Page 46 of Keep Me Close

I don’t say anything. Mostly because I’m pissed at myself for allowing this to happen. The punch replays in my head on a vicious loop. Underneath that irritation is a deeper emotion. Every time I glance at Chey, I see the fear she tried to hide on the sidewalk. The way she froze when she spotted him, her body going rigid. The need to keep her close feels less like a choice and more like instinct. I’ll be damned if I allow anything to happen to her.

The elevator doors slide open, and I wait for her to step out before following as she moves through the penthouse to the kitchen.

“Sit down,” she orders.

There’s enough of an edge in her voice that I almost smile. Instead, I do as I’m told and drop into one of the kitchen chairs while she grabs a dish towel from the drawer, crosses to the freezer, and fills a bag with ice. Her movements are efficient, but I notice the small things. The faint tremor in her fingers when she presses the zipper on the bag shut, or the way she draws in a steady breath before turning back to me. She’s doing everything she can to be strong in order to get through this moment.

When Chey steps between my knees, every thought in my head short-circuits. She’s close enough for me to feel the heat of her body. Close enough for me to catch the clean scent of soap and sweat along with the faintest trace of her shampoo. Close enough that if I shifted forward even an inch, my face would brush the soft fabric stretched over her chest.

She lifts the ice to my eye, and I hiss at the contact.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

Her free hand slides into my hair, pushing it away from my forehead so she can get a better look at the damage. Her touch is gentle, and without thinking, I lean into it. Just a little. But it’s enough to feel her still for half a beat before her fingers start moving again against my scalp.

This probably shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Even though pain throbs behind my eye, all I can focus on is Cheyenne as she stands between my legs and runs her fingers over me. My body responds to that in ways that aren’t helping one damn bit.

“I really am sorry,” she murmurs.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Guilt fills her eyes as they settle on mine. “This is all my fault.”

I catch her wrist loosely with my fingers. It’s just enough to still her hand in my hair. “No, it’s not.”

“If I hadn’t⁠—”

“Stop.” I lower the ice pack so I can look at her properly. “This is on him,” I say, each word clipped and deliberate. “Not you.”

Her mouth trembles. “Knox⁠—”

“No.” I tighten my hold on her wrist, wanting to stop the thoughts from spinning in her head. “You’re not going to take responsibility for his choices. That’s what guys like him do. They push too far, then act like it’s your fault for making them feel something they can’t handle.”

For a second, she just stares at me before her eyes become shiny. They’re not quite tears but close enough to make my chest twist.

Her fingers relax in my hair, turning into more of a caress. The urge to lean farther into her touch is almost overwhelming, and it takes effort to fight back.

“I don’t want you hurt because of me,” she says softly.

A humorless huff leaves me as I force myself to release her wrist and lift the ice back to my face. “You think I’m scared of that guy?”

She studies me for a second. “No, I don’t.”

Good answer.

“But,” she continues quietly, “I’m starting to realize he’s not stable.”

“All the more reason to be careful, don’t you think?”

Her gaze drops as she worries her lower lip between her teeth. “Maybe I should skip the charity event.”

As soon as I set the ice pack on the table and rise to my feet, she takes a quick step in retreat. “No.”

“Knox—”

“Absolutely not.”