Page 80 of Twisted Knight

Good.

I think the thought but I’m sitting taller and looking out the large windows of the bar to see if he’s in the parking lot.

“Can we start over now that your stalker is gone?” he jokes.

“Sure. I’d like that.”

“I think we were talking about capturing the market and the economy, but when you left, I realized you probably have no interest in that.” He takes a sip of his vodka cranberry and offers a placating smile. “I’ve learned the quickest way to turn a date off is to drone on and on about business. My apologies. Tell me about you. The committees you chair at the club. The things you can’t wait to do with your kids one day.”

I stare at him, blinking rapidly as if the action is going to help me process the domesticated box he just put me in.

“Who says I’m on any committees?”

“A good Southern woman like you?” He rolls his eyes. “C’mon now. It’s okay to brag.”

“I’m not on any. I work. A lot. And I—”

“But that’s just until you get married, right? After that, what do you hope for?”

… You keep hanging around with people who only see you as an afterthought, who make it your job to soothe, serve, and settle.…

I lift my chin. “To run my family’s company.”

Gregory belts out a condescending laugh and reaches out to put a hand on my forearm. I freeze at his touch. It elicits none of the same reactions Holden’s did. “That’s cute. I’m sure your family has something different to say about it.”

Hate to burst your bubble, Gregory Chapman, but you just killed this date.

You and Holden both.

TWENTY-FIVE

Holden

Jesus fucking Christ.

I gulp in the cool night air as I pace back and forth in front of my car.

Rowan’s fucking kiss was … is … electric. The taste of her skin. The heat of her pussy.

All-consuming.

Fucking owning my mind as I stand out here and wait for her.

And she will come.

I scrub a hand through my hair, shake my head, and remind myself Rowan is just the cherry on top of the sundae. Nothing less. Nothing more.

The deep-seated ache in my balls begs to differ.

My attention is pulled to a couple arguing a few rows over. Poor bastard is getting raked over the coals for looking at another woman.

“You’re right.” Rowan’s voice at my back startles me. She fucking came. I turn around slowly to find her standing inches from me, hands on her hips, annoyance etched in the lines of her face. Even more gorgeous because of it.

We stand like this for a moment as a car drives by and a flood of sound hits us as the door to the bar opens and closes. And then she fists a hand in my shirt and yanks my mouth down to hers.

There is no hesitation on her part this time. No push and then pull. Rowan Rothschild dives right in with a fervor equal to how the first kiss made me feel. It’s heat and hunger. It’s fire and ice. It’s a battle of wills and a submission of neither.

It’s fucking perfection.