Unless I move to the other side of the country like my sister, Bethany did.
But seeing him tonight is different. This time, his composure is off. When I meet his eyes, he looks shell-shocked. And not because of what I did to him last week, either. Something is going on. I got the sense that he was about to tell me something but stopped when he realized my parents were with me. It’ll be a relief if that’s the case and he’s still open to confiding in me. It’ll mean that our one casual hookup and the ten years he went silent didn’t permanently ruin our friendship. If we do manage to steal a moment alone tonight, I plan to find out.
I don’t want to be forced to turn and run every time we bump into each other. I need to make it right. I want my friend back.
On my father’s request, a server pushes a table next to the one where Knox and his grandfather are seated, making room for the three of us. Dad pulls out the chair beside Knox and motions for me to sit beside him. Okay, fine by me. This can work, even though I can tell that Dad has other ulterior motives. What he wouldn’t give to hook me up with one of New York’s elite families. Whatever. I’m just thankful he doesn’t know about our one-night stand. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.
“You’ve made some good strides since you won,” Mr. Steele tells my father as they continue their small talk. “Being a senator suits you.”
I brace for him or Dad to walk down memory lane and mention the tremendous amount of campaign support that came from the Knox’s family by way of monetary contributions. Dad brings it up every time the Steele name comes up in conversation. Mr. Steele smiles politely, but he doesn’t seem too interested in the topic. He and Knox aren’t talking much at all tonight. I get the impression that we—we as in my father—butted into their evening out at the least convenient time.
“What have you been up to, Morris? It’s been ages since we sat down like this.”
At Dad’s question, Knox’s hand tightens into a fist on his lap. It’s not a typical reaction to such a general question, and it doesn’t appear to have any effect on Mr. Steele, who has warmth in his eyes as he chats with Mom and Dad. Paying no attention to their conversation, I let my gaze move up to Knox’s face and know for sure there’s a lot more at play here. He’s tense, agitated. Without thinking, I’m subtle as I rest my hand on top of his clenched fist. No one around the table notices, as Knox and I are on one side of the joined table, Dad and Mr. Steele are on the other side, and Mom’s next to Dad, with her body more or less rotated toward Dad. Knox doesn’t flinch or react negatively to my touch, and after a few moments, he opens his hand and turns his palm to mine, lacing our fingers together. There’s no doubt in my mind now that his mood has nothing to do with me. His willingness to accept my show of emotional support is proof enough.
But if it isn’t about me, what the hell is going on?
I don’t want to wait any longer to pull Knox aside and get to the bottom of what’s going on. He’s hurting. It’s no small thing.
“Are you still planning to come to my Fourth of July party?” Mr. Steele asks my parents.
I’m not sure why, but his question gets my attention. Both our families used to celebrate that long weekend together every year when Knox and I were younger, and after Knox’s parents passed, Morris kept up the tradition. But everything changed after Knox went off to college. I haven’t spent time in the Hamptons since.
“Of course,” Dad says. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything. Any invite to get out of the city for that long weekend is a welcome one.” He turns to Mom. “It’ll save us a three-hour trip to our cottage in the Poconos, wouldn’t it honey?”
She gives an animated nod. “It’ll be fabulous. We’ll be there.”
Considering that I haven’t been to one of these weekends in years, I’m not sure whether or not to assume I’m included in the invite. I’m not about to hold my breath for one either.
“Great,” Morris says, picking up his menu. “Looking forward to seeing you all there.” He turns his face and meets my eyes. “Maybe this’ll be the year you’ll start coming again, Isabelle?”
So much for not holding my breath.
I glance over at Knox next to me, hoping for some signal as to whether he can bear having me around for an entire weekend. We may have had a casual hookup, and he may be okay with holding my hand for a few minutes, but that in no way means our friendship is back to where it used to be. I have no idea where we stand. “Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Steele. I’ll have to check my calendar and let you know.”
“Sounds great. You’re more than welcome, so even if you can’t now, and plans change for you on the weekend, just come on down.”
“I appreciate that.”
The server arrives to take our orders, and once he leaves our tables, Dad and Mr. Steele resume their talk. They delve into the usual, business, politics, world events, updates about the families in their circle of friends, and the like. Knox hasn’t let go of my hand,
Something is wrong and it’s time for me to find out what it is.
I lean over to him and whisper for only him to hear, “Can you meet me down the hall in five minutes? I think we should talk.”
He nods, and I take my purse from the floor beside me, excusing myself to use the ladies’ room.
Except I didn’t plan for my mother to take my announcement as an invitation.
“I’ll come with you,” she chirps.
I shoot her a warning look to hint that I’d rather go alone, but she doesn’t catch my drift. Getting to her feet, she links her arm through mine and chatters on nonstop all the way toward the harsh, white fluorescent lights of the ladies’ room. They make me seem about as pale as I feel inside. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, wondering if she’ll head back before me.
