Page 49 of Keep Me Close

How’s that even possible?

He catches sight of me while lifting the glass to his mouth. The tumbler pauses for a beat before he lowers it again. His gaze drifts over me. It starts at my heels before moving slowly upward with a deliberate heat that feels more like a physical caress by the time it reaches my face.

I get the sense he’s able to strip away every layer I painstakingly covered myself with in the bathroom, exposing all the cracks I’m careful to keep hidden beneath the surface.

Warmth climbs up my neck.

For one suspended moment, neither of us says a word as his gaze stays pinned to me.

He clears his throat. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

The words hit like a lightning strike. Maybe because there’s no teasing within them. No easy grin or playfulness. Just raw male appreciation that makes my belly swoop.

It’s shocking to realize that some small, foolish part of me is pleased that he likes what he sees.

“Thank you.” I force a smile. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

His gaze lingers another second before lifting to my eyes. “I understand why he’s upset about losing you.” Before I can figure out a response, he adds quietly, “I would be too.”

Heat blooms beneath my skin as my pulse stumbles, then kicks harder.

The compliment sounds almost as if it slipped out before he could think better of it, and somehow, that almost makes it worse.

Or better.

Maybe more dangerous.

I don’t know at this point.

What I do know is that I can’t allow myself to sit with those words for too long, or I’ll start wanting things I can’t afford to want when it comes to Knox McNichols.

“Luckily,” I say, aiming for light and breezy, and praying it comes across that way, “you don’t have to worry about that since this is all for show.”

His jaw tightens. The shift is slight, but I still catch it.

“Right,” he says, voice flatter now. “For show.”

The comment should settle me. Instead, it only makes the blood thrum even faster through my veins.

He crosses the room before stopping in front of me. My breath catches when he reaches out and adjusts the thin strap of my gown where it rests against my shoulder, his fingers grazing my skin in the process. The touch is light. And yet it manages to send sparks shooting through me.

His gaze meets mine. “Ready to go?”

I nod, afraid if I try to speak, my voice will come out sounding like a squeak. When he offers me his arm, I take it. We head down to the lobby where a sleek, black sedan is waiting at the curb. The driver climbs out and opens the rear door, but I’m far too aware of the way Knox’s hand lingers on the small of my back as he guides me forward.

“After you,” he says.

I slide onto the leather and settle on the far side of the seat, smoothing my dress with shaking fingers. Knox follows seconds later, his bigger body bringing with it a rush of warmth and that woodsy, expensive scent that makes my belly flip.

The door shuts, and the vehicle glides smoothly away from the curb. I turn toward the window, watching Chicago drift by in streaks of light and steel as I try to refocus my attention. But it’s no use. I couldn’t be more aware of the man beside me if I tried. Of the quiet between us and the subtle tension that radiates off him. Of the fact that if either of us shifted the slightest bit, our knees would brush.

I keep my hands folded carefully in my lap as I continue staring out the window. I’m trying very hard not to focus on the possibility that his mouth will be on mine again before this night is over. That thought alone is enough to make my pulse race.

Have I ever been this attracted to a man?

I stare harder out the window.

It’s probably best not to answer that question.