No wonder I’d fallen prey to a nap attack.
I opened the door and found a freshly showered Knox standing on the welcome mat. Waylon trotted inside, wagging his tail.
“Hey,” I croaked.
A man of few words, Knox said nothing and stepped over the threshold. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. He looked tense like he was spoiling for a fight. Well, if he’d come here for a fight, he was going to be disappointed. I was too tired to deliver one.
“How’s your brother?” I ventured.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Long recovery ahead. But he’ll be okay. Get Way off to school this morning?”
His brother had been shot, and the man remembered to ask about Waylay’s first day. I didn’t know how to reconcile that with the jerk who yelled at me in front of his own customers. If he could ever settle fully into the thoughtful grump and give up the pissed-off bad boy, he’d make some woman very lucky someday.
“Yeah,” I yawned. “She slept at Liza’s last night since I didn’t get home until late. Liza, Stef, and I made her send-off breakfast there. Stef made chocolate chip pancakes even though I told him spikes in blood sugar make kids tired and unfocused at school.”
I was tired and unfocused, not because of pancakes but because Knox’s edginess made me nervous.
“Uh, speaking of Stef, I think he and Jeremiah might be into each other,” I said, grasping for a topic that would warrant some kind of verbal reaction.
But Knox remained silent as he prowled the tiny living room, looking much too big to belong here. He was a man with a lot of feelings locked up tight. Part of me wanted to crack him open. The other part wanted to just go back to bed and forget everything for a few hours.
“Do you want some coffee? Maybe some alcohol?” I offered, following him as he moved toward the kitchen, his hands clenching into fists only to release again. Over and over again.
I didn’t have any beer, and the hardest alcohol in the house was a cheap rosé I’d been planning to crack open with Sloane. But I could sacrifice it for the guy whose brother had just been shot.
He picked up the pretty yellow leaf on the counter. I’d found it in the lane that morning after walking Waylay to the bus. The temperatures still said summer, but the change to fall was inevitable.
Waylon hopped up on the couch in the living room.
“Make yourself at home,” I told the dog. When I turned to face Knox, he was closing the distance between us.
“Naomi.”
His voice was rough as it caressed the syllables of my name, and then his hands were on me, yanking me into him. His mouth found mine, and I was lost to sensation. Drowning in desire.
Neither of us wanted to want this. Maybe that’s what made it feel so damn good. One hand slid into my hair while the other pressed my lower back until I was flush against him.
“Knox,” I breathed. “This isn’t what you want,” I reminded him.
“It’s what I need,” he said before diving back into the kiss.
This wasn’t the kiss from the waiting room. This was different, desperate.
I lost myself in it. Every thought tumbled out of my head until I was nothing but feeling. His mouth was hard and demanding, just like the man. I softened under him. Welcoming him.
He responded by tugging at my hair to angle my head just the way he wanted as he slanted his mouth over mine. His tongue didn’t twine or dance with mine—it battled mine into submission.
He stole my breath, my logic, every reason why this was a terrible idea. He took them all and made them disappear.
“That’s what I need, baby. I need to feel you go soft under me. Need you to let me have you.”
I couldn’t tell if this was dirty talk or romantic prose. Whichever side of the line his words fell on, I loved it.
His fingers found the strap of my dress. My heartbeat skittered into high gear as he slid the fabric an inch down my shoulder, leaving my skin burning.
He needed this. Me. And I lived to be needed.
I reached for his shirt and slid my hands under the hem, finding the rigid muscle under warm skin.