Page 61 of Keep Me Close

My body reacts as if she just pressed a taser against my skin, and every muscle locks up. Her beachy scent wraps around me, and for one reckless second, I almost turn my head and catch her mouth with my own.

Almost.

My hand flexes at my side, fingers curling into my palm.

The memory of her mouth explodes in my head all over again. The softness of it along with the heat. The way she melted for that one split second before I forced myself to stop.

I remain perfectly still. If I move one damn inch, I’ll do something I won’t be able to take back. Something that changes everything between us.

It’s not that I don’t want to feel her lips again.

I want it too damn much.

The problem is that she’s standing in my penthouse after a night that rattled her, thanking me while gratitude shines in her eyes. The last thing I want to do is take something she never meant to offer.

So, I lock myself down tight and stand perfectly still. Cheyenne pulls back before I can betray myself.

“Good night, Knox.”

It takes effort to keep my voice level. “Night.”

With one last smile, she turns and walks down the hall, the silk of her dress whispering around her legs. I watch as she slips into her bedroom and closes the door. The silence that follows is deafening.

“Jesus,” I mutter before dragging both hands through my hair. I’m frozen in place for a full ten seconds, staring down the empty hallway, willing myself not to go after her.

Eventually, I force myself to move. Once in my room, I strip off the tux. Shirt first, then belt and pants. Everything gets tossed aside in a careless pile as I beeline for the bathroom. What I need right now is a shower. Hot water and steam. Something to wash away the lingering feel of Chey and whatever the hell this tight, restless energy simmering inside me has become.

After turning the knob, I wait for the water to heat before stepping under the spray and bracing my palms against the tile as it pounds over the back of my neck.

It doesn’t help. Not even a little.

My brain is stuck in a vicious loop. Chey on the red carpet, gaze lifting right before I kissed her. The feel of her on the dance floor and the way she rested her head on my chest, as if it was always meant to be there. Her mouth opening beneath mine on the couch. Her lips brushing against my cheek just now.

It’s not just the physical intimacy running through my head. It’s her laugh when she beat me to the building after our run. The way she looked tonight when we got back here—tired, yes, but trusting me enough to let the walls slip a little.

I shut my eyes, blowing out a slow breath. For one brief second, I consider taking matters into my own hands and dealing with the tension myself. With how tightly wound I am, it would probably take less than thirty seconds.

Already, I know it won’t work. This has nothing to do with being turned on and everything to do with the woman sleeping across the hall from me. A quick release won’t fix the fact that I want more than just her body. When it comes down to it, I want her laugh in my kitchen, her bare feet on my hardwood floors, and her curled up on my couch at the end of each day.

That’s the real problem.

I shut off the water with more force than necessary, grab a towel, and scrub it over my hair before dragging on a pair of boxers and climbing into bed. Then I reach for my phone. I don’t scroll for more than thirty seconds before realizing that photos of us are everywhere. Red carpet shots and close-ups of the kiss. The two of us looking like we’d forgotten there was an audience.

Headlines are already popping up.

Is the Railers’ Bad Boy Off the Market?

Someone’s created a hashtag.

#KnoxAndChey

Another one follows right after.

#EmeraldAndIce

I let out a humorless huff.

Cute.