The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(18)

"Always, babe." She glances up at the man who’s been standing quietly. “I’m going to leave now, but remember, if anything happens to her, if you so much as upset her, you’ll have me to contend with. Also, I have the cops on speed dial, and if she doesn’t message me to tell me she’s on her way home in a few hours, I’m calling them.” She jerks her chin in the now-silent Knight’s direction, then back at me. “Don’t forget to text me.”

Silent Knight? Yeesh, my mind is totally going around in circles. "I will, promise.”

She slides off the barstool, grabs her bag, and with a last warning glare at Knight, she leaves.

I stay where I am. So does he. The seconds stretch. No move from him. Around us, the noise in the bar turns up a notch. There are groups of men with ties-loosened, shooting the breeze. A couple who are eye-fucking each other sits at one of the tables. At another, two women are holding hands and smiling at each other, and a group of four at another table burst into laughter. Jackets have been flung over chairs and bags dropped to the floor as everyone lets off steam after the day’s efforts. I’d do anything to join their tribe.

To get a job, and bank that monthly check has never felt more out of my reach. My nose tickles, and a pressure builds behind my eyes. Stupid, stupid. I’m not going to cry, and definitely not when he’s hovering behind me like some angel of death. I snatch up my glass of whiskey, drain it, then gesture to the bartender. He reaches over with a bottle of whiskey to top me up, only to glance over my shoulder. He pales, takes a step back, and another, then spins around on his heels and walks off.

"Hey, stop, where are you—" I gasp, for he brushes past me. And he hasn't even touched me. All that happens is he disturbs the air around me, but tell that to all the cells in my body that sit up and take notice. Knight slips onto the barstool vacated by Mira.

I don’t look at him. I stare straight ahead. Maybe if I keep quiet, he’ll leave. Do I want him to leave? Yes, I do. I don’t want to see him again. So, why is all my attention focused on him? We stay like that for a few seconds more, then he leans in toward me. I flinch, but all he does is grab the seat of my barstool and spin it, so I’m turned toward him. I draw in a sharp breath, and that familiar sea breeze and pepper scent of his laces my nostrils. Oh, my god. I smelled him yesterday, too, but I was so worried about how I was going to hold up, and so distracted by what he was doing to me, that I shoved it aside. But knowing he’s seated right next to me seems to amplify the impact of his scent on my body. My nipples pebble, and that yawning emptiness between my legs seems to multiply ten-fold.

He’s cast a net over me. The more I struggle, the more I seem to entangle myself in it. I keep my gaze focused on his chest—his broad chest clad in the usual black sweatshirt, which stretches across those massive shoulders. He’s so big, I can’t see around him. His presence is so potent, the rest of the world might as well have vanished. He draws in a breath and the muscles under his sweatshirt ripple.

Then he leans in so his thighs bracket mine. The emptiness between my legs is replaced by a throbbing heaviness. He pinches my chin, so I have no choice but to look up at him. My gaze meets his piercing green gaze, and a trembling grips me. Gah, stop it. You should slap his face for the way he retreated from you so quickly yesterday.

I open my mouth, but he speaks first, "I have a proposition for you."





10





Knight





"Eh?" She gapes at me. "What did you say?"

I lower my hand to my side. "I understand yesterday must have been a little out of the ordinary for you—"

"You think?"

"—which is the only reason I’m going to repeat myself. I have a suggestion for an arrangement which might benefit you."

Her gaze widens further until her blue eyes seem to swallow up her face. With her blonde hair and a pink dress that barely contains her curves, she’s definitely not the kind of girl I’m normally attracted to. But then, I’ve rarely noticed the features of women I’ve been with, let alone the shapes of their bodies. One hole was as good as another—except when it comes to hers. And no one had been inside of her. Fuck me.

When she announced that yesterday, it was as if a building had collapsed on me. The reverberations from her proclamation managed to cut through the wall I'd built around myself during those days in captivity. I’d divorced myself from my body—locked away my feelings, my emotions, my humanity in a corner of my mind which I’d then isolated behind a barrier. And she—had managed to get through it.

She surprised me, and I wasn't able to stop myself from reacting—by running away from her. The shock of feeling something other than that hopelessness inside of me sent me packing. Like the coward you are. When it came down to it, tough guy, you weren't cut out to be a soldier. And then, I walked into the bar today and spotted her. She drew me to her like a magnet. Before I realized it, I was standing behind her. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to her—but putting forward a plan to her was not on my list.

Now, she firms her lips, then juts out her chin. "If you think I’m going to listen to you after you ran from me like I had the plague, then you are so mistaken, you—"

"You’re right in being angry with me," I murmur.