Page 11

CHAPTER 11

LARK

It feels good to be out in the world again.

My spirits lift as we drive through downtown Bliss, past the storefronts with their windows fully decked out for Christmas. Books n’ Bliss has a Christmas tree made out of actual books on display, complete with colorful lights and literary character ornaments. And Blissful Brews has a life-sized Santa in their floor-to-ceiling window, his pack stuffed to bursting with cans and bottles of beer.

The lampposts are all wrapped with evergreen garland and finished off with bright red bows. Blow-mold reindeer and snowmen are scattered around the town park, and the towering pine tree in the center of it is all decorated and ready for the official tree-lighting this weekend.

With a fresh coating of white over everything from the snowfall last night, the little strip of downtown looks like it’s been plucked straight from a Hallmark movie.

Even the people walking along the sidewalks look festive, all bundled up in bright hats and scarves, their arms loaded with shopping bags from the local stores. Despite the cold, most of them are smiling or enthusiastically chatting to their companions, their breath puffing out in silvery clouds.

It’s just how I imagined small-town Christmas would be.

Is it a little scary, too? Yes.

Even though I know there’s nothing to worry about, it’s still a little jarring being away from the cozy little cabin that became my haven for almost two weeks. I felt safe there, surrounded by a top-notch security system and a rotating guard of Knox and his teammates.

But there’s no reason for me to stay there anymore. Not with my case effectively closed and the man who?—

My stomach twists, sending a tiny wave of nausea through me.

Despite everything good going on—Christmas, a new group of friends, and most importantly, dating Knox—the reality of what happened that night still haunts me.

Despite all of Knox’s reassurances, it’s hard to escape the guilt.

I had my first counseling session yesterday, and the counselor told me it would get better in time. She said it’s hard to have perspective when everything is so fresh. When the memories are still so vivid. “But in time,” she promised, “you’ll come to terms with it. You’ll absolve yourself of the guilt. Because you didn’t do anything wrong, Lark. It’s just going to take time to truly believe it.”

“Hey, you okay?” Knox touches my leg, his expression creased with concern as he glances over at me.

Clamping down on the negative thoughts, I smile as I meet his gaze. “Yes. I’m good.”

His attention shifts to the road for a moment, but as soon as we pull to a stop at downtown’s lone traffic light, he turns to me again. “Are you sure?” His forehead creases. “Because if you’re not comfortable being out yet, we can go home.”

I put my hand over his. “No, I’m comfortable.”

He shoots me a skeptical look. “Then why did you go pale all of a sudden? And you got that little line”—he reaches over to trace a line between my eyebrows—“right there. You only get that when you’re nervous or worried.”

I’m not sure if I should be concerned Knox is noticing wrinkles on my face or touched that he’s so observant.

As the light changes and Knox accelerates through it, I admit, “I was thinking about… you know. Vinnetti. Just for a second.”

In profile, his jaw clenches, and the skin over his cheekbones pulls tight. He takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly. In a gentle tone, he says, “Lark, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise.”

“I know.” But it doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Lark.”

“Okay. Rationally, I know. I believe you when you say it. I believe Enzo. And Officer Quillian. And my counselor. ”

“Well, that should tell you something. If we all agree…”

“I know,” I repeat. “It’s just taking some time for my brain to accept it. That’s all.”

Knox threads his fingers between mine as he steers the car one-handedly. “Any time you need to talk, you know I’m here. Right?”

“Yes.” Flashing him a smile, I add brightly, “Now, I don’t want to talk about that anymore. We have a whole day planned, and I’m really excited about it.”

Signaling to turn right, Knox effortlessly turns the wheel without letting go of my hand. “Well, I’m excited about it, too.” He grins. “I think you’re really going to like this project we’re working on. You might even decide you want one in your own house.”

To start off our Saturday together, Knox is taking me to one of his job sites. It’s a house owned by a couple who winters in Florida, and the woman is a huge bibliophile. So Knox’s company is putting in a door made from a bookshelf, and it opens to a hidden library behind it, complete with custom-built shelves and a skylight. After that, we’re having brunch at Breakfast Bliss, doing some shopping downtown, and then heading to the theater to watch a showing of the original Miracle on 34th Street .

So basically, the perfect day. And tonight we’ll go over to my place, which is thankfully all cleaned up and has a brand new security system installed, and we’ll spend the evening together. There will definitely be kissing, and while I’m not sure I’m ready to have sex with Knox yet, I’m eager to see what he looks like with fewer clothes on .

And I’m looking forward to having some of my questions answered. Like does he have a six-pack, or eight? Is his very muscly chest covered with dark hair, or just a dusting of fuzz? Does he have any tattoos? Scars? Freckles?

My core pulses with need just thinking about it.

And my nipples?—

Crap.

I’m wearing a sweater. There’s no way Knox can tell my nipples are hard through that. And he’s driving. His attention isn’t even on?—

“Songbird.” His voice is low. Rough. “What are you thinking about right now?”

“Oh.” My face goes hot. “Um. Nothing, really.”

