. Babe, I get pissed, I do it a lot, that’ll happen.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

“I’ll try to stop it but I know me. There are times I’ll fail. You gotta get it and roll with it.”

“Okay,” I whispered again.

“Now, movers’re almost done. I’m gonna cook. You’re gonna take your coat off and give me your keys so Spinolli can move your car. And you’re gonna drink a glass of wine, eat and spend the afternoon with me.”

“Okay,” I said softly.

He held my face in his hands as he held my eyes.

Then he whispered, “Okay.”

Then my breath left me, my heart, which had finally started beating again, tripped as his hands tipped my face up, his head dipped down and he slid his nose along the side of mine as he continued to hold my eyes captive.

“I’ll kill him, he touches you again,” he murmured.

Oh boy.

“Knight,” I breathed, my fingers clenching tighter in his tee.

“Kill anyone, they touch you.”

Oh God.

I closed my eyes and felt his nose slide back up as a tingle slid up my spine into my scalp then I felt his forehead touch mine right before he released me.

Since he was moving away, I had no choice but to let his shirt go, so I did and opened my eyes.

“Yo!” he called as he walked to the opening to the kitchen. “One of you boys go downstairs, can you take a set of keys to the doorman?”

“No worries,” one of them called back.

Knight turned to me.

I stared at him a beat then took my bag off my shoulder, dug in it and pulled out my keys. I walked to him, he lifted his hand palm up, I dropped them in and his eyes caught mine a second before he turned and disappeared around the wall.

I stood in his kitchen holding my purse wondering what on earth was wrong with me.

Then it came to me.

“Wars fought over a face like this.”

I was trembling, scared now for a different reason, a far more terrifying reason but I didn’t move. I just stood in his kitchen trembling.

Then he reappeared and looked at me.

“Jacket, Anya,” he stated. “Throw it wherever. I gotta see to the steaks then I’ll get you a glass of wine. Make yourself at home.”

Then he went to his meat.

I shakily shrugged off my jacket while walking out of the kitchen.

Okay, all right.

What the heck was I doing?

Okay, all right.

Oh boy.

Shit!

I wandered down to the sunken living room and tossed my jacket and purse on one of the two identical black leather couches that faced each other. Then I wandered across it and up to the area on the other side that was all windows. Then I stood there looking through the clear day to the uninterrupted vista of the Front Range thinking spring was coming. Soon, I could wear flip-flops.

“Where’s Nick gonna go?”

Yep, that was me asking the window.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Pause then, “Do you?”

“Not really,” I mumbled and considering I was across the grand expanse of his apartment he probably didn’t hear me.

“Out of my place, out of my business,” Knight muttered to himself and I rethought him not hearing me mumbling since I heard him just fine.

I looked from the Front Range to him.

“He works with you?”

His neck twisted and his eyes came to me. “For me and not anymore.”

Oh brother.

As in, literally.

I turned to face him fully. “Knight, if this is about me –”

“Anya, it isn’t,” he cut me off, I lost him as he bent to shove the meat in the oven but his voice kept sounding. “It is and it isn’t. That party?”

He stopped and I prompted, “Yeah?”

He reappeared and moved around the kitchen. “Not the first time. Not even the fuckin’ second. This is not his place. It’s mine. He was crashin’ here. Then he moved a bunch of shit in here. I don’t care, never around anyway, but he knows I don’t want or like attention. He’s always gettin’ it for me.”

He moved to the counter that delineated the kitchen from the living room and set two, wide-bowled wineglasses on it then shifted back through the kitchen as I watched.

“So he’s out,” I called to his back.

“Yeah. Out. Done comin’ home to him fuckin’ bitches on my couch. My food gone. My booze gone. My wine gone. Blow residue on mirrors my cleaners find because he leaves them out everywhere. Them complainin’ to me about used condoms in the fuckin’ trash bins. Jesus. I don’t need that shit.” He came back to the counter with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew and his eyes came to me. “Last night, he touched your girl. My boys told me it was not a good scene. Then he touched you and made his play the way only Nick can make a fuckin’ play with a woman like you which was also not a good scene. I’m done.”

