Page 274 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Penny

"I mean, you’re my best friend’s brother, so I assume it’s okay to call you by your name?"

He pauses but doesn’t turn around. He also doesn’t get into the car, which I take as a positive sign. And why am I here? Why didn’t I let him leave? What force compelled me to run out of the room, follow him outside, and try to engage him in conversation, when he barely acknowledged me earlier?

Maybe it's the fact that he barely spent a few minutes in that room.

Enough to let everyone know he's safe and to thank his friends for their help rescuing him.

He acknowledged Cade and Declan—his closest friends—and then he left.

He might be out of the war zone physically, but mentally, it's obvious he's anything but in the clear.

He cut a solitary figure as he turned and stalked out, taking with him that strange edginess that's gripped me from the moment he locked his gaze on me.

It was like being at the business end of a tractor beam.

One that pinned me in place, robbed the breath from my lungs and the moisture from my throat, sending it to other parts of my body.

One that also sent a pulse of exhilaration up my spine.

A sure sign that I hate him. But it also made me feel alive.

Like I was coming out of a prolonged holding pattern.

Like I only ever existed before, biding my time, flitting from one interest to the next, trying to forge a career, trying to find something that caught my attention. Then I saw him.

Maybe it's fanciful thinking. I mean, the man doesn’t even like me. But that inherent need to soothe tumbled to the fore. He's in pain. He's lonely. He's in a state of shock. I'd go so far as to say he's a prisoner, and I can’t let him leave. Not yet.

So, I followed him out and caught him as he was about to step into the car. Which he hasn’t yet done. But he hasn’t turned around to face me, either. I shift my weight from foot to foot. The grey-haired chauffeur looks between us, a question on his face.

"Hi, I’m Penny." I flash the chauffeur a wide smile. Because that’s what I do.

When I’m embarrassed, I smile. When I’m angry, I smile more.

When I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time, like right now, I smile the biggest smile I can muster.

Because isn’t being optimistic and happy supposed to make things better?

"Rudy." The older man takes my hand. "Are you coming with us, Miss?"

"No," Knight snaps, before I can reply.

It speaks! So, all he said was a single word. And it's that one word in the entire English language that's the epitome of negativity. Still, that's progress… Of a sort. I think. It’s how I choose to take it, anyway.

Rudy steps back, looks between us again, then nods. "I’ll give you two some privacy." He sits down in the driver's seat and closes the door.

Knight makes a growling sound at the back of his throat.

My toes curl. All of my nerve endings seem to spark at the same time.

All because this monster of a man makes a sound like a rabid beast. No, no, no, I can’t compare him to Beast. That’s my very own secret fantasy, and I’ll never find anyone who can fulfill that.

Certainly not this bad-tempered, angry, snarly savage of a man.

Oh, but barbarians give the best orgasms. Eh?

Why did my mind go there? Also, he’s my best friend’s brother, so that makes him off-limits or something, right?

Of course, Abby is married to her brother's best friend, which is slightly different, but in the same territory.

I clear my throat. "I’m gonna leave. I don’t know why I came after you.

I mean, not after you after you, but just…

After you. It’s just… You seemed a little lonely, and maybe that’s my imagination, and really, it was stupid of me to come and ask if I can do anything to help.

Not that I’ve asked you yet. But I couldn’t stop myself from following you out.

Not follow you follow you, just… I was right behind you and—"

I gasp, for he’s pivoted around and is glaring at me again.

Green, green eyes. Sparks of green and gold and blue circling each other, chasing and ebbing and flowing like the Northern Lights.

I’ve never seen the phenomenon in real life, but if I did, I'm sure it would look like the vivid green that pulses and throbs and storms in his irises.

Then, it's gone. Banked. Vanished. To be replaced by a sheet of emerald so hard, surely, it could cut me off at my knees.

The impact of his gaze is so intense, it’s like a ten-ton truck slamming into my chest. I stumble back and would fall, except he shoots out his arm and grabs my shoulder.

The heat of his touch sizzles to my core.

My fingers tremble. My pussy clamps down and comes up empty.

My nipples are so hard, they hurt. They hurt.