Knox turns into a long driveway, slowing to a stop once he’s off the road. He turns to me, a smile quirking his lips. “Nothing, huh? Then why are you blushing?”

Yanking my coat across my chest, I reply, “I’m not.”

I totally am.

His eyebrows shoot up as his smile expands. “You seemed a bit… aroused.”

“Being red-haired isn’t fair,” I mutter.

“I don’t know.” His fingers brush across my cheek, cool against my heated skin. “I like it. You look so pretty when your cheeks are all pink. And if you were thinking about something interesting…”

“I was thinking about you naked.”

“Oh.” Desire darkens his gaze. A bulge rises below his waist. “Well. That is interesting.” Leaning over, he kisses my cheek. “I think about you naked all the time.”

My breath catches.

Heat builds at the apex of my thighs .

Did I say I wasn’t ready to have sex with Knox yet?

Maybe I changed my mind.

With a little shake of his head, Knox says, “Shit. What I want to do right now would not be appropriate in the Edwardsons’ driveway.” As he puts the car in drive and heads toward the house, he adds, “But later…”

“Yes. Later.” I squeeze my legs together to relieve the ache growing there. “Definitely.”

Once we stop in front of the house, Knox turns off the car and comes around to my side to help me down from his ridiculously tall truck. There’s a little step, so I could do it myself, but I think he likes lifting me down, letting his hands linger on my waist and hips, and honestly, I like it too.

As we walk through the very lovely house, Knox points out other projects he’s worked on for the Edwardsons—the upgraded kitchen, the staircase with a gorgeous mahogany railing, and the giant stone fireplace in the living room. “The house is a little fancy for me,” he comments, “but it’s really come together well.”

“It’s really nice,” I agree. “But I still prefer my cabin. Or your farmhouse. I like the simplicity of them. It’s relaxing.”

He smiles. “That’s how I feel, too.”

When we get into the dining room, Knox leads me over to a row of bookshelves on one wall. With pride in his voice, he says, “I think this is my favorite project. I would have loved a secret room when I was growing up.”

Then he pushes a book, and the bookcase slowly opens to reveal another room beyond it. The scent of freshly-cut wood fills the room, and the sun streaming through the sunlight gives the room a golden glow. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line two of the walls with a little ladder attached to them so you can reach the top shelf.

As we walk inside, Knox gestures at the open wall. “I’m building a desk to go there. And a built-in reading nook in the corner. It’ll probably be done in another couple of weeks. Since the Edwardsons are in Florida until April, there’s not a rush to finish.”

“It’s amazing.” I walk over to one of the shelves and run my fingers along the smooth wooden grain. “I’d love to have something like this. Smaller, maybe. But I don’t think there’s room for one at my place.”

Knox answers immediately, like he’s already thought about it. “Well, you could repurpose your pantry. Or use part of your dining room. I could easily fit a small library in, maybe eight by twelve or so.”

“Maybe once I take care of some of the other repairs,” I reply. “I really should get the roof replaced soon. And I need a new washer and dryer. So I should probably take care of those first.”

Knox stares at me for a second. Then he pulls me in for a hug, brushing his lips across mine. “If you want anything done, Lark, just ask. I’ll take care of it.”

I know what he’s saying, but there’s no way I’m letting Knox work for free. Not when I make decent money at my job. But I love that he didn’t hesitate to offer. Hugging him back, I reply with a teasing smile, “Watch out. I’ll end up asking you to renovate my entire house.”

He kisses me again, longer this time. “I would do anything you ask me to. ”

“Knox.” My heart swells. “I would do anything for you, too.”

He stares at me for a second, a depth of emotion in his gaze. It’s more than friendship or desire or affection. His eyes call to mine, sharing the same unspoken words.

Could I already be falling for him? Is it possible to fall this quickly?

Or have I already, and I’m only now realizing it?

After a minute or an hour, Knox is the first to blink. He strokes my cheek as he says, “Since we’re here, I’m just going to check on the electrical panel for a second. All the power in the room is supposed to be shut off, so I want to make sure. Will you be okay in here, or do you want to come into the basement with me?”

“I’m fine here.” Stepping away from Knox, I walk over to the ladder and give it a little push, watching it glide smoothly across the floor. “Maybe I’ll take this for a ride.”

He laughs. “Okay. Be careful. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Then we can head out. Grab something to eat.”

After he leaves the room, I spend a minute or so pushing the ladder and hopping onto it, like I’m a kid trying out a new piece of playground equipment. And although I’m easily two decades too old, it’s pretty fun. Once I get down, I stand in the center of the room, imagining if I had my own hidden library and what I’d put in it. An oversized chair, for sure, and maybe one of those electric fireplaces for warmth and ambiance.

Or I could put a couch in there, and Knox and I could read together. He said he used to like reading science fiction, like Dune and anything by Ray Bradbury. I imagine myself sitting with Knox, my legs draped over his while we read. And when we get tired of reading, we could do other, sexier things.

When I hear the footstep in the doorway, I turn toward it, smiling as I say, “I really love this room. It’s?—”

But it’s not Knox.

My words shrivel.

My throat goes dry.

I’ve never seen this man before.

