Feel? “What?”
“Bein’ pregnant. Any noticeable changes? Nat’s super sick all the time, and it makes Clay strut around like it’s a badge of honor. Every time I talk to him he’s runnin’ around gettin’ something for her stomach and tellin’ us all about how many times she puked. I can’t decide if it’s cute or bizarre.”
Oh. We’re still talking about the baby. I touch my flat stomach. “Nothing much yet, really. No morning sickness. I haven’t really had any strange food cravings yet, either.” I glance over at my destroyed dinner plate and think of my cookie-pickle-ketchup burger. “Well, uh, until now. Other than that, just a bit of tenderness, really.” The tenderness is probably a TMI for him, but I feel like if I give just enough information, I’ll be able to hide other bits.
Things like how the pregnancy has made me super, ultra-aroused at the drop of a hat.
But Knox isn’t a woman, so I doubt he knows anything about pregnancy like that. He just nods like what I’m saying makes sense, and then adds, “If you need anything, just let me know and I’ll get it for you.”
Like dick? I want to say, but for once, I hold back. I have no doubt in my mind that if I wanted sex right now, he’d give it to me. Screw ghost hunting. The undead can just watch. But I remind myself that I can’t think like that. I can’t. Much as I may want otherwise, it’s smartest to keep Knox at arm’s length. I can’t forget how bad my first marriage was.
Nor can I forget Keith and his constant looming presence in my life. Ugh. So I look over at gorgeous, sexy Knox and do what I can to try to stem the rising tide of my stupid feelings. “I’m glad we’re here, but in the future can you please not ambush me in my studio? It makes me feel trapped.”
He cocks his head, regarding me. “Trapped?” When I nod, he removes his hand from my neck—which makes me want to cry—and adds slowly, “You ain’t married, are you?”
And now I feel like an asshole. There’s a cautious wariness to his face that wasn’t there before, and I feel like I’ve somehow ruined something I wasn’t even sure I wanted. God, I’m such a mess. I can’t tell him about Keith, though. The last thing I need is him white-knighting his way into my life more than he already is and making the fuckery dial up to eleven. It’s already going to be at an eight by the time I get back from this date with him, but I can handle Keith at an eight. “I’m not married now, but I was married once.”
Knox seems surprised at this admission. “Oh?”
I can tell he wants more information, and I feel like I owe him this much. More than anything, I just want him to put his hand back on my neck and stroke it again. That’s shamefully weak of me, but I’m not sure I care. Just having him here at my side seems to make everything okay. Like it doesn’t matter that I’m broke and pregnant and my stalker is gonna flip his lid when he finds out I’m gone. As long as he touches me again and smiles, everything’ll be okay.
Ghost hunting seems like a distant second right now compared to snuggling. Snuggling that I shouldn’t want, of course, but I can’t seem to help myself.
Just like I can’t seem to bring myself to make the first move.
“I’ve never told Natalie,” I admit to him. “Don’t say anything, all right?”
“Is it a secret?”
“No, just not something I’m particularly proud of. Nat’s a big believer in happy ever after and love conquering all things despite the whole ‘Clay being out of her life for seven years’ thing. Though I suppose she’s really, really into the whole Prince Charming thing now that she and Clay are back together.” I pick up my phone and start to fiddle with the camera. It’s either that or start wringing my hands like some demented damsel in distress. “So yeah, I was married once. It sucked. Not a fan.”
Knox puts a hand over my phone, gently pushing it aside. “Tell me about him. Who is he, and do I need to murder him for hurting you?”
I laugh at his suggestion, but when I look over at him, there’s an intense expression on his face, and he’s not smiling. He’s not fooling around, and I get the impression he really would go after my ex and make him pay for past slights. I’m not sure if that’s crazypants or sweet. Maybe both. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. We’re both a little crazypants. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Oh jeez. Everything, huh? That’s such a broad statement. “Well, when I was a kid, it might shock you to hear that I was a bit of a rebellious teenager.”
