Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Knox makes a rough sound before jerking back. There’s a rush of air between us as I blink up at him, feeling slightly dazed as my lips continue to tingle.
He clears his throat. “I think that’s enough.”
My thoughts spin as I stare at him. All I want to do is lean in and kiss him again, just to see if it would feel as good as the first time.
“Are you sure?”
His jaw tightens as my hand lifts to graze my lips, trying to steady myself. But it’s impossible.
“Yeah, I am.” He pops to his feet. “Actually, I’m pretty beat. I’m going to call it a night. Feel free to watch TV for as long as you want.”
Before I can even open my mouth, he turns, disappearing down the hallway. A second later, the soft click of his bedroom door echoes through the space.
What the hell just happened?
The bigger question is… do I want it to happen again?
14
Knox
I stare at the ceiling, wondering how it’s possible to feel both exhausted and wired at the same time. I slept like shit. Each time I managed to drift off, an image of Cheyenne slid behind my eyes, followed by the memory of what her lips felt like beneath mine.
Soft and warm.
Too damn responsive.
The little sound she made when I’d deepened the kiss echoes through my head. Or maybe that had been me. At this point, I don’t know.
I scrub a hand over my face and blow out a slow breath.
One kiss.
That’s all it was supposed to be.
Proof that Cheyenne Benson isn’t any different from the other women I’ve been with.
Proof that I’m still in control.
Instead, all it did was blow a massive hole through those theories.
I spent half the night replaying that kiss in my head like a highlight reel I couldn’t shut off. The way she’d melted into me for one reckless second before everything had gone still. The way my hand had threaded through her hair. The way I’d wanted to drag her closer and—
I sit up before the thought can finish forming. There’s no point lying here and pretending I’m going to fall back asleep. The clock on the nightstand says it’s barely after six.
It’s too early for her to be awake. I could use a few minutes to get my head on straight before I have to face her and pretend that kiss didn’t shift everything between us.
I shove out of bed, yanking on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt before heading to the kitchen. The penthouse is quiet, the city beyond the windows just beginning to stir as pale morning light bleeds between the buildings. For a few blissful seconds, there’s nothing but silence and the low hum of the coffee maker as I fill it with water.
Coffee.
That’s exactly what’s needed here. Something bitter and strong that will cut through the haze in my brain.
I lean against the counter while it brews and drag a hand through my hair, trying to talk myself down from the ledge. This is a temporary situation. Once her ex gets the message and backs off, we can end this charade and go our separate ways. I’ll see her once or twice a year, at most. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to stop thinking about her so damn much.
With a scowl, I take a long swallow of coffee as soon as it’s ready. And swear under my breath as it burns the entire way down. Every muscle goes rigid when a door opens down the hall. I glance up just as Cheyenne steps into the kitchen.
Fuck.
She’s wearing black yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt that slips off one shoulder. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail and her face is bare of makeup as the lingering softness of sleep clings to her features.
The sight of her shouldn’t hit me like a gut punch.
Early sunlight touches her face, and my stomach plummets like I’ve just stepped off the edge of a building, falling a hundred stories to the ground.
“Morning,” she says.
Her tone is careful. It’s not cold or even awkward. Just… careful. Like she’s tiptoeing through a minefield, afraid one wrong step will blow everything apart.
Is she remembering what happened on the couch?
Did she spend all night tossing and turning, obsessing about that damn kiss the way I did?
My gaze drops to her lips before I can think better of it. They’re full, pink, and slightly parted.
I jerk my attention away before she catches me staring.
“Morning,” I mutter.
Silence stretches between us. It’s not long. Maybe two seconds. Three at the most. But it’s loaded. Heavy with everything neither one of us is willing to voice out loud.
Chey crosses to the fridge and reaches in for a water bottle. The sweatshirt shifts with every movement, riding up just enough to expose the narrow strip of skin at her waist.