Page 38 of Knox's Boy

I leaned forward, trying to close the distance, desperate for his hands to replace the silk on my skin.

Knox chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, and placed a firm hand on the top of my head, stopping me. "No."

I froze, blinking. "No?"

"Not yet," he said firmly. "You are exhausted. You are recovering from trauma and malnutrition. We are not starting our dynamic in earnest until you are healthy, rested, and thinking clearly. I will not break a toy that is already damaged."

My face fell. "But I feel fine! I ate the bacon!"

"The bacon is a start," he said. He checked the expensive watch on his wrist and sighed. "I have to go into the office. The crisis I created by disappearing yesterday needs managing."

Panic clawed at my throat. I grabbed his wrist, my fingers digging into his skin.

"No," I choked out, the bratty façade vanishing instantly. "Don't go. You can't leave."

Knox froze. He looked down at my hand, then at my face, seeing the raw terror there. He didn't pull away. Instead, he stepped closer. He cupped my face in his large palms, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones.

"Florian," he said, holding my gaze. "I am going to work. It is twenty minutes away. I will be back by four. You are safe here. No one gets in this property without my permission."

"But..."

"I will be back," he promised, leaning down to press a firm kiss to my forehead. It was a seal. A contract. "Rest. Watch TV. Eat whatever you want. I'll see you in a few hours."

I clung a little harder, my fingers turning white on his wrist. My mouth opened, a protest already forming, and I knew, somewhere deep, that if I made a scene, if I clung hard enough, he’d stay. He’d miss meetings and rearrange his empire and let the world burn just to keep me from falling apart.

But I wanted, needed, to prove I wasn’t that fragile. That I could be left alone for a few hours and not wither like a cut flower.

“Okay,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Four o’clock?”

He smiled. This time it reached his eyes, a quick flare of satisfaction that I’d managed to get it together. “Four o’clock.”

He kissed the top of my head, straightened, and retreated from my orbit. The absence of his body heat left me shivery.

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” I asked. My voice was light, but my insides were a tangle of barbed wire. I imagined myself as a perfect little wife, pouring his coffee and smoothing his collar before he left for work.

He gave me a look: amused, soft, a little appraising. “Yes. I’d like that.”

I followed him down the corridor. The house was large, even just from the short walk to the foyer, a palace of glass and stone. I tried to memorize the route: left at the living room, past the wall of books, right at the enormous painting of a storm. If I got lost, I’d just stay put on a couch and refuse to panic.

Knox paused at the mirror by the door, buttoning his cuffs. He caught my eye in the reflection.

“You’ll text me if you need anything?” he prompted.

“I’ll text you,” I promised, even though my phone was a brand-new one that still felt like a stranger in my palm, his number pre-loaded under Daddy with two red hearts. “I won’t burn the house down.”

“Good,” he said, chuckling. His voice was warm, but there was a weight behind it, as if he’d already seen, in his mind, every possible disaster. He leaned down, brushed his lips over my hairline. “Be good.”

I waited until the door hissed shut behind him, then listened to the heavy sound of the lock engaging, the soft beep of the alarm arming. I was alone, in a house I could barely find my way around.

***

"Mr. Freeman?"

I jumped, spinning around. Staff, of course. A woman stood in the entrance to the room. She was older, perhaps in her sixties, with hair the color of steel pulled back into a bun, but her eyes were crinkled at the corners with kindness. She wore a simple gray uniform that looked more comfortable than anything I had owned in years.

"I'm Mrs. Gable," she said softly, keeping her distance as if approaching a skittish colt. "Mr. Knox asked me to ensure you were comfortable while he was away. May I get you anything? Another coffee? A blanket?"

"I... I'm okay," I stammered, pulling the oversized silk shirt tighter around myself.