Page 3 of A Smile Full of Lies (Secrets of Stonewood #1)

I never cheated on Thayer, not even a little bit.

But God, I’d wanted to. Not to get back at Thayer.

Not out of spite. Just… because it was Knox.

And I hated myself for it every time I thought about it.

Every sideways glance I lingered on too long.

Every brush of his arm that made me shiver.

Every moment when Thayer was too distracted, too dismissive, too cruel to care.

Knox was just there and solid and predictable in a way I didn’t deserve, orbiting me like I was his center of gravity, like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

Sometimes I wondered if I was the reason they stopped speaking, if I was what broke them.

Whatever happened between them after that night at the frat house — after everything went to hell — it had been final.

Silent. And deep in my gut, I couldn’t help but feel like I was the crack in the foundation of their friendship.

Even now, I wished I didn’t want him. I wished I could look at Knox and just see a friend.

A lifeline. Something simple. But I couldn’t.

I never could. There was always this magnetic pull — twisted and hungry and impossible to ignore.

It scared the hell out of me, because wanting Knox meant stepping into something I couldn’t control, something messy and tangled and maybe even selfish.

But no matter how many walls I built around it, no matter how many times I tried to shove that part of me down, it was still there, always reaching for him.

But I’d be damned if I’d let myself have any of the things I wanted with Philip fucking Knox. The prospect was too terrifying, so I’d keep building walls, keep shoving my feelings down into neat little boxes with the lids nailed shut and pretending they didn’t exist.

Knox stepped inside, calm and effortless as always, his arms full of brown paper bags of groceries.

He moved like he had all the time in the world, with an unhurried grace that made it feel like nothing could shake him.

His broad shoulders and lean muscle filled out his t-shirt in a way that seemed downright unfair, the sleeves just tight enough to hint at the strength beneath.

Against my will, my gaze swept over him from head to toe.

His golden hair, slightly messy like he’d just run his hands through it, framed sharp blue eyes that cut straight through me.

He looked like he belonged on a magazine cover, or maybe in an action movie, but somehow, standing in my kitchen with groceries in his arms, he looked even better.

“Hey, neighbor.”

His deep voice was a soft, warm rumble that slid over my skin like a caress as he strode through the foyer into the kitchen. He set the bags on the counter, his gaze sweeping over my half-closed laptop before settling on me.

He crossed the short distance between us and handed me my mail without saying a word about the final notices stamped in red.

He didn’t flinch at the late fees or the collection threats.

No, he just handed them over like it was no big deal, pretending he didn’t see the wreckage of my life spelled out in overdue envelopes.

That’s another reason I never pushed him away. He never made me feel small for falling apart.

My chest tightened, the weight of him — of everything — pressing too close.

“Hey, Knox.”

The air in the house felt too warm. My t-shirt clung to my skin, damp and stretched tight across the curve of my lower back.

The blinds were half-closed, slicing the golden light into uneven stripes across the floor.

Somewhere outside, a lawnmower buzzed in the distance.

The fridge hummed. But the longer I stared at Knox, the louder the pounding of my heart sounded in my ears.

Knox stood close to me… too damn close. He smelled like clean soap and heady cologne, the kind that always lingered in my space even after he was gone.

He pulled a cool bottle of water from one of the grocery bags and set it down in front of me.

His hand brushed mine, the contact brief but enough to send a sharp jolt of electricity down my spine.

My breath hitched. He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, sinking through my shirt and warming my skin.

His gaze tracked the rise and fall of my chest before lifting to my face, his intense blue eyes unblinking as his stare bored into me.

My pulse hammered so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“Drink,” Knox said, his voice low and steady.

My fingers curled around the cool bottle, my body responding to the command before my brain could catch up. His gaze darkened. He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in closer, his body barely brushing against mine as he reached for another bag.

I swallowed hard and twisted the cap off the bottle, taking a shaky sip.

My body screamed for more contact, but my mind? My mind was already building walls because I wanted him so badly I could taste it, and I couldn’t afford to want Knox.

I didn’t do commitment, hadn’t done anything more than the occasional one night stand in four years, and Knox?

Knox didn’t strike me as the type who’d accept anything less than me offering to bind our souls together for all eternity.

He radiated intensity. Me? My life was casual and uncomplicated, and I’d fought hard to keep it that way ever since Thayer broke my heart.

“You need to eat.” Knox’s voice was laced with that infuriating kind of calm that made my skin prickle.

A wild, irrational part of me wanted to throw a tantrum just to make a point. I wanted to stamp my feet, get right in his face, and tell him he wasn’t the boss of me, but apparently my damn fool body disagreed.

