KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (15 page)

I’d told myself that I was only there to help. Now there she was annoyed, not thankful.

I swallowed down the urge to spar and started moving boxes, dutifully keeping my mouth shut.

It was a whole new challenge.

Every time we passed each other, I could smell her perfume. She smelled different than I remembered from before.

Every time I followed her, I looked at her ass in those pants. I wasn’t about to apologize for that. The bending over I skipped. Even I knew my own boundaries, and I was already on thin ice.

It didn’t take that long to get her possessions into the rooms in which they belonged. I carried one of the last boxes into the master bedroom and noticed her staring at a bed, a small twin frame and mattress, leaning against the wall like in the spare room.

I’d be calling those movers on her behalf.

“What company did you use for the move? Do you want me to help you switch those? I noticed they put the king in the spare room.” I said as I placed a box labeled shoes down near the walk in. “I think these are the shoes you’re looking for, too.”

“Thanks and no. The beds are in the right rooms.”

What the fuck?

Surely I misunderstood her. “You sleep on that?”

“That? That’s a four-thousand-dollar mattress. I’d hardly call it
that
?”

“I haven’t slept in a bed that damn small since I was eight. You’ve got to be kidding.” Who in the hell would choose to sleep in a twin bed when they had a king right down the hall?

“Well, that’s my bed. It’s big enough for me.”

I wonder how you fit all those other people on it with you?

Nora—Friday, June 27, 2008

I
bet he was thinking about how I fuck
people
on my tiny bed.

He didn’t ask, thankfully, so I didn’t mention that I typically didn’t entertain in my home, and on the few occasions when I did, it was always in my spare room. Sometimes I’d sleep with them, but most of the time I’d find my way back to my bed.

It wasn’t the sleeping with someone I didn’t like. It was the sleeping in a great big bed by myself that felt sad. Even though I didn’t have anything to feel sad about; my life was mostly how I’d wanted it.

I was where I wanted to be in terms of my career. I didn’t want for anything. When I wanted to enjoy some company, I knew how to find it.

It was all I needed.

That’s why it was so hard to have good friendships, personal ones, with people who didn’t understand the preferences I had.

Sure, I had many acquaintances, but none who’d ever guess what I liked in the bedroom. Socially, in my smallish network, almost everyone I associated with knew I was into plural activities because they were, too.

I never had to deal with any of those questions, and once again, I regretted having told him that night at the party. Honestly, seeing how intense and alpha male he appeared, I thought it would put him off.

And in some ways I think it did, but he was persistent. I would give him that.

It hadn’t taken long to get the boxes organized, and I appreciated the help seeing how much we’d accomplished. Most of the large furniture in the living room belonged there. Only some of the new bedroom pieces and shelves needed to be assembled.

With my bed like it was, I’d wait until the next day to tackle it, and decided I’d sleep on the couch for another night.

I’d been there for almost a week already. What was one more night?

Besides, it’s a comfy couch. I’d just bought it over the weekend, having decided to donate my old one when I was told it wouldn’t fit in the moving truck, and the store had been nice enough to deliver it Monday.

Other than that piece of furniture, it had been me and my suitcases.

There hadn’t been any reason to buy many groceries yet. I had nothing to cook with since all of my dishes and pans were packed in the move.

In hindsight, I should have overnighted a few boxes, but I managed. I’d remember that for the next move.

My fucking toe still throbbed, and when I looked down to check it, I noticed it was swelling, and the toe beside it was turning purple too.

If I wanted to be any use the next day, I’d need to take it easy for the rest of the night. At least I had a bottle of wine, but fuck if I had any glasses. It should have been nice and cold by then.

“How’s the toe?” he asked, giving up on the conversation about the bed when I didn’t bother responding any more than I had.

I shrugged. “It still sucks.”

Then things clicked in my mind, and I remembered the wine was still in the fucking freezer. I’d made that mistake before.
Fuck
. It was going to be everywhere if it froze.

I quickly hobbled out of the room and limped to the kitchen as fast as I could, hoping it wasn’t too late, with Reagan right behind me.

“Slow down. You’re going to fall,” he told me.

“Shut up. My wine is going to explode,” I returned.

Was he ever not telling me what to do or asking me questions?

“I already moved it.” I heard as I opened the freezer door to the side by side and saw that it wasn’t there. “It was chilled when I got ice for your foot. I didn’t want you to have a mess.”

Damn. I supposed he could speak without the inquisition or instruction.

Why did I always assume the worst about him? I could ease up.

He was right.
A little.

I needed to relax, take a load off, and he
had
helped me.

“Thank you. Would you like a glass?” I extended the olive branch that he’d earned.

Then, I immediately noticed how good being nice to him felt, and I watched a very calm smile appear on his clean shaven face. He had the beginning of two perfect laugh lines and a dimple on one side.

Reagan Warren wasn’t so bad.

Hell, he wasn’t bad
at all
in my fantasies.

“Do you know where your glasses or corkscrew are?” He motioned to a few boxes in the room. I looked around trying to remember which one had them.

He had me. I didn’t know.

“No,” I said defeated. God, I was striking out left and right.

What would I have done if he hadn’t heard me throwing a tantrum after murdering my big toe? I would only be a third of the way through box-ageddon, with wine all over my freezer.
Alone
.

