Page 17 of Unmasked Rivalry
“What happened to Reese? Couldn’t handle the country life?” I ask, staring at him.
His eyes meet mine, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. A good one, a very, very good one. “Reese is a fuck. She ain’t of any importance to me.”
“Wow. Cold,” I mumble, snatching the bottle back. “Get your own.”
“Cold, but the truth. She is as useless as a fuckin’ car with no gas.”
I giggle, and it startles both of us. It erupted out of me like a volcano, and it’s a sound I haven’t heard in a good long time. It’s terrifying, really. And God, do I really sound like that when I laugh? Yuck. Knox snatches the bottle back, his lips twitching.
I’d laugh, too.
We sit like that for a while, and the night slides over us. I can feel the world spinning even though I am sitting perfectly still. After a while, I turn to him. “Why are you here?”
He takes another sip. “Wanted to make sure you had no more visitors.”
“Oh, so this is a charity case now? I thought you wanted me to lose.”
He grunts. “Oh, believe me, darlin', I do. But I don’t want to win because you get murdered.”
“Wow, how noble of you.”
He leans in, elbow on his knee. “Never claimed to be a good man,” he says, and he’s so close I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “Your mascara’s running. Makes you look like you went twelve rounds with a raccoon.”
I give him my best evil-eye. “You’re a terrible guest, Knox.”
“Again, never said I was a good man.”
I huff, snatching the bottle. “Why are you really here?”
His eyes meet mine. “You should go inside, Callie.”
“Yeah, no, thanks.”
“Don’t think you should be out here if those pricks come looking.”
Well, he’s right about that. Besides, I do need a snack. Cheese puffs sound amazing right about now.
I stand, but it turns out I am far more inebriated than I thought. I stumble, landing straight onto Knox’s lap. His fingers curl around my arm, and for a second, we’re there, face to face, hot breaths mingling, eyes locked. I don’t know what to say or do, so I just sit there, staring.
“You can let me go,” I say, but it comes out far breathier than I’d like.
“I’m tryin’ to decide if that’s a safe idea,” he growls, his voice scarily low and sexy.
God dammit.
I should move. I should really, really move.
Instead, I look at him. Really look. The porch light picks up the long white scar under his jaw, and for once his expression isn’t bitter—it’s almost like he’s searching for something in me. Or maybe I’m just wanting him to because there is something about him that captivates me, and I know it shouldn’t, but here we are.
We’re close. So close it makes my skin hum. There’s a sliver of air, and he’s looking at my mouth the same way I keep catching myself looking at his. The world is all porch light and moths and whiskey fumes. I realize I’m not breathing. He leans in, just a fraction, and I hold my breath, terrified he is going to kiss me and wanting him to all at the same time.
But just before our mouths crash together, a thought slices through the haze. Harper. His woman. My cousin. Someone whowouldn’t want me here, on her man’s lap, even though she is no longer with us. My chest tightens as memories fill my mind. Harper in dusty Polaroids, Harper humming in dim kitchens, Harper’s perfume ghosting half my wardrobe. Harper, who was wild and beautiful, who would have thrown an entire wine glass at me for this.
I jerk back so abruptly I nearly slide off his lap. He steadies me, but I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t. There’s a roaring in my ears, a hot streak of shame climbing up my throat. What the hell am I doing? What the hell were we about to do? I was inches from making out with my dead cousin’s man.
I squirm away, practically falling onto the porch floor. I clear my throat, searching for something dumb or witty to say, but all that comes out is, “Do you miss her?”
Jesus. Who asks that? Of course, he misses her. What is wrong with me?