He stares at me, surprise flickering across his face.

I’m about to yell for Knox when a more rational thought strikes me. This could be one of the guys on his crew, possibly mixing up the days they’re supposed to be working here. Or it could be one of the Edwardsons’ employees, a caretaker or groundsman or something. It could even be Mr. Edwardson himself, back unexpectedly from Florida.

But why is his hair so tangled? Why is his shirt torn and stained? And why are his eyes bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in weeks?

This feels wrong.

Forcing my frozen muscles into action, I open my mouth to call for help. Or at the very least, to demand who this man is and what he’s doing here. But before I can get a word out, he hisses, “Shut up. Now.”

No. I won’t be afraid. “Who?—”

“Shut up .” His voice pitches up. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

What?

And then my nightmares come to life as he reaches into his waistband and pulls out a gun.

Points it at me.

Cocks the trigger .

Oh, God.

“Don’t fucking move,” he snarls. “Or I will shoot you.”

How is this possible?

Vinnetti is dead. The police said it was him. That he worked alone.

As I stare at the barrel of the gun, it shakes, but I can’t tell if it’s him or me.

Oh, crap.

It’s both of us. I’m shaking, but so is he. Or at least, his hand is.

The man blinks. His gaze skitters around the room. “Where is he?”

I look at him, unsure what to do. He told me to be quiet, but if he’s asking me a question…

Where is Knox?

Knox isn’t armed, but he works out all the time—lifting weights and cross-training and sparring with the guys a few times a week. And he told me he’s trained to disarm a man bare-handed. If I could somehow warn him so he wouldn’t come in here unaware, I’m certain he could take this man down.

Except, how do I warn him?

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Please. Just go.”

“No way.” His gaze narrows. “I’m not leaving until I do what I came here to do.”

My heart is galloping at a breakneck pace, so loud in my head it’s hard to hear above it.

Fear wraps around my chest, squeezing until I’m breathless.

What does he want? Was he working with Vinnetti? Is this some kind of cruel joke and I have another crazy person after me?

Then, behind him, Knox appears.

Even at this distance, I can see the white-hot rage in his eyes.

Though I feel like falling to my knees in relief, I don’t want to give away Knox’s position.

Knox gives me a little nod, his expression softening for a second. A blink later, it’s like stone again.

I have to distract him.

“What—” My voice cracks. “What do you want?”

“Shut up!” The man jabs the gun in my direction, and my heart stops. His finger tightens on the trigger. His eyes are wild. “Where the fuck is he?”

Lifting my chin, I shove my fear down as I reply quietly, “Do you want me to answer? Or shut up?”

“You think you’re funny?” he spits as his face goes red.

Behind him, Knox advances, as silent and stealthy as a shadow.

“No. I just”—Oh, God, would he stop waving that gun—“I don’t know what you want.”

His features contort. “I want that asshole punished for what he did to me!”

What?

And then.

Everything happens at once.

Knox attacks, his limbs nearly a blur as he moves.

His arm chops down, and the crazy man screeches in pain.

The gun falls to the ground .

In one smooth kick, Knox sweeps the man’s legs out from under him and knocks him to the floor.

Then he’s flipped over, and Knox grabs his wrists, pinning them roughly behind him.

It all took a matter of seconds.

As Knox zip ties the man’s wrists together—where did those come from?—Knox looks up at me and says, “Lark. Kick the gun away. Don’t touch it, okay?”

I just stare at him, too stunned to move.

Full-body tremors are taking over, so violent my teeth are chattering.

“Lark. Sweetheart.”

“What?” Even my voice is shaking.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “Don’t worry about the gun. I’ll take care of it. Just come out of the room, alright?”

Now that the initial shock of being taken down is waning, the crazy man shouts, “No! You need to be punished for what you did!”

Knox fastens the last of the zip ties and stands, glaring down at the man on the floor. “Ric. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Ric?

Oh. Crap.

“You ruined my life! My girlfriend left me because I lost my job! She kicked me out!”

Crossing the room, Knox takes my hand and guides me toward the doorway. I feel like a puppet with its strings cut, my limbs not my own.

“No,” Knox growls. “You lost your job because you were doing drugs. Missing work. I warned you. Over and over. You have no one to blame but yourself.” He deposits me in the dining room and kisses my cheek before saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Then he walks back over to Ric and crouches down next to him. In an icy tone that sounds more dangerous than any shout, he says, “You pointed a gun at my girlfriend. My girlfriend who was shot in her own house. You fucking knew that. I told you. What the fuck were you thinking?”

There’s a long pause.

“Shit.” Ric’s face crumples. “Oh, shit. Shit. I’m sorry.” And in an abrupt one-eighty, he starts crying. “I’m sorry. Shit, Knox. I’m so sorry.”

Knox turns away from him, guilt and sorrow etched in his features. As he gathers me in his arms, he kisses my forehead, my cheeks, and my lips, murmuring between kisses, “I’m sorry, songbird. It’s okay now. He can’t hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

I burrow into his chest, surprised to feel him trembling, too. “It’s okay,” I whisper, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I knew you would stop him.”