I guessed it could have been worse than simply no glasses or corkscrew.

He started to look around the room at the descriptions labeled on the cardboard, but I had a lot of kitchen stuff. Most I’d never even used.

It was hard to cook for one, especially when you’re using a cookbook.
I need to find a cookbook for singles
, I thought and silently added it to my to-do list.

He gave up looking quickly.

“I have stuff, let’s go to my place,” he offered.

He didn’t have the puffed up, all-powerful thing going on and I really needed a glass of wine. I’d just have to ask him enough questions so that he didn’t have a chance to turn the conversation on me.

If I had to, but first I’d try something a little more direct. “Sure, I need the wine, but try not to talk too fucking much.”

He tipped his head back and chuckled—which felt like flint sparking something inside me—and grabbed his jacket, putting it over his arm as he pulled the key out of his pants pocket.

Not that I was trying to notice, but I definitely saw something in the way the fabric strained against whatever he had in his pants.

Was he hard?

I diverted my attention. I knew better than to think like that.

He ran a pretend zipper across his lips and raised a challenging eyebrow as he nodded for the door.

It made me laugh, not a lot, but just enough that it slipped out. The silent treatment was handsome on him. When he wasn’t being a jackass he was pretty damn charming.

I held the bottle in my hand, grabbed my small purse and walked to the door. Opening it, I allowed him to go through first.

I shut the door and locked it, and he still hadn’t spoken a word, which seemed like a new record.

Then I looked down the hall.

God, it was long.

I looked up to him, but he stood there and waited for me to go first.

“Last one, huh?”

He gave me a crooked, cocky smile.

“Of course it is,” I said under my breath.

He flicked his arm and adjusted the jacket, then in one swift motion lifted me behind the knees, up into his arms.

Instinctively, my free arm went around his neck.

If
my foot felt better, I would have surely protested.
If
it wasn’t such a long way down the hall.
If
he hadn’t held me so tight that I’d never even considered him dropping me.

If
any of those things were different, I
definitely
would have protested.

But all of them were true.

I knew how to be nice. Professional even. I’d just have to turn that on when he was around. I’d have to keep my wits about me. Remember the boundaries.

We were too different, but we could be neighbors. Good neighbors, if we could get along.

Although I thought it was fruitless, I’d try ignoring my attraction to him.

He still didn’t speak, not all the way down the hall. So that didn’t exactly help. I liked him more when he shut up.

When we got to his door, he made like he was going to put me down, and looked at me expectantly for permission first. His eyes were almost mahogany with reflective amber streaks around the insides of them. I couldn’t help myself for noticing while I was that close.

“Yeah, I…I’m good,” I said.

Reagan gently placed me on my feet, and I stood by his side as he unlocked and opened his door. He held it open for me, so I passed under his arm with my bottle of wine in tow—my small purse wrapped around my wrist—and kept walking until I saw his kitchen.

I heard the door close and noticed a lot of the same features of my apartment, only his was on a much grander scale. Instead of one step dividing the room, his living room sunk down three. He had an L-shaped island where I had a smaller straight one.

It was immaculate and quite spacious. Maybe I’d have to think about getting an end unit if they didn’t all fill up too fast.

I felt him tug the wine out of my hand as he passed, and he slid the wristlet off my arm. He moved so quickly, so precisely. Then, he was in front of me, stretching out of arms reach to set the purse and glass bottle down on his counter’s surface.

Suddenly, I was in his arms again, and he walked us back to a wall. I didn’t have time to react like I should have. I didn’t tell him to stop. Off guard, I was almost willing him to be quick before my sensibilities caught up.

“What are you doing?” I asked softly. Thoughts of how I’d imagined him doing that very same thing rampant in my mind. His arms wrapped me up in a tight embrace, one of his hands deliciously on my ass, the other flexed across my back.

He only shook his head. Still no words.

My feet weren’t even touching the ground, so there wasn’t any use in trying to get down. Again, he’d lifted me with little effort.

My eyes were higher than his at my new vantage. Steadfast and deliberate, he pressed my back against the wall, and instead of feeling angry or annoyed, I felt my pulse quicken and my mouth dry. My arms lay across his shoulders, and my hands clung to each other behind his head.

I asked again, “Reagan, what are you doing?”

He shook his head again and for the first time, I wanted him to talk.

He hadn’t asked me if this was okay. Although, strangely it was. But he’d seemed so normal, almost cooperative before we left my place.

“Just talk,” I said barely under a shout. I liked the feeling of his body against mine, but I knew whatever he said could spoil it. It was best he got it out before I lost the battle with my curiosity.

Was he going to kiss me? Was I going to let him?

“You said not to start, and I didn’t. I know you don’t like answering any of my questions, but, then again, sometimes you do. I know you told me to shut up, but you just told me to speak. So forgive me if sometimes you send mixed signals, and I make you mad.” The way he spoke was low, and I almost felt his words more than heard them. His chest vibrated against my ribs. His hand flexed on my ass, and he groaned. Desire tightened inside me. “Don’t worry. We’ll get your foot up, pour you some wine, but first, you’re going to admit that
you’re
attracted to
me
.”