Hair in a state of disarray, as if he just removed his hat to throw some punches. Punches that make me all too positive that he’s thrown thousands of swings in his life. His fists slice through the air and rock the bag on its chain. There’s acool violence to his movements that remind me how calm he remained after shooting my attacker.
Like he’d done it before.
Last night, I laid in bed twirling my hair and sighing over all the sweet things he said to me when we had sex. How he kissed me on my way out the door. But what about his dark side? How much do I truly know about Knox? This man who I can’t stop thinking about.
This man whose touch I crave.
This man who seems determined to be as mean as a snake one moment, then caring the next. He’s an enigma and I need to know more.
“Hey,” I call, sauntering toward the porch with my wrists crossed behind my back. “Mind if I take a swing?”
Watching my approach through narrowed eyes, he steps back, jerking his chin at the punching bag. “Be my guest.”
“I mean, can I take a swing atyou,”I say, sweetly.“Not the punching bag.”
A corner of his mouth twitches. The ghost of a smile that scatters my pulse. “You’re early today,” he remarks.
“Well,” I toe the bottom porch step with my boot. “I got to thinking about you, all alone in this big house, so I decided to take pity on you.”
“I like being alone.” He cuts me a look and mutters. “Most of the time.”
“Do you? I hate it. That’s why I still live with my parents, instead of setting off to college or getting my own place. I like being at home. I like home sounds.”
His brows pop upward. “What’s a home sound?”
I think for a moment. “Coffee pouring into a mug. A muffled television. Water running in the pipes. Horse hooves of an approaching neighbor. The dryer.”
“You can have all of those things without adding people,” he points out.
“No way. The sounds are more comforting when other people make them. Little reminders that I’m not alone, I guess. Even if I’m holed up in my room.” I replay what he said. “What do you have against people?”
He falls back onto a bench that is situated against the house, his thighs opening into a V. Looking deceptively casual, he crooks a finger at me. “If you’re going to ask me annoying questions, Billie, at least come closer.”
There’s a darkness in his tone that curls a wisp of smoke in my belly. “Okay.” I climb the porch steps, feeling suddenly shy. Highly unusual for me, but he’s so sweaty and male anddangerouslooking. A killer keeping his skills sharp. I stop in front of him, his outstretched thigh brushing against the outside of my knee. “Um.”
Dark green eyes track down to the high hem of my shorts. “Take those tight little things off and sit in my lap.”
Swallowing hard, I undo my button and lower the fly of my jean shorts, pushing them own to my ankles and stepping out, watching his gaze darken at the sight of my gray panties with white lace trim. “Should I face you?”
“This time, yeah,” he says, thickly. “Lose the tank top first, too.”
Anticipation meanders through my blood, and I realize I like him looking at me naked. The way he did in his bedroom yesterday. It turns him on. I like watching him get turned on for me. Now, though, I look around, chewing my lip. “Out here?”
“No one can see you but me.”
Nodding, I remove the tank top and let it fall to my feet in a slither.
I’m standing in front of the landlord in nothing but underwear and cowboy boots.
“Panties now,” he rasps, his eyes riveted on the swell of my mound.
Face hot, I bend forward, slowly peeling the undergarment down my legs. When I straighten again, he groans, stroking the bulge that has risen in the left leg of his pants. “It’s a good thing I didn’t come across you my first night out of prison, little girl. I don’t think you’d have survived what I’d have done to you.”
“Prison?” I whisper, startled.
Knox
Why the hell did I say that out loud?
