Page 9 of Keep Me, Knox
"Can I ask what happened?" I say quietly. "With your marriage?"
He's quiet for so long I think he's not going to answer. Then he says, "She wanted me to be someone I wasn't. Move to town, get a regular job, join the country club. Be the kind of man who looks good at dinner parties."
"And you didn't want that."
"I tried to want it. For a while. But trying to fit into someone else's idea of who you should be..." He shakes his head. "It'll kill you from the inside out."
I nod, understanding more than I want to admit. "Is that why you came back here?"
"This place never asked me to be anything other than what I am."
The honesty in his voice does something to me… cuts right through all the careful walls I usually keep up. I find myself saying, "I know that feeling."
"Do you?"
"There's this pressure from society for women to act a certain way and dress a certain way. I’ve always been more of a tomboy, never quite fitting the mold.” I run a finger along the edge of my plate. “Then there’s also pressure in my job. It’s a male-dominated field, so I have to constantly prove that I’m just as tough as a man, you know? Don't show weakness. Never ask for help. It’d be nice to have somewhere I can just be one-hundred-percent myself, without apology.”
Knox sets down his fork and really looks at me. "I can’t help but notice that you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
He noticed that?
I swallow thickly. “I’m single. I’ve never found a man who could accept that I might come home from work with pine needles in my hair and mud under my fingernails."
"Some men might like that,” Knox says.
The way he says it—low and rough—makes heat pool in my stomach.
"Yeah?" I manage. "What kind of men?"
He leans closer, staring into my eyes. "The kind who love wild things.”
My breath catches. The air between us thick with possibility.
"Knox..."
"Yeah?"
"Is something about to happen here?"
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my bottom lip. "I sure as hell hope so," he says quietly.
So do I.
But before either of us can close the distance, his weather radio on the counter buzzes to life. He glances at it, frowns.
"Weather alert," he says, stepping back reluctantly. “There’s a storm moving in.”
Chapter 7
Knox
Seeingthewayhereyes flick to mine and then away—like she's just as affected by that almost-kiss as I am—has me desperate to finish what wealmostjust started.
But the radio trills again, reminding me of the impending storm.
I clear my throat. "I should probably check on things outside before it hits. Secure the wood pile. Make sure the generator's ready in case we lose power. That sort of thing.”
She blinks at me with those big, blue eyes. "Can I help?"
