Page 297 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Knight

"So, she agreed to get to know you better so she can describe you better in order that the right kind of woman will apply for the role?" Adam takes a long drink of water from his bottle.

"That’s the idea, yes." I stretch out my calves, then my thighs, trying to work out the kinks that have formed after that ten-mile-long run along the Thames. It’s a perfect early autumn evening.

The light is golden and slanting through the buildings along the bank of the river.

It’s almost nine p.m., but it’s light. The days are long enough for me to complete my run and have time to return to my home office and get some work done.

"And she agreed?"

"I didn’t give her a choice."

"Maybe she was happy to spend time with you?" He smirks.

"I doubt it, considering I haven’t exactly been a gentleman with her.

" Fact is, I don’t want to be a gentleman with her.

I only want to be a beast—the kind who throws her down and ruts into her and sinks into her pussy.

She brings out that carnal part of me. The part which wants to own her and possess her and fuck her every which way until I’ve spent myself thoroughly.

Until the voices in my head shut down and give me some relief from the ever-present babble between my ears.

He lowers his arm, caps his bottle and points it at me. "You, mate, are fooling yourself."

"Eh?" I straighten, then extend my other leg before dipping into it, lengthening the muscles.

"You have a thing for her."

I snort. "Sure I do. She’s curvy, sexy, vivacious.

She brings sunshine into any room she walks into.

She smells of flowers, and her gait is like that of a dancer.

Her glare is shy, her heart is sensitive, and she feels emotions in a way that I’ll never be able to.

She’s funny, witty, and cracks me up with her errors. "

"You find her mistakes amusing?"

"Of course I do."

He stares at me.

"What?"

"You’re the guy who’d ask your unit to drop down and give you a hundred push-ups if we made a single mistake during our drills."

"She’s not one of my team."

"No, she’s something more."

I pause halfway through my cooling down exercise. "I mean, yeah, she’s my employee."

Adam smirks.

"Shut up, twatface."

"I didn’t say anything."

"It’s what you’re implying."

"And what is that?"

"That she’s—" I hesitate. What? What is she? Is it even important to give a label to whatever is there between us? No, what am I thinking? There’s nothing between us. Nothing. "Nothing." I straighten. "She means nothing to me."

"Oh?" He turns to face me. "So why did you invite her to your home for dinner?"

"So she gets to know me better?" I raise my bottle of water to my mouth.

"So, it’s a date?"

I choke on the water, then spit it out. "Say what?"

"A date—when a man and a woman get to know each other, over a meal—"

"I know what a date is, this"—I gesture to my chest, then to the space in front of me—"is not a date."

"Nice of you to invite me on a date." She flashes a wide smile at me from the doorstep of my penthouse. It’s the day after the conversation with Adam that left me confused and very clear that it is not a date. That’s not why I’d invited her to my home.

I’ve had people over— Not since you returned from the mission—and even before, you preferred to meet Declan and Cade at the 7A Club.

Which doesn’t mean anything. The only reason I asked her over is so she can get to know me better, so she can write a better profile for me, which will help attract the right kind of woman to become my wife.

And I need to get this right. So, the profile needs to be spot on.

And that’s the only reason she’s here. That is all.

This is not a date, is what I want to say.

Instead, I step aside and usher her in. She brushes past me, and I lean in her wake to soak up her scent.

Roses tinged with those sugary notes that make me want to bend her over my lap and dig my teeth into her fleshy thigh assails me.

My cock instantly extends. If I look down, I’ll see a tent at my crotch, and fuck me, but how does she have this effect on me every single time I’m in her vicinity?

On the other hand, it’s proof that what they did to me did not affect that part of me…

Which is reassuring. Not that I’ve had sex since I returned…

I can’t stand the thought of being with anyone else…

other than her. Can’t stand the idea of touching anyone else.

.. but her. Fuck, this is crazy. This is not how I envisaged the start to this evening.

I managed to avoid her all day by reaching work before her, then shutting myself in my office and asking not to be disturbed.

I skipped the coffee she normally gets me, and instead, made my own coffee and a sandwich for lunch at the kitchenette attached to my office.

Then I worked all day before emerging after she’d left.

It was to prove to myself that I could go an entire day without seeing her, and I had.

Of course, it didn’t stop me from glancing at the app on my phone that links to her computer so I could see her face focused on the screen and whatever she was working on.

Still, that's not the same as seeing her in person, right?

So, I managed well on my own. Then I came home and went for a run—without Adam—returning in time to shower and freshen up.

But seeing her in the flesh and in my space, watching the sway of her hips as she glides across the hallway of my penthouse and toward the living room…

Placing her bag on the coffee table as she shrugs out of her jacket, giving me the full view of how the pink dress she’s wearing clings to her curves…

She crosses the floor toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that soar two stories high and showcase the view of London stretched out in front.

"Whoa, this is spectacular." Her voice is awed.

"It is." I take in her hourglass figure silhouetted against the sun's rays that pour in through the window.

She looks at me over her shoulder. "I was talking about the view."

"So was I."

Her cheeks redden. She looks me up and down, and her blush deepens further.

"You look good," her voice cracks and she clears her throat. "Not that you don’t normally look good, but you look better. I mean—" She squeezes her eyes shut. "Why do I always come across like a nincompoop where you’re concerned?"

My lips twitch. My chest feels lighter. This…

This is why I like being with her. She’s a ray of sunshine that cuts through the quagmire in my head.

A blazing comet that cleaves through the dark night of my soul.

A shimmering, iridescent, sparkling jewel that illuminates the murky depths of my heart.

I’m not aware of walking forward, but the next thing I know, I’m standing in front of her.

I push a strand of her sunshine hair behind her ear, and her eyes fly open.

Her gaze widens. She looks up at me, and I can see her soul in her eyes.

The innocence, the hope, that optimism that comes from not having seen evil that dwells in people’s souls.

Not having seen the violence I have—experienced death at close quarters, held friends as they’ve taken their last breath in my arms, looked in the eyes of a dying man as his soul dissolves, leaving behind the shell of what he was.

What I am now. A caricature, a ghost, a husk of who I once was.

I’ll never go back to being that man again.

The kind of man she deserves. Someone complete, someone whole, someone who can see, feel, and sense normalcy, want normal things—a life, a love, children for all the right reasons.

That’s not me. And I don’t know who I am anymore.

Don’t know who I’m going to be if I continue on the path I've set myself.

She tips up her chin, rises on her toes, and I know she wants me to kiss her.

To press my mouth to hers, swipe my tongue across the seam of her lips, draw from her honeyed essence, share her breath and raise her pulse rate until her knees give out from under her.

That’s what she wants from me, I know, which is why I step back from her and growl, "This is not a date. "