Forcing myself to breathe, I carry on. “Well… it wasn’t exactly a conversation between pals.”
“There have been other times.” He steps closer. “The WestTech Christmas party two years ago. You were wearing those ridiculous heels with the straps that wrapped all the way up your calves.”
WHAT?!
“You asked me if I was planning to carry a taser when I moved off campus after graduation.” I shake my head, trying not to have a heart attack. “Not exactly small talk.”
I think his lips twitch. “Maybe I’m not good at small talk.”
“Then talk about something big.”
“How big are we talking?” he says, voice low and amused. “‘Cause it’s big. Legendary, even.”
My mouth threatens to drop open. “I can’t tell if you’re being funny right now or just trying to make me uncomfortable.”
He takes another step toward me. “Is it working?”
Yes.
“No,” I snap.
His lips definitely twitch, this time. “West, anyone ever tell you you’re a shit liar?”
“Knox, anyone ever tell you you’re an arrogant bastard?” I smile sweetly.
He stands there for a while, almost smiling at me with those warm eyes and upturned mouth, and it’s all I can do not to hurl my body from the couch and kiss him.
“You feel better, now?” he asks after a while.
I nod. “A little, actually.”
“Good, ‘cause we still need to talk about shit.”
A deep sigh slips from my mouth. “Fine. Fire away.”
Chapter Sixteen
My doctor told me eliminating my main source
of stress would lower my blood pressure.
I told him homicide isn’t legal yet.
Nathaniel Knox, describing the downsides
of removing Phoebe from his life.
The sensation of arms lifting me from the couch stirs me back into consciousness.
“Nyuuggghh,” I grunt. Adorable as always.
I feel a chuckle move through the chest I’m cradled against. “Shhh. Go back to sleep.”
My eyes open because, of all the times I could start listening to Nate’s orders, it’s not going to be this one, when he’s got his arms wrapped around me. There’s a tanned slice of skin two millimeters from my eyeballs. Hello there, source of all my nighttime fantasies…
“What are you doing?” I whisper to his throat.
“Putting you in my bed,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I blink hard.
The last thing I remember is telling Nate about the kidnapping. He wanted to know everything — the exact wording Cormack used, minute details about the landscape, the angle of my view of the Tobin bridge, the color of the barstool cushions scattered around the basement. Things I never would’ve imagined were important.
By the time I’d drained my Old Fashioned, my eyes were drooping closed and my brain felt limp in my skull from being so thoroughly picked apart. I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, mid-interrogation.
“Is the cross-examination over, prosecutor?” I ask sleepily.
He chuckles again — a silent vibration that makes my body hum against his. “For now.”
I stare at his neck as he carries me, thinking this is the closest I’ve ever been to him.
It’s still not close enough. Not remotely.
His body bends as he sets me down on his bed. His hands are gentle — what a strange thing, Nate being gentle — as they pull the black duvet up over me. It’s still dark, but his eyes find mine.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He glances at his watch. “Almost five. Sun will be up soon.”
“I’m never going to be able to sleep, now.”
“Try,” he commands softly, tucking the blankets tighter around me.
Bossy, bossy, bossy.
Right now, I kind of like it.
His hands pull back. “You need anything before I go?”
I sit up, sending the blankets tumbling. Panic sluices through me. “Go?”
Very abruptly, I realize that I don’t want to be alone in the dark again. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.