A hint of a smile quirks his mouth. “No shit,” he drawls.
“No shit,” I agree. “I had problems with authority, and I really, really had problems with my parents, who were very strict and found religion again when I was about fifteen. Instead of cleaving to Jesus, I cleaved to goth clothing and rock music and staying out late with my much-older boyfriend.”
“You wild thing, you.”
“It should also not surprise you that I influenced my younger sister, and when my parents found her with a cigarette one day, they blamed me. I’d just graduated from high school, and I’d had the bad decision to stay out late with my boyfriend, Jonas. I’d slept over at his place. See, he was twenty-three or so, and I had just turned eighteen, and at the time, I didn’t think it was weird that an older guy wanted to date some high school kid. I just thought he was cool. Of course, now that I think back to how flat-chested and skinny I was, I wonder about that guy, but that’s besides the point. Between the cigarette and the sluttiness I was showing, my parents kicked me out. Jonas offered for me to move in with him, but then he lost his job a week or so later, and decided to enlist in the army. The only way we’d get housing together was if we got married. I wasn’t particularly keen on the idea because it meant I was trading one authority figure for another, and we were already fighting after a week of living together, but I was also young and stupid, and I figured we’d learn to get along better over time. Plus, I didn’t have any options other than going back to my parents and begging for forgiveness. That wasn’t going to happen . . . so I married my sleazy boyfriend about a month after high school ended.” I give him a faint smile. “You can guess how things turned out.”
Knox isn’t smiling. His expression is pretty . . . well, stony.
I reach over and pat his hand. “Oh, this gets better. See, it’s a combination of two people being really wrong for each other and desperate situations. Jonas was desperate for work and he was a real pothead, so he couldn’t get a regular job. Plus, he was kind of stupid, looking back. So he joined the army because he figured they couldn’t really fire him if he was enlisted. We got married, he shipped out, and then I had an apartment on my own. I wanted to get a job, too, but Jonas didn’t like that idea, so I spent my time playing video games online and generally being a lazy slob. I guess you could say I was depressed, but I was eighteen and I figured shit like that only happened to older people.” I shrug. “So it didn’t make for a good situation when Jonas got home from his deployments.”
I can feel Knox tense next to me. “Did he hit you?” His voice is low, brimming with pent-up anger.
“No, but he grabbed me pretty hard a few times. I know I had bruises. I’m not saying I was blameless, of course. I was a real asshole to him, but—”
“That doesn’t excuse it,” he tells me tightly.
“No, it doesn’t, which is what I was about to say.” He seems so stressed and angry over my past that I reach over and squeeze his knee. “It’s all right, Knox. Like I said, I was an asshole kid at the time, but I wasn’t a dumb one. I was more than happy when he’d go away again. It meant I didn’t have to deal with him. Of course, while he was gone, I was trapped at home. We didn’t have a car, and he was the one earning all the money, which meant I sat around a lot. One time he came home and got really jealous of my friendship with some people online and destroyed my computer and smashed my phone. After that, I didn’t have anyone to talk to.”
“Tell me h
is name and I’ll murder him.”
I pat his knee again, because it’s sweet that he’s so furious. It’s kind of weird, because I’ve avoided talking about this portion of my life to anyone. It feels like ancient history now, ten years gone. I’m a different person now, and I guess I still cringe at the rebellious, loudmouthed teenager I was back then. I love that Knox is automatically taking my side, though. “It’s the distant past, Knox. Don’t get all stressed out.”
“He was isolating you.” His jaw clenches.
“Yeah, he was. I was too stupid to realize it, but Jonas’s thing was control. If he couldn’t control me while he was deployed, he did his best to make sure I felt alone to try and ensure that I’d do what he wanted. He wanted to approve what I wore, who I talked to, even what I read. I had my own ideas, though. I’d let him think whatever he wanted while he was in town, and the moment he was gone, I got a job. I worked so many fast-food jobs back then and didn’t tell him about it. Walked to work and took the bus and grabbed every shift I could. I saved every dollar, and by the time it was close to our one-year anniversary, I took my nest egg and moved in with one of my friends I’d met through one of my jobs. She let me room with her for a while, and between jobs and things, I found yoga.” I shrug. “Like I said, it was a long time ago, though.”