“He looks good, don’t you think?” Mom asks. I shrug my shoulders. “I always thought it was a shame that you two lost touch. You were always so close.” She opens her clutch and applies lipstick across her mouth, which unfortunately only silences her for a moment. “Your father and I thought for sure that you’d end up together.” I’ve heard all that before, so I don’t say a word, but she persists. “You never told me why you two stopped spending time together. Did something happen?”
“No.” I reply, my voice tight. “And you know it was never like that. We were just friends.”
“Sure, when you were kids, but look at him. Knox is all grown up.” She nudges my arm playfully. “He’s one hell of a man.”
I don’t need my mother talking about Knox like this. My mind needs no help at all to see how my best friend turned out. Not after that night at the party. All I can think about is his strong hands all over my body, the way he felt inside me, his possessive kisses that owned me, his mouth on my bare skin. My cheeks heat and I see the redness spread up from my neck in the mirror. If I keep this up around my mother, she won’t need to hear another word from me. She’ll read all the damn signs my body’s giving off without my permission.
I turn from her and start toward the door. “Don’t get any ideas,” I tell her. “Just… don’t.”
“Why not?”
I push the door open, still avoiding her gaze. “He’s not my type,” I say dismissively.
“What? How can tall, dark, and mysteriously handsome not be any woman’s type?”
“Drop it, Mom. Please.”
“You must be blind. I don’t understand why you insist on staying cooped up and single.”
“Please stop. You’re making a scene.” I groan and turn to face her. “Just leave it alone, will you? It’s not the time or place to—”
My mouth stops mid-sentence at the sight of Knox heading up the hallway toward us. God. Mom won’t be able to contain herself.
“Mom, Knox and I need to talk alone…about Foster,” I lie.
She turns to him. “Of course! I’ll be at the table. Take all the time you need.”
“Let’s go out back,” Knox tells me after she’s out of earshot, and places his hand at
the small of my back, guiding me down the hall. “My driver’s outside.”
“Sure,” I answer, but to be honest, I’m not sure of anything anymore.
We sit side by side in silence in the back of Knox’s limo. It’s just us. The privacy glass is up, separating us from his driver. Minutes pass and neither of us has said a word. I’m brought back to those days when we were teens, sitting like this, quiet yet sharing so much without the need for words.
It feels like old times.
Until it doesn’t.
Knox puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. That’s not out of the ordinary, but when he goes a step further, slowly lifting me into his lap, I’m pretty sure about where this will end up going. If we’re not careful, we’ll cross another line, and there’ll be no turning back.
Still, he hasn’t done anything other than wrap his arms around me. Maybe he just needs to hold me, to feel me close. There’s no harm in that.
But I’m dead wrong when his hand runs up my back, anchoring into my hair. He uses his grip to guide my face to look up at his, and his mouth meets mine. It’s the softest, gentlest kiss I’ve ever felt, yet it’s so potent and overpowering that it goes right to my core. The faintest hint of a touch, and he lingers there, while my body reacts everywhere, especially between my legs. After some time, he nips on my bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth. I start to feel his erection growing beneath me. I’m so torn. I want to know where this will go, but on the other hand, I’m so scared I’ll enjoy him too much, only to eventually have the rug pulled out from under me when he blows me off again. Because he will blow me off. I’m certain of that.
“We should go back inside,” I tell him against his lips. “They’ll come looking for us if we don’t make an appearance soon.”
“Sure. Okay,” he says, but his tongue says otherwise as it slides along my bottom lip, parting my mouth. His fingers tighten in my hair, and what starts off as soft and gentle and innocent quickly turns into a hot, deep, demanding kiss that I don’t want to end. I meet his tongue with mine, exploring his mouth as he claims me all over again and makes me forget where I am. He runs a hand up along my thigh and my legs part, wanting more contact. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m wearing dress pants tonight, there’d be no turning back. As his hand grazes over my waistband, searching to undo my button and zipper, I come to my senses and move it away.
“We can’t…we should stop.” I pull away and slide out of his lap, my fingers covering my lips and the other hand on the door handle. “This is a bad idea. I’m sorry… See you inside.” Jumping out into the warm evening air, I don’t look back as I hurry inside.
Of course, my appetite is nonexistent now. For food, anyway. I return to my seat just as the waiter comes from the other direction, his rolling tray packed with our food orders. Knox joins us a minute later. My parents and his grandfather give us a brief glance, but are polite enough not to mention our absence. They keep their conversations going, and I move my food around the plate, hoping no one will notice that food is the last thing on my mind. And Knox? He doesn’t look me in the eye or say another word to me for the entire time.
It’s the second time that I’ve shut him down or walked away from him. If we cross paths after tonight, I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to do it a third time.
No matter what, I’m staying far, far away.
I have to.
8
Knox
I never thought it would come to this. I can’t get Isabelle out of my head. Pops’ news is also stuck on repeat, delivering a crushing blow to my gut over and over again.
This is really fucking bad.
I look out the window after Isabelle and her parents leave, waiting for Pops to finish what he started before they arrived. My hands run through my hair and I take a deep breath, hoping this night will end before too long.
