His jaw flexes.“I don’t want to make it heavier.”
“It’s already heavy.”I slide my hand from his wrist to his chest, over his heart.“But I’d rather carry truth than quiet.”
His eyes darken.“Okay,” he says.
****
Later, after the ledgeris taken downstairs and the others scatter to their exhausted duties, Knox walks me back to my apartment.
Walks.
He doesn’t carry me, even though I know he wants to.He doesn’t hover, even though the beast in him presses against the bond every time a floorboard creaks.
At my apartment door, I stop, and he stops too.
“I’m not going in there,” I say.
His gaze sharpens.“No?”
“No.”
“Where do you want to go?”
I look down the hall toward his apartment, and his breath stops.The bond goes hot.Shock, want, and restraint so fierce it almost hurts.
I turn back to him.“I want to sleep in your bed.”
His eyes go black at the edges.
“Sleep?”he asks.
The care in that single word makes my throat tighten.
“Yes.”I step closer.“And maybe not only sleep.But sleep first.”
He nods once.“Sleep first.”
“If I panic?”
“We stop.”
“If I need space?”
“You get it.”
“If I need you?”
His hand lifts, then waits.I step into it, and his palm settles against my waist.
“Then I am there,” he says.
****
Knox’s apartment isdarker than mine.Sparse and neat.A place built by a man who expected to sleep alone and leave quickly if needed.There’s a leather couch, a small kitchen, weapons locked in a cabinet, and one framed black-and-white photograph on a shelf of Knox and Cruz as teenagers, both scowling as if born offended.
I pick it up.“You were adorable.”
“No.”