“How many years?” he asks.
“Ten, give or take a few months. Remember I’m an old lady compared to you.” I nudge him with my shoulder and wonder if he notices that I still have my hand on his thigh. I can’t bring myself to remove it, even though I know I should. There’s just something so comforting about touching him. Hell, I’m even finding his protective, growly response to my stupid marriage adorable.
“You’re not old,” Knox tells me, clearly still angry. “And you just need to give me that guy’s name and—”
“Nope,” I say, ending the conversation. “I haven’t talked to him since I filed the divorce, and we both prefer it that way, I think. He was just as miserable as I was. And because he was miserable, he tried to make me fit what he thought a good wife would be. I’m my own girl, though. The more he pushed, the harder I pushed back.” I squeeze his knee again. “I have enough clarity now with some years behind me that I can recognize I’m not good at being someone’s partner. I think some people are just meant to be solo artists. I’m definitely one of those people. So when I say it’s not you, it’s me, I really mean it.”
“Because you think I’m like that douchebag,” Knox says, his tone flat and cold. I can tell I’ve hurt him.
“No, if I thought you were like that, I wouldn’t talk to you at all.” I shrug. “I just have . . . let’s call it an aversion to being trapped. I don’t like people that think they can control me. I don’t think you’re controlling, but I think that people in a marriage have a certain obligation to listen to their partner and try to be a partner, and like I said, I’m not great at that sort of thing.”
“If I’ve ever made you feel trapped or controlled, I’m sorry, Lexi.” The look in his eyes is dark. “I can understand why you’d react badly to me dropping in. I won’t do it again.”
And now I feel a bit like I’ve overreacted. I know Knox is different. Everything he does—even the smallest gestures of letting me pick what to eat on the menu and then letting me eat all his fries—tells me that he’s more than willing to give me enough space. It’s just that I don’t trust myself all that much. I’ve always been very confident in who I am and my life in general . . . except for when it comes to men. There, I always seem to fumble the ball.
I worry Knox is going to be just another fumble. That hurts a lot, surprisingly. We’ve only met a few times, but it feels like I’ve known him always. That we have this deep connection on another level . . . but what if I’m just all wrong again?
“You don’t make me feel trapped, Knox. I’m just really cautious when it comes to relationships, because I’m not very good at them.”
“You don’t have to be good at all relationships,” he tells me. “You just have to be good at one of them.”
The man’s got a point. I can’t help but smile at that. “Well, if I could pick a relationship to be good at, it would be this one. I’m just pretty sure I’ve already fucked things up by getting pregnant and all.”
“Think that depends on who you ask,” Knox drawls, leaning in closer to me. “Because from where I sit, it ain’t fucked up at all. Maybe it’s exactly how it needs to be.”
He’s moved closer to me, and I’m dying for his hand to go back to my neck, for a small touch from him that will close the distance between us. But he only watches me, and I realize that as possessive and protective as he is, he’s going to wait for me to make the first move. For me to tell him with my words and my body that I want this to go forward.
I can kill this right here and now, if I want to. I can leave things as they are and we can part from this night as friends. Buddies. We can probably even co-parent in a friendly sort of way without taking things any deeper. That’s the safest route: friendship.
I study his face, devouring his features. Wondering what it’d be like to shake hands after tonight and then never see each other again, like Jonas. I’m surprised at the sense of loss that fills me with. I don’t know why it does. Friendship is safest.
Isn’t that what I want? To have things easy to handle? To make sure I never lose control of the situation? With Knox, I never seem to have control of the situation in the slightest.