My brain can’t decide what to focus on. Pops’ illness causes my blood to run cold. It devastates me, then the thought of Isabelle in my lap crowds it out. They’re competing for air time, sending me into a downward spiral, and all I know is if I can get the fuck out of here, I might have a chance to breathe again.
“You okay, son?” Pops asks.
“No. I’m not.” I reply. “I don’t understand why you kept something this big from me for all this time. How can you get to stage four cancer and exhaust every possible avenue without my knowing a thing about it? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because I knew that you’d worry.” His face softens a little, and fills with genuine concern for me. “I was protecting you for as long as I could. There wasn’t any point, having you stress and fret over me for two years while my doctors did their thing and my body did the rest.”
Two years? Two fucking years?
“I deserved to know.”
He gives me a weak smile but doesn’t answer. None of this is fair, and it shouldn’t have gone down this way. He’s effectively shortened the time I have to come to terms with his illness and let go. It’s a childish notion, but I can’t stand the thought of that. I don’t want to lose him.
“I want to see you at our weekly board meetings, starting next week,” he says and I let out an audible groan from the back of my throat. Our server comes by with the check and hand-held credit card processor. I shove my black card into his hand dismissively. Pops frowns as the kid runs my card and leaves. He can tell that I’m close to losing my shit, but presses on with trivial talk of business. “You need to have a firm grasp of how we run the day-to-day. And on the other item—”
“You mean the part where you cut me out of your will if I don’t step up at Steele Industries and if I don’t pick a woman and get hitched? That part?”
“Looks to me like you’re well on your way to figuring out the hitched part,” he answers with a smirk, and his eyes drift over to the empty chair next to me where Isabelle sat during dinner.
He’s out of his mind if he thinks getting me hitched is that simple. I’m not husband material, for starters, and Isabelle wouldn’t dream of marrying someone like me. She knows me too well. I’m not good enough for her.
“Get Isabelle Harrison out of your meddling marriage plans. Neither of us will go for it.”
“Boy, you’re a fool if you let some other man win her over.”
The mere thought of another man touching Isabelle drives me close to rage. I want to punch something, and I have no fucking business being jealous, but I fucking am.
“Wait…you and Isabelle… are you two already seeing each other?” Pops asks, scrutinizing my face. I look away and don’t say a word. He chuckles. “Oh, you moved in on her, didn’t you? I was wondering how she could leave the table and come back with less makeup on her face than when she first got here. I can see why she’s perfect for you. She’s a good girl… poised, beautiful, and she’s always been a good friend to you.”
“No. Not another word.” I push my chair back and stand so abruptly that the table and all the glasses shake. “We’re done talking.”
“I beg to differ son.”
“What? Are you trying to tell me that these demands are part of some ultimatum? No disrespect, but you know full well that I don’t respond well to threats.”
He drops his hand to the tabletop and pushes off to stand but stumbles a little, his body seeming fragile and frail for the first time tonight. I rush to his side, feeling like the asshole that I know I am through and through. I’m riddled with guilt for arguing with the old man, the villain for adding stress and tension to his already terminal health prognosis.
“Let’s get you home,” I tell him, shouldering some of his weight with my arm at his elbow.
“Don’t think for a second that I won’t hold you to these two demands,” he persists once inside his limo. “And don’t let that girl slip away just because I insist on being a hardass for a change. You’ll regret it. Mark my words, son.”
“It hardly matters now, she doesn’t want me. Not in the way you t
hink. Anyway, I’ll have Dominic follow your driver so I can make sure you get to bed all right.”
I let his driver leave then sit alone in my limo for the ride to his place, hating the helplessness I feel.
I sink into bed and look up at the ceiling. It’s pointless lying here. I won’t be getting any sleep tonight. Not when my brain is so wired, my body is this restless, and with every aspect of my life in utter chaos. From one minute to the next, uncertainty becomes the constant.
I flip over and tug open my nightstand drawer, searching for the only photograph of my parents that I keep around. Most of their stuff is in storage where I grew up. It hurt too fucking much to keep looking at, but this portrait of them on their wedding day is more or less bearable. It was a time where they were together and I wasn’t in the picture yet. Something about that distance makes it easier for me to find comfort in their faces.
I run my finger down the side of the frame, not sure what to do. Pops is sick. He’ll be gone soon and I’ll have no one. I thought I was all alone in the world when I lost them, but it’ll be true this time. I won’t do too well with losing him.
And then there’s his crazy plan to make up for lost time and thrust me into the deep end of the proverbial swimming pool of life.
It’s near impossible to wrap my head around the idea that Pops wants me to get married within less than six months. It’s fucking ridiculous. Crazier than his belief that I can take over Steele Industries within that time. Someone needs to make him understand that my settling down and running the company are no guarantee of happiness or a solution to being alone.
But his words about Isabelle keep running through my mind.
I can’t deny that our bumping into each other and that one-night stand have shifted things between us. I was convinced there was nothing left. No friendship, no closeness, no connection, no interest.
But I was wrong.
For one, the bond Isabelle and I formed all those years ago stood the test of time. And this budding attraction, it’s hot like fire, fierce and fucking undeniable.
Beauty and her Billionaire Beast Page 6
