Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
She’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. Then she leans forward and kisses me, softer than before, lingering like she doesn’t want it to end.
“You’re a frustrating man, Knox Bishop.”
“I’ve been told.”
She tucks herself against my chest, her head fitting perfectly in the hollow of my shoulder. I pull the covers up over us and wrap my arm around her waist, holding her close.
“For the record,” she says into my skin, “when we do this for real? I expect the full Knox Bishop experience. No holding back.”
My cock twitches at the promise in her voice. “Noted.”
We lie there in the darkness, my heart still pounding, my body still aching with unspent need. She traces lazy patterns on my chest, her breathing slowly evening out. I can feel sleep pulling at her, the exhaustion of the evening catching up.
“Knox?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad I’m here.” Her voice is soft, drowsy. “With you. Even with everything else.”
“Me too.”
She falls asleep like that, curled against me, her breath warm on my skin. I listen to the steady rhythm of it while I stare at the ceiling, too wired to follow her down.
The man outside her building.
I keep coming back to him, worrying at the memory like a loose tooth. The glimpses I’ve caught. The silhouette I can’t quite place. There’s something familiar about him, about the way he moves. Not just military training, though he has that. Something more specific.
Like someone I used to know.
I close my eyes and try to summon details. Neck tattoos crawling toward his jaw. Lean build. The way he vanishes, smooth and professional, the moment he’s spotted.
Where do I know him from?
Afghanistan? Timing doesn’t feel right. One of my contractor gigs? Possible, but I worked with hundreds of people. A training exercise? A bar on some base, years ago?
The answer hovers at the edge of memory, refusing to come into focus.
Hailey shifts in her sleep, saying something I can’t make out. I tighten my arm around her and force myself to let it go. Tomorrow I’ll figure it out. Tomorrow I’ll dig deeper into whoever’s threatening her. Tomorrow I’ll make good on my promise.
But tonight I hold her while she sleeps, her secrets heavy between us, and tell myself that trust is something you build one brick at a time.
Even when you can’t see the shape of what you’re building.
Chapter Fourteen
Hailey
I wake up alone in Knox’s bed, the sheets beside me already cold. For a moment I just lie there, breathing in the smell of him on the pillows, letting myself pretend this is normal. That I’m a woman waking up in her boyfriend’s apartment after a night of . . . whatever last night was. Not quite sex. Something more intimate, maybe. Something that felt like a promise.
Then reality crashes back in, and I remember everything.
Liam. The bar. The diamond. Someone hunting us.
I sit up too fast, head spinning. Pale winter light filters through the curtains, and the clock on his nightstand reads 7:42. There’s a note on the pillow where his head should be, written in blocky handwriting that’s somehow exactly what I’d expect from him.
Early meeting with Cole. Didn’t want to wake you. Coffee’s in the pot. Stay as long as you want.
We’ll figure this out together. I meant that.
—K
I read it three times. Trace my finger over the word together like I can absorb his certainty through the ink.
He doesn’t know what he’s promising. He thinks this is something manageable, some ex-boyfriend drama or minor legal trouble from my past. He doesn’t know about the Snowflake Diamond. About Viktor Kedrov, the oligarch we stole it from, a man with enough money and enough grudges to hunt us for the rest of our lives. About the fact that I’m not just a woman with secrets—I’m a federal crime waiting to be discovered.
If Knox knew the truth, would he still look at me the way he did last night? Would he still touch me like I was something precious?
Or would he see me the way I sometimes see myself: a liar wearing a good woman’s life like a costume?
I get up and find my clothes scattered across his bedroom floor. Last night comes back in flashes as I dress. His mouth on my breast. His hands pinning my hips to the mattress. The way he looked at me when he pulled back, all that hunger held in check by sheer force of will.
When we do this for real, I want you present.
God. This man.
I pour a cup of the coffee he left me because it gives me something to do, and I stand at his kitchen window watching the city wake up below. Snow fell overnight, covering everything in fresh white, making even the ugly parts look clean. A metaphor I don’t want to think too hard about.
The burner phone buzzes in my coat pocket.