Page 24 of Knox Unleashed
The sound cuts through me like cold water, and I pull back immediately.
I’m a selfish prick.
We’re both breathing harder than we should be. I feel like I just ran a marathon, my legs just as stable as if I had. Her pupils are blown wide in the low light, and my hand is still tangled in her hair as I press my forehead to hers.
The reality of what I just did hits me, and I reluctantly let the soft strands drop through my fingers. It’s hard to accept something that felt so good was a mistake.
“You’re hurt,” I manage to say, my voice rougher than I meant it to be as I take a step back from her delicious warmth.
“Take that look of regret off your face,” she replies. “We’re grown-ups.”
I huff at that. It’s ridiculous because I’m known for being able to school my expression, but I struggle to relax my jaw. “Yeah, but some of us are more grown up than others and should know better.”
“How old are you, Knox?”
“Forty-four. You?”
“I’m twenty-eight. Twenty-nine next month.”
I shake my head at that. “The extra year doesn’t make that gap sound any better.”
“For the record, I don’t regret kissing you. Not even a little bit. What happens in here, stays in here.”
“This isn’t Las Vegas.”
“I’m aware.”
For a second, I just look at her. Her lips are still parted, her breath a little uneven. Her lips are a little swollen because of just how hard I kissed her. There’s a pretty flush to her cheeks, but her eyes are utterly guileless.
I swear beneath my breath. If anyone found out about this, it would be chaos. Suddenly, it feels as if there’s a certain poetic justice to me stuck in here with this woman.
Caldwell might see it as me obtaining leverage or revenge. Or as a betrayal from his own daughter. Maybe both. I could handle however he responded if he knew. But I saw the way Maren looked on that dock when he spoke to her, and don’t know if she could.
“We should get out of these wet clothes.” But as she says the words, she tilts forward a little, as if unsteady on her feet.
“Fuck me,” I say, grabbing her. “I’m an asshole. You’re in shock. There’s adrenaline. And I know for sure I’m not your definition of a safe space. Let’s get you cleaned up, first. Will the shower still run?”
Maren nods. “It’s a tank. I turned it on this morning.”
She moves toward the bathroom, but then stops and leans forward, putting her head down by her knees. “Jeez, I feel dizzy.”
I hurry to her to catch her if she falls. “I don’t think you should be showering alone.”
She stands slowly and stubbornly raises her chin. “Believe me, I have years of experience doing that.”
Gently, I hold on to her bicep, careful not to grip where those assholes bruised her soft tanned skin. “And I’m not arguing with you. Think of it this way: If we shower together, we save hot water. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” she says sharply, as if she agrees with me that this whole arrangement is anything but fine.
We stumble our way to the bathroom. She wasn’t lying when she said it was basic. It’s a concrete room. No real shower stall, but the concrete floor has been gently sloped to make sure the water runs in the direction of the drain. The toilet and sink are close by, but are going to get soaked as soon as we turn the water on.
The rain barrel sits on the floor next to the toilet. It’s ugly, but practical.
There’s a series of floating shelfs on the wall by the door with four towels on it, and on the wall by the shower are three utilitarian dispensers that, I’m guessing, are some kind of soap and shampoo and conditioner shit.
“You really don’t have to stay,” she says, holding on to the sink in a death grip.
I glance at her. “Yeah. I do. Guessing you’re gonna take a bit longer than I am, so let’s get you naked, first.”