“Right,” I whispered thinking with all that and all I knew of Nick Sebring, I would be done too.

I turned back to the windows.

I heard the movers reappear but I didn’t look as I heard them speak.

“Done, Mr. Sebring.”

“Good. Invoice or pay now?” That was Knight.

“Invoice.”

“Right.” Again Knight.

There was nothing for a while then, “Whoa, thanks, Mr. Sebring.”

That, obviously, was not Knight but, apparently, Knight tipped well.

Not surprising.

“Don’t mention it.” That was Knight, in a mutter.

Then nothing as I stared at the Front Range and did everything in my power to stop my mind from moving to why I was still there. Yes, the wars fought over a face like this comment was epic. That didn’t make me any less crazy because evidence was suggesting Knight Sebring was a whole lot crazier than me.

Tingles slid up my spine into my scalp radiating out when I felt a finger lightly tracing the edge of my racerback tank.

I turned and Knight was there, eyes down, hands both holding wineglasses, index finger on one out clearly to touch me.

God.

Seriously.

I was totally crazy.

And I should never, never, ever have worn this sweater. It was my best but it was also my coolest and sexiest.

His eyes came to mine and he held out a glass.

“Red,” I whispered, taking it.

“You don’t like red?” he asked and I looked from my glass to him.

“Yeah, I like it,” I answered softly.

“Good,” he replied just as softly.

“I’m a vegetarian though,” I blurted mostly because I liked his light touch, I liked his soft voice, I was losing myself in both and I had to keep my wits about me.

He blinked.

Blinked!

I made Knight Sebring blink!

“Not really,” I let him off the hook, his eyes held mine then he threw back his head and burst out laughing.

I stared.

I’d never seen him anything but impassive, irritated and angry. He was gorgeous even through those.

Now, laughing, it wasn’t to be believed.

Oh God.

Seriously.

I wasn’t crazy.

I was in trouble.

Still laughing, his arm swept out, catching me at the waist and pulling me into his shaking, hard, warm body.

Yep, totally in trouble.

His chin dipped and his dancing, vivid, blue eyes caught mine.

Oh so totally, completely in trouble.

Still smiling a hell on wheels beautiful smile, he muttered, “My baby’s funny.”

Oh God.

Oh God.

Oh no.

Oh crap.

My baby.

I liked that.

Seriously, totally, completely, absolutely in trouble.

With effort, I pulled it together again.

“How do you know what I drive?” I asked.

“Watched you pull into your place that Friday,” he answered.

“And you saw the rosary and St. Christopher?” I pressed, knowing this was impossible unless he had Superman vision.

“Had a look before I took off. Seriously, you need another car.”

“I don’t. There’s nothing wrong with it. I get it serviced yearly. Tires rotated. Regular oil changes. Toyotas last forever.”

“It’s ordinary.”

“So?”

“Anya,” his arm gave me a squeeze, “babe, you are not ordinary.”

That tingle came back.

“You need a class ride,” he kept talking. “No flash, you need no more attention than you already get. Just class.”

I studied him.

Then I informed him, “Knight, I’m not sure the world sees what you see in me.”

He shook his head. “No, babe, you do not see what the world sees. Totally fuckin’ clueless.”

“I’m not,” I returned.

“How many men smile at you?” he asked immediately and my head jerked.

“Pardon?”

“Men,” he stated. “How many men whose eyes you catch smile at you?”

I thought about this and answered, “All of them.”

He stared at me but murmured, “Right.”

“They’re just being friendly.”

“Uh… no. They want in your pants even if they’re walkin’ by you on the street.”

“That isn’t true,” I retorted. “Women smile at me too.”

“All of them?”

I thought about this too and muttered, “No.”

“Good-lookin’ ones?”

My eyes slid away.

“Anya, eyes to me.”

My eyes slid back.

“Good-lookin’ bitches, they don’t smile at you, do they?”

“Uh…” I mumbled but didn’t say more.

“Competition,” he decreed.

I studied him again.

Then, quietly, I declared, “Knight, seriously, honestly, all this is crazy.”

