Page 118 of Knot Their Arrangement

"Hungry?" Rhett's voice carries across the space, making the others suddenly aware of my presence at the stairs.

I slowly peek out from my hiding spot, feeling heat rush to my cheeks at being discovered.

"I wasn't trying to eavesdrop," I explain quickly, fidgeting with the hem of his borrowed shirt. "I just... didn't want to interrupt the conversation."

"If you want to listen in, that's perfectly fine." Rhett pushes away from his position, moving toward me with long, effortless strides that somehow manage to appear both casual and purposeful. "This is about you, after all."

He reaches me in moments, those large palms coming up to cup my cheeks with surprising gentleness.

Our eyes lock, and for a moment everything else fades away – the others' presence, the weight of the previous discussion, even my own lingering uncertainties. All that exists is the warmth of his hands and the intensity of his emerald gaze.

"How are you feeling?" The question carries genuine concern beneath its casual delivery.

I blush deeper but maintain eye contact, finding strength in the connection between us.

“A lot better than before. No headache or anything." My lips curl into a small smile. "The medicine helped a lot. Thank you."

His responding smirk carries wicked promise.

"I know my treatments work like a charm."

"I wasn't talking about that!" I gasp, heat flooding my face as I catch his meaning.

His deep chuckle vibrates through me, but before I can protest further, he leans down to capture my lips in a surprisingly tender kiss.

The gentleness of it catches me off guard — there's none of the fierce passion from earlier, just pure affection that makes my heart flutter.

I respond instinctively, melting into the contact as my hands come up to rest against his chest.

His scent wraps around me like a protective blanket, that combination of dark chocolate and black cherry making my head spin in the best possible way. The mint undertone seems sharper now, more pronounced, while the raw sugar note makes me want to chase the taste of him.

"Since when did Rhett become a romantic?" Ezekiel's incredulous voice breaks through our bubble. "The fucker can barely get a girl's number."

Kieran's response carries that knowing tone I'm beginning to associate with him.

"It's not that he couldn't get numbers. He simply wasn't interested to begin with."

"She's the girl Rhett was infatuated with at nineteen," Damon adds casually, though his golden eyes miss nothing as they track our interaction.

"Wait, seriously?" Ezekiel's gasp holds genuine surprise.

Rather than respond directly, Rhett releases my face only to capture my hand in his. His grip is firm but gentle as he guides me toward the kitchen island, which sits adjacent to where Damon lounges in his armchair and Ezekiel stands with his arms crossed.

Kieran moves to join us, selecting a stool at the end of the island while Rhett effortlessly pulls out another seat with his free hand.

Before I can make any move to sit myself, his hands are on my waist, lifting me onto the stool as if I weigh nothing at all.

The casual display of strength should probably bother me — I'm perfectly capable of sitting down on my own, after all. But there's something about his careful manhandling that sends pleasant shivers down my spine.

It's possessive without being controlling, protective without being suffocating.

The intimacy of it all feels natural, right in a way I can't quite explain.

Others might question it, and might see his actions as overly dominant or controlling. But I understand the truth of it — this isn't about control or submission.

It's about trust, about letting someone care for you because they want to, not because they're trying to prove their dominance.

"Yes," Rhett confirms, his expression softening slightly as he recalls the memory. "We met unexpectedly when I was following my brother around while he was doing his business deals and such."

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