I'm certain he reads my mind, for he drops his gaze down to my chest. Instantly, I blush. I chose this dress, knowing it shows off my tits. I’m a big girl, and I’ve never hidden it.

I like my size. I like my hips. My fleshy thighs.

The little rolls of fat around my middle.

Most of all, I like how my tits are perfectly round and how they jiggle when I walk.

I’m a plus-sized girl, and no one is ever going to make me feel bad about it.

He stares for so long, a million butterflies take flight in my stomach. I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. Slowly, he raises his gaze to mine. I see a mirror of my surprise, and something like… Loathing. Something so intense, I take another step back.

His eyebrows draw down, then he releases me so suddenly, I stumble again.

This time, he doesn’t right me. Instead, he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dusts off his hand.

He. Dusts. OFF. His. Hand. What a… Cretin.

He makes that growling sound at the back of his throat again, and my panties dampen.

He's mad. I get it. I’d be, too, if I'd been taken prisoner by my enemies. And then come home, only to be harassed by a woman like me who talks too much. And yeah, he’s a hero.

Media speculation is that he’s going to be knighted by the monarch of England.

Which would make him Knight Knight? Would he be called Sir Knight? I chuckle.

He scowls at the amusement on my face, and his green eyes blaze.

That nerve that throbs at his temple is joined by a vein.

The muscles of his shoulders bunch. He looks like he’s going to burst out of his shirt any moment.

Would that make him Knight Hulk? My lips quirk.

Don’t laugh. Do. Not. Laugh. Instead, I say, "It’s not good to bottle all that rage inside, you know.

It can lead to an early grave." The words are out before I can stop them. Oh, my gawd! What’s wrong with me?

I lick my lips. His gaze drops to my mouth. Something flashes in those dark eyes. Something that sends a pulse of heat shooting through my veins. I shift my weight from foot to foot.

"Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about dying again. Honestly, especially because—"

He abruptly turns away from me, ducks his head in the car, slides inside and pulls the door shut.

The car drives off, leaving me gaping after him.

What the— He drove off? And without saying a word to me?

Did I mistake that flash of lust in his eyes earlier?

There’s no mistaking the hate I glimpsed there, of course.

He doesn’t like me—I sensed it in the room, and the way he glowered at me, you’d think he had something personal against me.

Except for the fact I’ve only ever seen the man once before today.

Which begs the question: Why did I feel so compelled to follow him out?

"What are you doing out here?"

I turn to find my friend Mira walking toward me.

"I— uh—" A gust of wind blows the hair back from my face. A chill of foreboding slithers down my spine. "I—uh—thought I forgot something."

"You mean this?"

She holds up a bag. I stare at it for a second, then realization sinks in. "Yes, exactly. I forgot my handbag." I take it from her and hook it over my shoulder.

"You ready to leave?"

"You’re no longer training to be a chef?

" Mira takes a sip of the hot chocolate, then places the mug on the tiny breakfast counter which demarcates the living room from the kitchenette. We shared a ride here and decided to have a drink and decompress. Neither of us wanted to go out, so we opted to come back to Mira’s tiny apartment.

When my last landlord asked me to leave with less than a month’s notice, Mira—who’d been looking for a flat mate—asked me to move in, and I agreed.

"Turns out, the hours are too long, the pay is shit when you’re starting out, and not much better later, and you don’t even get weekends free.

" I glance down into the depths of my herbal tea. Why the hell did I choose chamomile? I hate the taste, but it’s supposed to be soothing, and I could do with a little of that right now.

I squirm around on the bar stool, trying to find a more comfortable space.

Mira looks at me with curiosity. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn’t I be?"

"You look a little peaked."

"It’s the changing weather. Summer into autumn, the days drawing to an end earlier. I mean, I do like the turning of the leaves, but I much prefer when it’s warm and sunny."

"Hmm…" She taps her fingers on the table. "You’re a shit liar."

"I’m not lying. I do prefer when it's warm and sunny. " I take a sip of the chamomile tea and almost gag.

She looks at me skeptically. "You don’t have to drink that, you know."

"I do." I hunch my shoulder. "My ma always used to say there was nothing chamomile tea couldn’t make better."

Her gaze softens. "How is she doing?"