“Anya, babe,” another arm squeeze with a head dip and I held my breath, “seriously, honestly, you’re absolutely fuckin’ right. This is fuckin’ whacked. It’s also fucking happening.”

“What is this?” I ventured.

“The start of you and me.”

My body went still, that tingle came back, my eyes stared into his and my heart again stopped beating.

Then I whispered, “What?”

“Babe, you’re standing in my arm, in my house, drinking my wine after agreeing in the kitchen.”

“I haven’t even sipped the wine,” I pointed out.

His lips twitched.

Twitched!

I made Knight Sebring’s lips twitch!

“Right, well, you will,” he muttered.

“And I didn’t agree to anything,” I went on.

Another lip twitch.

Then a repeated, “Right, well, you will.”

“Knight,” I lifted a hand and hesitantly placed it on his chest (which was rock-hard by the way… seriously in trouble). I powered through how good his chest felt under my hand and pressed ever onward, informing him cautiously, “You kind of scare me.”

“Yeah. I’m that guy ‘cause I need to be that guy,” he stated mysteriously. Then his face dipped to mine again and he talked quieter when he continued, “Straight up, baby, I’m also that guy ‘cause I just am that guy. But you’ll learn you got nothin’ to fear from me.”

“You drag me around,” I whispered.

“Yeah, and you follow me.”

“I kind of have no choice,” I pointed out.

His head went back and all traces of amusement left his face when he informed me, “You always have a choice. You didn’t take it. Except once, when you pulled away from me at the elevator.”

This was, casting my mind back, kind of true.

“There were two times that you carried me,” I reminded him.

“And both times you held on.”

Damn. This was true too and not kind of at all.

“I need to ponder this.”

His arm tightened, a gorgeous smile spread on his equally gorgeous face and it was at both that I realized I said that out loud.

Then a buzzer sounded in the kitchen.

“Right, then do it eatin’ a steak. I’m hungry,” he ordered, let me go and sauntered toward the kitchen.

I stood, watched him move and took a sip of my wine.

Then I found my feet following him.

When I arrived, he was pulling out the grill pan in order to flip the meat.

“Can I help?” I offered.

“Yeah, grab some placemats. Drawers this side of the bar,” he took me up on my offer as he slid the grill pan back in the oven.

“You have placemats?”

He straightened and looked at me.

“Yeah. Why?”

“A man who wears a Metallica tee doesn’t have placemats,” I informed him and his lips twitched again.

“Yeah, you’re right, unless he’s also a man who hired a bossy bitch who seriously likes to spend money to kit out his new condo. That man owns placemats.”

My eyes swept the kitchen with its black KitchenAid appliances, counter appliances and the hooks under the counter where the shiny, expensive-looking cooking utensils hung. It had a black on black theme with black marble countertops, shiny black cupboards and even black tiles on the floor.

Then my eyes kept moving through the living room with its stream-lined couches, low, glass-topped coffee table and large, tall, chrome, curved lamps at kitty-corners with their domed, white shades drooping over the area. All this sitting on a charcoal gray rug that looked like a huge, square piece of fluffy fur.

Then my eyes moved over the low chest at the top situated against the wall that had three black, huge, glossy bowls on top that were wicked cool but held nothing. Then my eyes took in the heavily-framed print on the wall above it that looked like a lot of gray and black splotches and strokes that depicted nothing and made me feel less. And last, there was another state-of-the art, expensively designed CD player mounted on the wall.

It was all spare, colorless but dead cool.

I looked back at Knight. “So this woman bought everything?”

He was pulling down glossy black plates from a cupboard as he answered, “Asked my favorite color, that was it. Then she bought everything.”

“Let me guess, you told her your favorite color was black.”

His eyes came to me and his lips twitched.

Again!

“No, I said it was red.”

I stared at him.

Then it was me who burst out laughing.

Through my laughter I asked, “Seriously?”

“No fuckin’ joke,” he put the plates on the bar and opened a drawer as I moved to open and close two before I found and grabbed two black, cloth placemats. “Jacked. I was away on business, came back, this is what I got. Not a hint of red in the place. Not a hint of anything.”