My jaw tightened as I spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’m not hungry.”

Knox didn’t flinch. He just watched me — quiet, unreadable, like he could see through every lie ever told, even the ones I hadn’t told yet.

His gaze flicked to the bottle of water I’d already taken a sip from.

Without a word, he pushed it closer, his knuckles brushing mine. A spark jumped beneath my skin.

His gaze shifted to my half-closed laptop.

“Work?”

My throat went dry.

“It’s nothing.”

Knox didn’t blink. He didn’t call me out — but he didn’t look away, either. He just kept watching me, silently daring me to make the next move.

Shit. He definitely knows I’m lying to him, or being evasive at the very least.

His relentless, focused attention burned through my carefully constructed walls like a slow-moving corrosive agent, eating away at every crack and weakness in me with devastating patience.

Then he smiled, like he’d just read me cover to cover, and goosebumps prickled down my arms. Without a word, he turned and started pulling things out of the grocery bag — bread, peanut butter, jelly. And marshmallow fluff.

My chest tightened. He knew. He remembered. After everything, he still remembered what I liked. I’d mentioned that I liked PB&J’s with marshmallow fluff one time, in passing, seven years ago.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Knox didn’t respond. He unscrewed the lid on the peanut butter and spread it over a slice of bread with practiced ease, then added the jelly, followed by the marshmallow fluff. His movements were calm and measured, no hesitation, no wasted effort.

He licked some marshmallow fluff off his thumb, his gaze meeting mine as his tongue swept over his skin. I tracked the movement, unable to help myself. It was slow and deliberate, like a promise wrapped in sin.

My mouth went dry. A sharp pulse of heat shot through my bloodstream, pooling low in my core and going molten as electricity crackled in the air between us.

My breath hitched.

“You can’t save me, Knox,” I whispered.

His mouth curved at the corner, wicked and knowing. He leaned down, setting the sandwich in front of me. Knox never asked what I needed. He just knew.

“That’s not going to stop me from trying, sweetheart.”

I stared at the sandwich. I wasn’t hungry, I swear I wasn’t, but suddenly, I kind of was.

He stared me down — a wall of stubborn, arrogant expectation — until I caved and took a bite of the sandwich for him. Peanut butter, jelly, marshmallow fluff, the combination stuck to the roof of my mouth, sweet and familiar. My favorite.

Knox stepped back, but his eyes never left my face. His gaze tracked the movement of my throat as I swallowed. I didn’t miss the pleased glint in his expression at my obedience. It made my skin burn.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

My hand tightened on the edge of the counter, my knuckles blanching white. “Knox.”

He stopped at the door, one hand resting on the frame as he glanced back over his shoulder at me. That look — all ice and intent — pinned me in place, and my pulse spiked.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

His mouth curved into a wicked smile, slow and dark. Not sweet, not soft, and damn sure not neighborly. It was a fucking warning shot.

“Try to actually get some sleep tonight, Ros.”

My brows pulled together.

“How do you know I didn’t sleep last night?”

Had he been watching me? Another wave of molten heat shot through my bloodstream at the errant thought.

His mouth twitched and his blue eyes glittered with clear amusement.

“Your bedroom window faces mine, and your light was on all night.”

I swallowed hard.

“Maybe I was sleeping with the light on.”

Knox’s gaze darkened.

“Try again, sweetheart.” His gaze swept over my face, lingering on the shadows beneath my eyes. “Besides, the dark circles under your eyes are telling on you.”

I sighed, dragging my fingers through my hair. I didn’t make any promises. He didn’t expect me to.

Knox stepped outside onto the front porch. His hand lingered on the doorframe for a beat before his gaze hardened.

“Lock up behind me,” he said, voice low and gruff. “You’re living here alone now. I need to know you’re safe.”

My chest tightened painfully. Slowly, I stood and crossed the room, closing the door between us. I twisted the lock, the metallic click sharp in the quiet that stretched between us.

Knox’s gaze caught mine through the sidelight and held — just for a second, but it felt like forever.

“If you need anything,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear through the closed door, “I’m just a phone call away.”

Then he turned and walked down the steps, disappearing into the golden afternoon light.

I pressed my forehead to the cool wood of the door, my pulse hammering in my ears like a woodpecker on an oak tree.

Knox was steady, always steady, and that damned steadiness was breaking me down, piece by piece.

I wasn’t supposed to want him… not like this. But damn if I didn’t. I hated that I needed him, hated that I wanted more than comfort.