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Knight sipped his soda, still not looking away. The intensity pulled at Lake, raw and arousing, and he was there already.
He stopped abruptly.
Josh seemed surprised at his return too and lost his train of thought. “ . . . singing. I might try a song or two myself.”
He marched between them and jogged into the gazebo.
“Are you having a good time?” Lake asked.
“Far more than I thought.”
“So . . .”
Knight raised a brow. “Yes?”
“We’ve not really talked all day.” Not alone, at least.
Did Knight’s focus just drop to Lake’s lips?
Lake’s heart pounded.
Faintly, he was aware of Taylor in his bedroom, and of his view into the yard, and he shoved his hands into his back pockets and rocked on his heels.
The most beautifully pitched voice sailed over the backyard. Lake—and half the guests—spun toward the gazebo, where Josh gripped the microphone, eyes shut, pouring his soul into Brett Eldredge’s “The One You Need.”
Well.
Holy crap.
He’d forgotten just how amazing Josh could sing.
Lake clapped reluctantly when it was over, while the rest of the party whistled and encored him. Josh feigned modesty, but quite happily dove into another song.
Knight stood beside him, taking in the show. “He’s talented.”
God, yes. “I mean, they’re not exactly hard songs.”
A husky laugh. “Admit it. He’s exceptional.”
Lake’s chest heaved with disappointment—hurt? He folded his arms. “He’s not the one I care to see singing.”
Lake visualized Knight watching him on stage with the same reverence. Imagined Knight’s praise warming him . . .
This time his lips pulled into a pained smile when he clapped.
The second encore was too much. “How are you the best at everything?” He sighed.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Knight chuckle.
Josh chose a classic from Grease. As soon as the familiar melody started, Josh swung a finger over the gathering party. “Who’s gonna come up here and help me sing?”
“You’re the one that I want.” Knight pressed his soda against Lake, catching his eye. “I feel this one.” A secret smile played at his lips as he whisked toward the gazebo, calling for Josh’s attention.
Josh tossed him the second mic and Knight caught it deftly.
Hot, burning frustration fired Lake’s veins. Look how he thrust his whole body into the song. How he gave it his everything. He gave the Olivia Newton-John parts such a unique spin with his deep voice, it was making him shiver. Truly a magnificent sight, hips bucking seductively in the role, a damn glint in his eye.
The way he sang—to the crowd, to Josh . . .
Lake sipped Knight’s soda, scowling. It was the hottest act he’d ever seen, and Josh had been the one to lure Knight on stage.
Yep. Lake was a horrible person. Taylor and Knight were right from the beginning.
Lake didn’t like Josh at all.
Good looking.
Knightly called Josh good looking.
He’d overheard it hours ago, while Josh had been exhibiting his talents in the gazebo. But Lake couldn’t let it go.
The guests had left, Taylor and Amy had returned home, Harry was snoring in bed, and Lake was watering scruffy-looking flowers and aloe vera plants. Moonlight settled blueish over the garden and a fresh breeze slanted the grass and the leaves on the apple tree.
It all smelled so . . . Knightly.
He grumbled and continued watering, mentally listing all of Josh’s offences.
He was disgustingly, suspiciously perfect. Single. He had many topics on which to converse with Knight. There was an eighteen-year age gap, but it didn’t show, physically or intellectually. And, dammit, even Lake had to admit Josh was a better target for Knight’s attentions than married Paul.
“There you are.”
Lake startled. Knight stopped at his side, hands deep in his short’s pockets, staring at the wet brick.
“Here I am,” Lake murmured, shifting the spray a couple of feet in the other direction.
“You disappeared for most of the party.”
By design. “I hung out with Taylor inside. It was cold out here earlier.”
Knight pinned him with a look.
Damn it for being a tropically warm night.
“Well I enjoyed myself,” Knight said. “Karaoke was a fantastic idea. Everyone had a good time performing, and I had an even better time watching.”
“Glad you liked it,” Lake said, smiling tightly.
Knight’s voice dropped to a hush. “What are you doing, Emerett?”
Lake shivered. The way his name threaded through him, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He cleared his throat. “I’m watering the garden.”
“You are spending a lot of time hosing the weeds . . . at midnight . . . when you’ve never watered the plants before.”
Lake shrugged. But God, Knight’s presence radiated toward him. “You love this garden, and I figure, since I’ve moved in officially, I should help with the domestic chores.”
“Look at me?”
Lake did not. “If these are weeds, I suppose I should stop watering them.”
He strode toward the tap, shut it off, and found Knight beside him again. “Ugh. Could you not stand so close?”