I set the placemats by the stools on the other side of the bar and asked, “Did she do your bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t like satin sheets?”

His eyes came to me, there was something in them that made me go still but he answered, “Took one look at them, nearly lost my mind. Luckily, she wasn’t around. Slept on ‘em one night, would never sleep on anything else. Not at home.”

“So they’re nice,” I whispered.

“Fuck yeah,” he whispered back.

We stared at each other a beat as I felt his two words hit me in a very secret place.

Then Knight’s eyes moved over my face before they caught mine and he said quietly, “Think it’s a good idea we quit talkin’ about my sheets.”

I nodded because I agreed.

Definitely.

He put cutlery on the counter and ordered, “Arrange that shit and park your ass on a stool, babe. I’ll serve this up.”

I grabbed the cutlery, shifted around the other side and arranged it on the placemats as Knight worked in the kitchen. Then I parked my ass on a stool, sipped wine and watched.

He was cutting open steaming baked potatoes when I noted, “You explained the car. How do you know my last name?”

“What?” he asked, buttering the potatoes.

“The doorman knew my last name. I can only assume you told him.”

His glanced at me then went back to the potatoes, now grinding pepper over them. “Nick told me.”

I felt my brow furrow. “Nick knows my last name?”

He put the pepper aside and grabbed some maldon salt out of a small black bowl and tossed it on the spuds. “Day after I ripped him a new asshole about the party, he asked who I took home. I told him your first name then he said, ‘Anya Gage?’ and since you’re probably the only Anya in Denver and definitely the only Anya at that party, I guessed. So, yeah, Nick told me.”

“How did Nick know?” I asked.

“No clue,” he muttered, moving to the fridge.

I didn’t like that.

“I don’t know if I like that. I never told him my name.”

Carrying a tub of sour cream, Knight’s eyes cut to me. “Your girl?”

That could be.

“Maybe,” I muttered.

“Speakin’ of her,” he started, reaching into a drawer to grab a spoon, “she needs to tone it down.”

“What?”

He glopped big spoonfuls of sour cream on the potatoes and then his eyes came to me. “You gotta advise her to tone it down. Seen her at my club more than once though never with you. She’s on the hunt. Makes men edgy. Makes her vulnerable. She’ll do what she’s gotta do to get what she wants and they know it. They also know what she wants. She opens it up right off the bat, they take what they want, throw the rest back and they throw the rest back because she gives the vibe they let her in even a little bit, she’ll suck ‘em dry. She needs to watch you, make your moves.”

“My moves?” I asked as he set the sour cream aside and went for the oven door.

“Yeah,” he answered, sliding out the grill pan.

“What are my moves?”

He answered as he put the thick, fillet steaks on the plates.

“The girl in the corner, surveying the scene, playing it cool. You don’t go to them. They come to you if they got the balls to do it which, my guess, they rarely do because they can’t hack not cuttin’ it and losin’ the promise of you. You’re the girl you take out to dinner. Get the good champagne. You pay her attention. Buy her some shit that softens her up and makes her happy. Then you hope all that sweet turns wild when you get her in bed.”

He saw me in the corner?

And he thought all that other stuff about me?

My throat felt clogged but I forced out, “Excuse me?”

His eyes came to me, brows raised. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately.

“Bullshit,” he muttered then went back to the fridge.

“Uh… Knight, I would know and you are.”

He didn’t answer. He just came back with a bowl of salad.

Then it hit me.

“Is this you paying me attention, softening me up in order to get me to bed?” I asked.

“You’ll be in my bed, Anya,” he told the plates as he mounded salad on them.

After the brief satin sheets discussion, I wanted to be.

Now.

Not so much.

“Sure of yourself,” I muttered, he turned with both plates and dropped them on the placemats.

Then he put both hands out wide, palms flat on the counter and leveled his eyes to me.

“One thing we got left that we gotta know is covered is that you suit me in bed. That happens, babe, you know there’s gonna be a you and me. Where that goes, anyone’s guess, but however it goes, there’ll be a you and me.”

