His mouth curves just enough. "You're doing better than half the men did their first day in there. James had to sedate one of them."
"You're joking."
"Nope."
Images of Malachi or Nash passed out on a couch while Maggie tucks a blanket over them make me huff out a laugh I don't expect.
Knox turns down a quieter street lined with older houses. Trees shade the sidewalks. Some yards have toys strewn across them. One porch sports a sagging couch that somehow still looks inviting.
He eases into the driveway of a brick house with a deep porch and swing. A bike is tucked to the side, road dust dulling its gleam. The grass is trimmed, and the windows are clean. He kills the engine.
Somewhere down the block, a porch swing creaks. That's all the sound there is.
"This is yours?" I ask.
"Yeah." He shrugs, almost self-conscious. "It's simple. Walls, roof, hot water. Bed that doesn't vibrate when somebody slams a door downstairs."
He comes around and opens my door again. He keeps doing that. Opening doors, stepping aside, making room automatically.
"Welcome to my house, Sloane. Details tomorrow. Tonight, no one gets to you."
I step out, Maggie's bag in my hands. The porch smells of wood and faint detergent. A wind chime taps once in the breeze.
I catch the bike before I catch anything else.
It crouches in the porch shade, black and matte, metal edges hungry, built to eat the road. The long seat arches sleek. The Outsiders emblem sits on the tank, subtle and unmistakable.
"You stare any harder," Knox says behind me, voice low and warm, "you're gonna make her purr."
Heat flashes up my neck. "I wasn't… I mean… It's just beautiful."
He steps closer. Close enough that his breath warms my nape. He takes my elbow and steers me closer. "C'mere. Let me show you."
I go. My feet know before my brain does.
He stands behind the handlebars, one hand on the grip, the other tracing along the tank. "Custom seat." He pats the leather. "Engine rebuilt last year. Handles like sin."
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. "Handles like sin?"
He lifts his eyes to mine and holds. "Yeah. Fast. Smooth. Real good at keeping a woman steady behind me."
That's not subtle. He comes around the bike, one solid line of heat against my front, and places my hand on the seat. His calloused fingers slide over mine, lingering.
"Can't wait to get you on the back," he murmurs. He smirks, self-satisfied, then his jaw tightens just enough to show he's paying for it.
"Knox," I whisper.
"What, baby?"
Baby. My bones liquefy. His fingers slide up to my jaw, tugging me forward until my body fits against his. His heartbeat thuds against my collarbone, and his chest presses flat against mine until there's no air left between us.
"You settle once we're alone," he murmurs. "Good. Means I can touch you now without worrying you'll bolt."
His forehead brushes mine. "I won't shatter," I say.
"You won't," he says. "I'll catch you."
Then he straightens, clearing his throat as though he's forcing himself to slow down. "Right," he mutters. "Before I forget—"
