Page 42 of Knox

It’s fucking war.

…Which brings us to today.

I take Leo’s arm, looping mine through his as we walk, and I smile. The sun is out, the breeze is perfect, and the outdoor mall is emptier than usual.

What a beautiful fucking day.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Cil,” Leo says, patting my hand, “but you are not a masochist. You are a fucking sadist.”

I burst out laughing. “Why would you say that?”

“Why?! Besides everything you’ve done to that man for the past week, today you’ve dragged Knox through ten stores over the last five hours. You asked him to rate twenty nearly identical Prada hats on a scale of one to nine hundred.”

“I’ve also dragged you.”

“Honey, I live for this shit… But Knox?”

I turn to look at him. He’s keeping his distance, three meters back, looking just as gorgeous and angry as he always does.

And I’m not the only one noticing, either.

Everywhere we go, customers and retail staff alike practically drop their jaws the second they see him.

If they knew how much of an asshole he is…

The asshole in question catches me looking and winks.

I glare and immediately look away.

Bastard.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t quit yet,” I mumble, annoyed.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t killed you yet.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Leo shifts his hand, brushing his fingers over the tracking bracelet Knox forced onto my wrist a couple of days ago.

“This thing actually looks pretty cool.”

“Sure,” I scoff. “For a glorified dog tag.”

“At least it keeps you safer from the stalker and—”

“Nope, Leo. Today is a beautiful day, so change of topic… or better yet, let’s just keep shopping.” I pull Leo along, heading for the nearest designer boutique.

“Welcome to Saint Laurent, Mr. Cillian,” a cheery associate says the moment we cross the threshold. “Would you and your guests like some water? Or perhaps champagne? I believe we still have a bottle of your ’82 Château Margaux set aside in the back.”

“Bring the Château for all of us, thank you,” I tell him as we head to the private salon.

On the way, I pull a few pairs of pants and shirts off the racks, including one with a zipper running down the back.

I already own that exact shirt, and boy, is it impossible to put on alone.

Which makes it absolutely perfect for what I want to do right now.

I stop at the changing rooms and glance back at Knox. “Come here and help me get dressed.”