Right, now he was a gorgeous, scary, psychopath who was genius at throwing out compliments however they came and unbelievably arrogant.

“What I know is I’m going to set a record for the fastest steak consumption in history and then I’m gonna get out of here.”

One side of his mouth curved up, his eyes warmed and he turned back to the fridge.

Then he came back with a couple bottles of salad dressing, dropped them on the counter in front of me then rounded it and took the stool beside me.

I grabbed the ranch and started pouring.

“Babe, you need to take my point,” Knight said quietly.

“Which one?” I asked cuttingly, spearing into my salad with my fork.

“Call down your girl. She needs to cool it. She doesn’t, she’ll get hurt and that hurt can come a lot of different ways.”

“I think last night your brother taught her that lesson,” I informed him and shoved salad in my mouth.

Knight didn’t reply.

I chewed, swallowed and speared more salad as I went on, “And, right now, you’re teaching me a different one.”

Suddenly, his hand was wrapped around the back of my neck and my eyes weren’t on my plate. They were on his because he’d pulled me to him twisting.

“Don’t fight this,” he warned.

“I’ve decided there’s no this to fight,” I returned.

“You’re terrified of me and you walked in here yourself. No one dragged you here. You brought no one to take your back. No one made you stay. Don’t try to bullshit me or yourself about the fact that you don’t wanna explore this with me. You want it or you wouldn’t be here. I get you fighting it. I’m just tellin’ you, you are not gonna win.”

“You don’t know that,” I told him.

“Yeah, I do because you’re sittin’ right here with me.”

“And I can walk away.”

“Yeah, you can do that but you’re not going to and I know this because you came in the first place. And I also know this because when we were talkin’ about my sheets, your face told me you wanted to know what I could do to you on them and no matter what your head tries to fuck you with, you’re not gonna be able to stop until you find out.”

“I’m not certain I like you.”

“You don’t need to like me to let me fuck you but since I like you, I’d prefer it that way.”

I stared at him feeling my belly curl despite being pissed at him.

Then I whispered, “You like me?”

His eyes again moved over my face before locking on mine and he whispered back, “Babe, you apologized for bein’ in my bedroom and you meant it. In one day, you returned a phone that cost a G and you did it with all its packaging. You thanked me for roughin’ up your landlord. And you made me laugh. And this doesn’t get into how much I like lookin’ at you. So, yeah, I fuckin’ like you and I do because you are the only woman I’ve met in over a decade who’d do any of that shit.”

I liked that. I liked a lot of things about him. I also disliked a lot of things about him. And there was so much coming at me, I could keep track of which was winning out.

“I find all of this very confusing,” I admitted cautiously.

“You get in my bed, I’ll sort you out.”

Seriously?

Something for the dislike side.

“You’re that good?” I asked with mild sarcasm but he pulled me closer so my face was an inch from his.

“Yeah, I am, baby. I will take care of you there in all the ways you need me to do it. That I can guarantee.”

I could feel my heart beating in my neck as I looked into his super serious eyes.

Call me crazy but his confidence and the words that went with it which pretty much promised he’d look out for my needs was definitely on the like side.

Time to shut this down.

So I blurted, “I’ve decided I’m hungry.”

His eyes went from serious to warm again. When they did that last I wasn’t up close to get the full impact and having it, I wished I didn’t at the same time I memorized that look and the feeling it gave me.

Then he said gently, “Then I better let my baby eat.”

“That’d be good,” I replied quietly. “But can we do it without talking? Most the time you talk, it freaks me out.”

It was then his eyes lit with humor close up and that was even better.

“Works for me,” he muttered then, “You cut into that steak and taste it, you won’t be talkin’ anyway. You’ll be shoveling more in.”

“Can’t wait,” I whispered, his eyes dropped to my mouth and darkened.

Okay, that was the best.

Then his eyes came back, his hand gave my neck a squeeze and he released me.

He turned back to his plate. I followed suit. He started eating. After a gulp of wine that almost choked me, I resumed.

About five seconds later I found he was right about the steak.

Melt in your mouth.

Perfect.