Page 26 of A Smile Full of Lies (Secrets of Stonewood #1)

Chapter

Eighteen

ROS

I wasn’t sure how I made it back to my car. My legs still felt like they were jello.

My brain hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over. It was almost like some part of me was still in that hallway, still panting beneath neon purple light, still pinned between a locked door and a man whose name I didn’t even know.

Except… I sort of did.

Didn’t I?

My fingers trembled around the steering wheel. The silence inside the car was deafening. No music. No haunted house screams. Just the sound of my own breath, uneven and shallow, like I hadn’t taken a real one since Nox Obscura told me to run.

I pulled out of the gravel lot on autopilot, headlights cutting through the dark.

The streets were mostly empty, the occasional porch light flickering past as I drove through Stonewood’s quiet neighborhoods.

Street signs blurred. Every red light dragged.

My body was buzzing, lit up from the inside like a match had been touched to a fuse and it hadn’t burned out yet.

I gripped the wheel tighter. My thighs pressed together on instinct. I could still feel him… his breath, his voice, his fucking thigh between mine.

God, what the hell was wrong with me?

My cheeks burned as I turned onto our street. My house sat in darkness, just like I’d left it. But Knox’s?

It was all lit up, warm, and welcoming.

I pulled into his driveway, my heart hammering against my ribs. The porch light was on. His living room window glowed faintly.

He was awake, probably still working. Still steady. And I was about to walk through his front door with shaking legs and the ghost of another man’s hands all over me.

I sat in the car for a full minute after turning off the engine.

The keys hung limp between my fingers. My pulse still hadn’t steadied. My body felt wrung out. My skin was too tight, nerves lit up like live wires, thighs and pussy aching in a way I didn’t want to think too hard about.

I couldn’t go inside like this.

I absolutely could not walk into his house — Knox’s house — looking like I’d just come undone in the arms of a stranger. I couldn’t sit across from him and pretend everything was fine when my mouth still remembered the shape of the moans Nox Obscura had pulled out of me.

I shoved the keys into my hoodie pocket and leaned back in the seat.

Deep breath in. Hold. Breathe out for a count of six.

My reflection in the rearview mirror was flushed and a little wild. My mascara had smudged slightly under one eye. My lips looked too full, too soft. Like they’d been kissed, even though they hadn’t.

Not really.

God, what the fuck was wrong with me?

I climbed out of the car, pulling my hoodie tighter around me like that might help. The October night air was cooler now, and I shivered as I crossed the short stretch of driveway to his front door.

I hesitated at the top step.

It was just Knox. Steady, infuriatingly hot, impossibly protective Knox.

The same man who’d bought me groceries. The guy who let me stay with him, who made me peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches.

The same man I’d just spent the entire night trying not to think about while being hunted by someone else.

My hand shook slightly as I reached for the doorknob.

It was unlocked. Of course it was.

I stepped inside.

The second I stepped across the threshold, I smelled him.

Cedar wood, citrus, leather.

My breath hitched.

The house was warm, dimly lit — the soft glow of recessed lighting spilling across the hardwood floor. I moved slowly, quietly, like maybe if I didn’t make a sound, I could get to the guest room without having to?—

He looked up from where he’d been staring at his laptop at the kitchen island.

My heart stopped.

Knox was leaning against the island, shirtless.

A glass of water sat next to his elbow, condensation slipping down the side.

His golden hair was messy, like he’d been dragging his fingers through it.

His broad chest and defined abs gleamed faintly in the soft light, and those goddamn gray sweatpants rode low on his hips, like gravity couldn’t resist him either.

He raised one eyebrow, slow and casual, like he hadn’t just sucker punched me with his whole existence.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said. “Did you have fun?”

My throat closed. My brain screamed at me to say something normal.

“Y-yeah,” I croaked.

He smiled a little, like he heard every stutter in my bones.

“Good,” he said, tapping something on the trackpad. “You were out late. I figured it went well.”

I nodded, barely breathing. My hands were shaking. I shoved them into my hoodie pockets.

His gaze flicked over me, quick and assessing.

“You okay?” he asked.

No.

“Yes,” I lied.

He looked back at the screen, like nothing was wrong.

Like I hadn’t just come in his childhood home for a masked stranger, while secretly wishing it was Knox taking me apart instead.

He pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen, moving with that slow, unbothered confidence that always made me feel like the ground beneath me wasn’t as steady as I thought.

“You want some water?” he asked, already reaching for a clean glass from the cabinet.

My voice caught.

“Sure.”

He filled it from the fridge’s built-in dispenser, the sound louder than it had any right to be in the quiet house. I kept my eyes on the backsplash tile like it held all the answers to how the fuck I was supposed to handle this situation.

He handed me the glass without looking at me too hard. I took it with a muttered thanks and immediately chugged half of it, hoping the cold might calm the heat still coiled tight between my legs.

“Was it scary?” he asked, moving back to his laptop like this was any normal night.

I nodded.

“Yeah. They… did a good job.”

His fingers tapped softly against the keys.

“They said they brought in some big names. People who specialize in immersive stuff.”

My throat tightened.

“Yeah, it definitely felt… immersive.”

He hummed.

“That masked guy… Obscura something or whatever. Was he there?”

I nearly choked on my water.

“Uh… maybe? I think so. I mean, someone was there in his mask, but I don’t know if it was actually him.”

Knox didn’t look up, just nodded.

“Was it good?” he asked, voice casual. “The scene?”

I stared at him.

The what, sir?

His face didn’t flicker. Not even once.

