Knight (Unfinished Hero #1)(25)
I liked that.
Seriously, totally, completely, absolutely in trouble.
With effort, I pulled it together again.
“How do you know what I drive?” I asked.
“Watched you pull into your place that Friday,” he answered.
“And you saw the rosary and St. Christopher?” I pressed, knowing this was impossible unless he had Superman vision.
“Had a look before I took off. Seriously, you need another car.”
“I don’t. There’s nothing wrong with it. I get it serviced yearly. Tires rotated. Regular oil changes. Toyotas last forever.”
“It’s ordinary.”
“So?”
“Anya,” his arm gave me a squeeze, “babe, you are not ordinary.”
That tingle came back.
“You need a class ride,” he kept talking. “No flash, you need no more attention than you already get. Just class.”
I studied him.
Then I informed him, “Knight, I’m not sure the world sees what you see in me.”
He shook his head. “No, babe, you do not see what the world sees. Totally f**kin’ clueless.”
“I’m not,” I returned.
“How many men smile at you?” he asked immediately and my head jerked.
“Pardon?”
“Men,” he stated. “How many men whose eyes you catch smile at you?”
I thought about this and answered, “All of them.”
He stared at me but murmured, “Right.”
“They’re just being friendly.”
“Uh… no. They want in your pants even if they’re walkin’ by you on the street.”
“That isn’t true,” I retorted. “Women smile at me too.”
“All of them?”
I thought about this too and muttered, “No.”
“Good-lookin’ ones?”
My eyes slid away.
“Anya, eyes to me.”
My eyes slid back.
“Good-lookin’ bitches, they don’t smile at you, do they?”
“Uh…” I mumbled but didn’t say more.
“Competition,” he decreed.
I studied him again.
Then, quietly, I declared, “Knight, seriously, honestly, all this is crazy.”
“Anya, babe,” another arm squeeze with a head dip and I held my breath, “seriously, honestly, you’re absolutely f**kin’ right. This is f**kin’ whacked. It’s also f**king happening.”
“What is this?” I ventured.
“The start of you and me.”
My body went still, that tingle came back, my eyes stared into his and my heart again stopped beating.
Then I whispered, “What?”
“Babe, you’re standing in my arm, in my house, drinking my wine after agreeing in the kitchen.”
“I haven’t even sipped the wine,” I pointed out.
His lips twitched.
Twitched!
I made Knight Sebring’s lips twitch!
“Right, well, you will,” he muttered.
“And I didn’t agree to anything,” I went on.
Another lip twitch.
Then a repeated, “Right, well, you will.”
“Knight,” I lifted a hand and hesitantly placed it on his chest (which was rock-hard by the way… seriously in trouble). I powered through how good his chest felt under my hand and pressed ever onward, informing him cautiously, “You kind of scare me.”
“Yeah. I’m that guy ‘cause I need to be that guy,” he stated mysteriously. Then his face dipped to mine again and he talked quieter when he continued, “Straight up, baby, I’m also that guy ‘cause I just am that guy. But you’ll learn you got nothin’ to fear from me.”
“You drag me around,” I whispered.
“Yeah, and you follow me.”
“I kind of have no choice,” I pointed out.
His head went back and all traces of amusement left his face when he informed me, “You always have a choice. You didn’t take it. Except once, when you pulled away from me at the elevator.”
This was, casting my mind back, kind of true.
“There were two times that you carried me,” I reminded him.
“And both times you held on.”
Damn. This was true too and not kind of at all.
“I need to ponder this.”
His arm tightened, a gorgeous smile spread on his equally gorgeous face and it was at both that I realized I said that out loud.
Then a buzzer sounded in the kitchen.
“Right, then do it eatin’ a steak. I’m hungry,” he ordered, let me go and sauntered toward the kitchen.
I stood, watched him move and took a sip of my wine.
Then I found my feet following him.
When I arrived, he was pulling out the grill pan in order to flip the meat.
“Can I help?” I offered.
“Yeah, grab some placemats. Drawers this side of the bar,” he took me up on my offer as he slid the grill pan back in the oven.
“You have placemats?”
He straightened and looked at me.
“Yeah. Why?”
“A man who wears a Metallica tee doesn’t have placemats,” I informed him and his lips twitched again.