But it doesn’t feel . . . unpleasant like it did with Jonas. It feels like there’s something exciting to look forward to for once. Like I have more to anticipate than just another round of past-due bills showing up in the mail or Keith heading over to be his usual dickweed self at my studio.
I think for a moment . . . and then I sit up and turn my body so I’m facing him. We’re no longer sitting side by side, but face-to-face. If I move any closer, I’ll be in his lap. For a brief second, I feel another flash of fear. Am I making a mistake? Knox is younger than me, practically a stranger, and rich. I’m not what he needs. He’s going to have the upper hand easily if I let him. Is this what I want? But I look into his dark eyes and study his sinfully handsome face.
“Like I said earlier, I’m not very good at relationships,” I tell him in a low voice.
“Me either,” he says, voice low and husky. He leans in, a hint of a smile on his face. “Last one I tried, I got the girl pregnant.”
For a moment, I’m shocked . . . and then I realize he’s talking about me. Oh. “Did you . . . did you think that night was a relationship?”
“Kinda hoped it’d be the start of one.” He’s so watchful, so very intent and full of tension, like a coiled spring. He’s waiting for me.
“And if it’s nothing?” I whisper.
“It’ll be the best nothing I ever had.”
That makes me ache, it’s so sweet. “And then you’ll move on with your life?”
“I dunno about that.”
“Oh?”
He shrugs and leans forward, just a little. That small motion makes me realize that I’m leaning forward, too. Any closer and we’ll practically be kissing. “How do you move on from your arm? Or your leg? Or half your heart? You can’t. You just do the best you can with the pieces you got left.”
Oh my god.
I fling myself into his arms, pressing him back against the mattress. I crawl over his lap and press my mouth to his, swooping into a kiss. I don’t even have time to think about the consequences before his mouth is on mine and we’re making out like teenagers in the back seat of a car. His lips move against mine, tongue thrusting into my mouth with all the possessiveness I can tell he’s been holding back. He’s been waiting for the okay from me all this time, to let him know that I’m all right with the claim he wants to stake. Now that I’ve broken the distance between us, he’s like a wild man, tearing at my shirt and running his ha
nds down my backside before dragging me down against his hips and rocking up against my core.
I whimper when his cock rubs me right against the heat of my pussy. The yoga pants I’m wearing seem far too thin, because I can feel all of that hardness. At the same time, it’s far too much material between us. I’m wet already, and as his mouth slants over mine, claiming me with rough, frantic kisses, I start to rock up against him. I’m so wet, so full of need. I have been this entire night. Just a word from him, a look is all it takes and it’s like I want to fling my panties across the room. “God, I have been so turned on all night.”
His chuckle brushes against my lips, and even that’s so sexy I can hardly stand it. “Never met a girl that got turned on by spider webs and dark shadows.”
“Well, now you know what it takes to make me want to ride you like a bronco,” I say, breathless. I slide my hands under his shirt and feel his hard chest. It’s smooth and warm and rippled with muscle. Yummy.
“Then you’ll go out with me again?” he asks between nipping kisses.
“If you keep asking me like this, fuck yes.”
“I can do that,” he whispers, and his tongue flicks against my mouth in the most obscene, sexy little gesture. “Tell me what haunted house you want to visit next and it’s all yours.”
“Don’t care about the ghosts,” I tell him, panting. I’ve forgotten we’re supposed to be ghost hunting. I’ve forgotten everything but him. “Fuck the ghosts.”
“They ain’t my type. I prefer someone warm and touchable, who likes to scare children with her personality.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, and then tug at the hem of his shirt. I want it off. Now. “If there’s any spirits here, they’re welcome to pull up a chair and watch me touch you.”
“And are you gonna touch me?” He can’t take his eyes off me, and I love that. It makes me want to do more.
“Touch you all over,” I tell him in a silky voice, and I love his sexy groan of response. Being here with him feels more perfect than I could have imagined. I can’t walk away from this. I won’t walk away from it.
Dirty Bastard Page 13
