Page 29 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Matt

Did it upset her that much to see me yesterday? I hoped she was ill when she ran for the bathroom, rather than the sight of me making her sick.

According to Fin . . .

Well, what does he know.

But there’s no escaping she was shocked to the core, and I hate that things unfolded as they did. I know she will, too, because her professional life, her success, is something very important to her. That’s why I’m here so early this morning.

That, and her colleague suggested it might be a better time.

My stomach cramps as she draws nearer. Trepidation. Anticipation. The desire to sweep her up in my arms and just fucking ... kiss her. I huff out a chuckle. There’s an invitation to a swift kick in the balls if I ever heard one.

Ryan passes by without a second glance, and she doesn’t turn back at the click of the car door as I climb from the Audi with a frown. For a woman who used to live in New York, she seems sorely lacking security smarts. A lone car, a virtually deserted street, her vision obscured by dark glasses.

Before I know I’m doing it, I call out her name.

She halts. Turns. Gives a faint but humorless smile. Her outfit is all business, her heels killer. And though her hair is slicked back from her face and secured in a ballerina bun at the nape, it’s not the hairstyle that makes her expression seem pinched.

“The early bird,” she says, like she was expecting to see me all along.

“More like the worm. At least, in your friend’s estimation.”

“Martine?”

She seems to like that, not that the admission wins me any brownie points as her expression hardens. I want to ask why the glasses, but maybe I’m afraid to know.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. Same goes for yesterday.”

“Yesterday was ... I couldn’t ...” She exhales a frustrated breath.

I nod like I understand, words and excuses and reasons all straining at my tongue. “It was a shock,” I eventually manage. “I get it. It was a lot to take in, but I’d really—I’d really like to talk to you.” My words sound rushed, strangled, and uncomfortable all at once.

“Would you?” Get fucked: That’s the tune of her answer. The underlying score.

“Yeah, I would. And maybe you think I don’t deserve it, but I’ll be turning up day after day until you hear me out.”

“At my place of work?” she says, unimpressed. “That sounded like a threat.”

“I’m not in the building,” I say. “I won’t cause you any trouble there. But I am a persistent fucker, and you deserve—”

“You must have a lot of time on your hands.”

“I’ll make time,” I say without bite.

“So just a lot of parking tickets for you in the meantime.” Her eyes flick to the yellow markings in the road. “But I hear you can afford it.” Which is the point she was trying to make anyway as her gaze moves to the car. Low slung and sporty—I suppose it did set me back nearly two hundred grand.

“You’re right,” I eventually say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my dark jeans because all I want to do is step closer and hug her, even if she is all high heels and fuck off attitude.

But it’s just a veneer. I think. But those dark glasses.

What the hell is going on under there? “There are other things I want to say. Things I need to explain.”

The soles of her shoes scuff against the pavement, and I worry she’s about to turn away.

“Do you wanna ...” I gesture at the car at the same time as she says:

“Fine. But not now.”

It’s weird how little relief I feel. Tell me something. Tell me why my hands itch to touch you. Why my insides vibrate with need. Why I’m worried you might get on a plane and I’ll never see you again.

“Later. After work. I’ll meet you there.” She nods, indicating a wine bar on the other side of the street.

“Okay.” I nod a little too eagerly. “What time?”

“When I’m done.”

“Right.” I almost laugh. But I get it. This is on her terms. Again. But that’s fine.

She turns away, ending our conversation. I open the car door and slide in, feeling ... less than elated. But why?

Nothing else for it. The engine rumbles to life. I suppose I better head to the office to fill in the time between now and whenever “later” is.

“How’d it go?”

“Creeping feckin’ Jesus!” I exclaim as I open my office door to find Fin looming on the other side. “Is there something wrong with your office?” I demand, glancing at the espresso cup balanced in his palm.

“Yeah. It’s being redecorated,” he says, stepping out of the way.

“But we went through that not too long ago.” And a pain in the arse it was.

“I said my office, not the offices.” He throws this over his shoulder as he makes his way to my desk.

“Mila?”

“She’s taken a budding interior designer under her wing ...” His words trail off, his shrug kind of you know how it is. He sets the tiny cup and saucer on my desk, then leans back against it.

“Right.” It’ll no doubt be some talented individual from a disadvantaged background. Adding the offices (or office) of Maven Inc. to their portfolio will be a grand start to a career, I imagine. She’s a good person, Mila.

“I offered up my office, as it’ll be less disruptive than having the bedroom ripped apart,” he admits.

“Those were your choices?” It’s hard to keep amusement from my tone.

“Pretty much,” he answers happily. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Ah, you love it,” I scoff.

“Married life is a blast. And speaking of love ...” This time when his words trail off, he gives a comic wiggle of his brows.

“I’m meeting Ryan later,” I say, slipping off my jacket.

“That’s something, I guess.” His eyes dip as he crosses one ankle over the other.

“I think so.” Something fucking terrifying.

“Especially after yesterday.”

“No more jokes, Fin.”

“I wasn’t gonna! I wouldn’t dream of saying something like ... the sight of you made her ill.”

“Grand. Thanks for not mentioning it.” I cross the office, and at the alcove at the side of the Adam fireplace, I open the concealed fridge and pull out a bottle of water.

“Any idea what you’ll say?”

“I’ll just play it by ear,” I say, cracking the seal on the lid. “Want one?”

He holds up his hand: No thanks . “You think that’s the best move?”

“Well,” I say, the bottle hovering at my lips. “I could prepare a PowerPoint.”

“Not a bad idea,” he says with a chuckle. “You could include hearts and flowers.”

“Piss off.”

“Pissing off,” he says, straightening. “Oh, we had the transport police yesterday.”

I frown. “Was it about the CCTV footage?” That I no longer require.

“No. They wanted money. Jesus, Matt. Is that what it costs for jumping the ticket barrier these days?”

“Nah, that was an on-the-spot fine of fifty quid. The rest is a donation to their charitable fund because I was ... just because.” Just because I’d seen her again.

Just because there was a chance I might get to put this right.

High on exhilaration and excitement, I’d decided I might just be lucky enough to have her in my life.

And now . . .

Now lucky is the least of what I feel.