“Yeah,” I say, my voice working again. “Yeah,” I repeat. “Come in.”
A small, self-conscious smile flirts with her pretty mouth, and she moves forward into the room, closing the door behind her. I snatch those seconds to devour her, feast on her in greedy, visual gulps. It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen her, and I’m starving.
Her long, beautiful hair hangs down over her delicate shoulders and slim back, framing the face that has haunted my dreams. That face bright with laughter. Twisted in passion as she comes. Soft and intense as she tells me how I soar.
Cool, blank in shock as I confess my love for her.
Yeah, her lovely features are branded in my brain, and yet memories have nothing on reality. Her dark eyes are deeper, her high cheekbones more defined, full mouth lusher, more sensual. And the scatter of freckles…sweeter.
Lowering my gaze, I swallow a groan and am thankful as hell for the cup protecting my dick inside my shorts. Her perfect breasts rise above the curved neckline of a gold dress that slides over her petite frame and sexy curves, hitting her mid-thigh. Sexy as fuck stilettoes of the same color jack her up several inches. She probably wouldn’t have to rise up on her toes to kiss me now.
Curling my fingers into my palms, I squeeze them tight. The ache reminds me she’s not mine to touch.
At some point over the three weeks here, I’d come to terms with that. When I’d told her I would no longer be hostage to my love for her, I’d meant it. Just as I refused to hold her chained to me. It’s not Eden’s fault she met and fell in love with my brother. And it’s not her fault she can’t love me the way I need. Does it hurt like fuck? Hell, yeah. But I won’t punish her by cutting her out of my life, by making the shop an uncomfortable place so she leaves.
We’ll find some way to make it work.
But I have to move on. For five years, I’ve shelved a part of myself, and I can’t live that way anymore. Can I find someone else who will own my heart like her? I don’t know. Still, I have to try because another thing I’ve discovered in these three weeks is I don’t want to be alone. Connor has taught me life is too fucking short to not love, to not share your life with someone. And I want that.
None of those resolutions and decisions mean having her in the same room as me right now isn’t carving a hole out of my chest. Or that I’m not aching with the need to touch her, inhale her scent, have her body pressed against mine.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. Hell, that seems to be my go-to question with her.
If her half-smile is any indicator, she’s thinking the same thing.
“How did I know that was going to be the first thing you said to me?” she murmurs, confirming my suspicion. Her smile fades, and a sadness that clenches my gut enters her eyes. “Hi,” she simply says. Then, “I’ve missed you.”
I don’t reply. I can’t.
That sadness deepens, and she shakes her head. “I know you might not want to hear that from me.” She laughs, the sound light, nervous. “You might not want me to be here. And I get that, but I still had to take a chance because,” she pauses, drags in an audible breath, “because you’re worth that chance. You’re so worth it.”
Shock punches me in the rib cage. Yeah, lungs and voice back to not being operational.
She hesitates, sighs. “First, I need you to know that what you told me about being responsible for Connor’s death is bullshit. Like I told your mother, going into that ring was his decision—”
Holyfuck.My mother? Those words are defibrillator pads to my body.
“My mother? Eden, what’re you talking about?” I rasp.
“Getting there. But I need you to understand that you are shouldering this burden that’s not yours. No one could’ve convinced Connor not to fight.No one. And why should you have canceled your match? That would’ve been harming your career for Connor’s, and he wouldn’t have been grateful. He would’ve resented you like hell for it. No, I don’t blame you for that. And neither should you. Knox—” She shakes her head. “You were his older brother, not his father, even though you had to kind of step into that role. And you’re definitely not God. Let that guilt go. Please. You’re too good to carry that around.”
My heart strikes my chest wall, the thunderous drumming deafening in my head. But it can’t compare with the relief, thereleasethat I can actually feel rise off my shoulders like a hot-air balloon slowly lifting off the ground. For the first time in two years, I can breathe easier. Not that her words magically erase the stain of the load that has weighed me down. No, the blemish has been there too long, settled too deep for that to happen in seconds. But… I drag in air through my nose. It helps. God, it helps. Because it’s her.
“Second, I couldn’t let you step into that octagon without knowing something.” She rubs her palms down her dress-covered thighs, her head dipping. Seconds later, those shoulders draw back, and her chin hikes up. She meets my gaze, both defiant and vulnerable. “I love you. So much that I ache with it. I wish I could tell you I loved you from the moment I saw you, but I can’t. And while I don’t regret Connor, I am sorry that it took me so long to see you, reallyseeyou. Because you so deserve to be seen.”
She steps forward, pauses, and an emotion flickers across her face. But then her full mouth firms, and she travels the distance separating us, not stopping until she’s in my space, cupping my jaw.
“Knox, you’re not second best to me. You justare. You’re my comfort. My security. My joy. My heart.” She leans forward, and her forehead rests against the hollow of my throat. “My everything,” she whispers.
Something inside me snaps so hard, it’s almost physical. A sound I’ve never made before—a cross between a groan and a shout—erupts from my throat. My arms are around her, crushing her to me, holding her so tight, I wouldn’t be surprised if my embrace is bruising. But I can’t let go. Not with her words ringing against my skull, reverberating in my chest, swirling in my gut.
Fisting her hair, I yank her head back and cover her lips with mine, thrusting my tongue between her lips, claiming her for my own. Finally.
Finally.
She moans into my mouth, meeting each stroke, each lick, each nip. I can’t get enough of her taste, of her soft curves grafted to mine.
A throat cleared behind us, then Jake’s rough, gravel-pitted voice said, “I hate to break this up, but there’s a little matter of a match that starts in two minutes.”