“Yeah,” I said, barely above a whisper. “It was… intense.”

He smiled faintly at the screen.

“Good.”

“I’m gonna… um, use the bathroom,” I said, already backing toward the hallway.

Knox nodded, calm as ever.

“Yeah. It’s late. Get some rest, Ros.”

I didn’t answer, just fled.

My hands were shaking again by the time I shut the guest bathroom door behind me. I turned the lock, pressed my back against the wood, and tried to breathe.

It didn’t work.

The mirror above the sink caught me instantly… cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, lips swollen from biting them. I looked like I’d been making out in the backseat of a car.

Except it hadn’t been kissing.

It had been… him. The mask. The voice. The command to run. The way he’d caught me. The way he’d made me come so hard I saw stars without even taking off my clothes.

And then the goddamn picture on the wall.

Knox’s face staring back at me from that senior portrait. His younger self, frozen in time… jaw sharp, eyes steady, mouth unreadable.

I pressed my hands to my face.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whispered.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I came in the house where his family was murdered. I came for a man I didn’t know. For a fantasy I typed into a fucking anonymous forum like a joke. And now I was shaking in Knox’s guest bathroom, dripping in shame and heat and something that felt dangerously close to grief.

My knees buckled and I caught myself on the sink. I had to pull it together. I had to act normal because I was living under the same goddamn roof as Knox, and I couldn’t let him see what I’d done.

I splashed cold water on my face twice before stepping out of the bathroom, but it didn’t help. Neither did breathing. Or thinking. Or trying not to think about how my thighs still ached from the way that man had worked me against the door like I was made to break beneath him.

I walked back into the kitchen on unsteady legs, but Knox hadn’t moved. He was still shirtless. Still leaning against the counter. Still scrolling casually through whatever the hell was on his screen like he wasn’t actively ruining my fucking life just by looking like temptation incarnate.

The sweatpants were worse now. Lower somehow. More casual. More… deliberate.

I cleared my throat.

He looked up, all innocent curiosity and golden-boy smugness.

“You good?”

“No,” I blurted, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I mean… yes. I mean—” I gestured helplessly at him. “You have got to stop with the sweatpants.”

His brow lifted.

“What about them?”

I threw my hands up.

“You know exactly what about them.”

He had the audacity to lean back against the counter, crossing his arms, every muscle flexing like he was doing it on purpose.

“Hmm.” He looked down, feigning confusion. “Is there something wrong with my sweatpants?”

I shot him a glare.

“They’re a hazard.”

“To?”

“My self-control.”

His mouth curved into a sinful grin.

“So you’re saying they make you want to jump my bones?”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face, but didn’t say a word. I was not about to incriminate myself like that.

He leaned forward, voice low and smug as sin.

“Mmm. What if that’s the point, though?”

My knees almost gave out. I needed to get out of this kitchen before I did something stupid.

I could still feel the stretch of Nox Obscura’s hard thigh between my legs. Still feel the grip of leather-gloved hands on my hips. Still taste the words ‘good girl’ echoing in my skull like a curse I might never escape.

And now Knox was over here shirtless and smug, looking like he invented the concept of ruin .

I turned toward the cabinet.

“Do you have any chamomile tea or something? I need to wind down.”

“Tea?” he said, voice low and amused.

“Or whiskey,” I muttered, dragging the cabinet open. “Whichever one gets me to sleep faster.”

His laptop clicked shut behind me.

“Rough night?”

I stiffened but said nothing.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be fun?” he added.

My hand paused over the mug I’d just reached for. I didn’t turn around.

“It was.”

“Didn’t sound like it. You’re acting like you ran a marathon.”

I did.

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough that the warmth of his body made my skin prickle.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

“What question?”

“Was it everything you wanted?”

I turned around slowly, mug clutched in both hands like it might shield me. His impossibly blue eyes were dark. Steady. Too knowing.

“It was intense,” I said carefully. “But yeah. I guess it was everything I wanted.”

And then some.

He didn’t blink.

“Good.”

Then, without warning, he moved to the drawer beside me and pulled something out. A neatly wrapped box. He set it on the counter between us.

“Happy birthday, Ros.”

My heart stopped.

Shit.

The man had already spent a grand to give me that haunted house experience for my birthday, and now he was giving me something else? The box sat between us like it might detonate.

It was small and heavy. Matte black with a perfectly tied silver ribbon, tight and neat, like he’d done it himself. Not something passed off to an assistant. Not careless. Deliberate.

My chest tightened.

“You already gave me the haunted house ticket,” I said quietly.

He shrugged one bare shoulder, completely unbothered.

“That was for the thrill.”

I hesitated, nodding at the box on the counter.

“And this?”

His voice dropped.

“This is for you… because you never ask for anything.”

My throat worked as I pulled the ribbon loose. The paper inside was thick, slightly textured, and wrapped in a black satin cord. I undid the knot, and the roll of sketches unfolded like a secret spilling open.

My face stared back at me.

Me laughing on my porch. Me reading by the window. Me brushing my hair into a messy bun while talking to Gran on the phone.

There were dozens of them.

My breath caught.

“Knox…”

His jaw flexed. His voice was low and rough when he spoke.

“I started sketching you the week I moved into this house.”

My heart skipped several beats.

“Why?”

He didn’t look away.

“Because you were dating my best friend, and I wanted you so bad I couldn’t stand myself. I never crossed a line, no matter how badly I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop looking at you. Sketching you made it easier for me to breathe.”

My vision blurred with unshed tears. I traced one of the lines with a trembling fingertip, and he just watched me like he was still memorizing me, even now.