Then he put the phone in the receiver, smiled again and invited, “Mr. Sebring says to go right up.”

Apparently, after he exposes the full psychopath, he forgets how to be a gentleman.

Whatever.

I tossed another smile at the doorman then stomped to the elevators trying not to look like I was stomping. Though, I did stub my finger with the strength I used to jab the elevator button.

Doors to one of the two sets opened, I walked in and they closed on me.

And as they did, where I was, the confrontation imminent, belatedly, I considered this might not be the best idea.

Before I could rethink, the doors opened and I was nearly bowled over by two men wearing navy pants, matching navy shirts and carrying boxes.

“God! Sorry!” one of them exclaimed.

Movers. On a Sunday. Weird.

“No problems,” I muttered, skirted them, sucked in breath and headed to Knight’s door.

Right, go in, say what I had to say and get out.

When I got there, the door was wedged open with a triangle of wood.

There was music coming from inside, it was soft, it was also classical, it was all piano and I didn’t even have a guess as to what it was.

I reached in, knocked on the door and called, “Knight?”

“Kitchen,” I heard his deep voice call back.

Yep, psychopath out, gentleman gone.

I walked down the hall and nearly bumped into two more men in navy pants and matching shirts who were carrying a mattress.

Was it Knight who was moving?

“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, squeezing back against the wall to the kitchen and sucking in my stomach (like this would help, still, I did it) as they lumbered by me.

They passed. I righted myself, saw the living room in all its grandeur without bodies, empties and ashtrays and decided it sucked he wasn’t awesome and into me but psychotic and into me and turned the corner to the kitchen.

Then I stopped and stared.

No suit. Black tee, worn, fitting him way, way, way too well across the muscles of his back with, from what I could see with just his torso partially twisted to me, a faded out Metallica insignia. Faded jeans that also fit him way, way, way too well and since I had his back I could see his ass in them so I knew this for certain. Bare feet. Thick, black hair now definitely needing a cut, tousled and messy. Hands engaged in unwrapping something in white butcher paper. Face expressionless but no less gorgeous. Vibrant blue eyes on me.

Holy crap.

Metallica?

“Babe, come here.”

An order.

I instantly jolted out of my Knight’s a hot guy reverie.

Jerk!

I didn’t go there.

Instead, I asked, “Are you moving?”

“Fuck no,” he answered. “Kickin’ Nick out. You’re late. Come here.”

I crossed my arms on my chest. “Actually, no. I don’t have time to go there. I’ve only got fifteen minutes on the meter but it won’t take that long to say what I have to say to you.”

His eyes never left me as I spoke and they stayed on me when I was done. They did this a while. Then they stayed on me as he moved to the phone, pulled it out of its charger, hit a button and put it to his ear.

“Spin? Yeah, Knight. Listen, there’s a blue Corolla parked somewhere on the street, rosary beads and St. Christopher medallion hanging from the rearview. Meter’s gonna run out. Feed it. I’ll get the keys to you to move it into the garage in ten, maybe fifteen. Yeah?” Pause then, “Great. Later.”

Then he put the phone down and went back to his butcher wrapped meat.

I stared.

Knight looked down at meat, declaring, “Shit car, babe. Gotta get you something decent.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my car,” I snapped.

His neck twisted and his eyes came back to me. “Boring.”

“It gets me from point A to point B,” I replied.

“Yeah, but it does it with absolutely zero style.”

Why were we talking about my car?

“You sent Spin or… whoever on a wasted journey. I’m just here to tell you it would make me very happy if I never saw you or your brother again and if I do, it would make me very unhappy in the sense that I would feel the need to phone the police. If you would like to avoid that hassle, I’ll avoid your club and you make sure you and Nick avoid me.”

“Babe, come here.”

Was he high?

“No, I’m leaving,” I fired back.

“You don’t wanna walk away from me.”

My brows shot up. “I don’t?”

“No.”

“Wrong,” I retorted. “I do. Sorry,” I went on then finished, “Good-bye Knight.”

Then, as I heard movers coming back, I turned to round the wall of the kitchen.

I got one step in. Then I was not only in the kitchen but across it, my back pressed to the counter and Knight pressed into me.

I had my hands clenched in the sides of his tee at his waist, my head tipped back, my chest was rising and falling rapidly and I was freaked.

He had movers, right there in the house and he manhandled me.

“Move away,” I whispered mainly because I couldn’t make my voice get louder.

“No,” he whispered back.

Then his hands came up toward my face and I flinched, preparing for anything but they settled cupping my jaws and my squinted eyes opened wide. This was because his touch was gentle and, even freaked out, it could not be denied it was sweet.

And his face was different. Not expressionless. As those vibrant blue eyes moved over my face, there was something working at the backs of them, something I didn’t know him enough to get but something that I knew instinctively boded bad things for me.

“Wars fought over a face like this,” he murmured like he was talking to himself, my heart stopped beating and his thumbs moved lightly across my cheeks. “A man would work himself into the ground for it, go down to his knees to beg to keep it, endure torture to protect it, take a bullet for it,” his eyes came to mine, “poison his brother to possess a face like this.”

Oh.

My.

God.

“Knight,” I breathed.

“You are not walkin’ away from me.”

“Okay,” I found myself agreeing.

“He made his play for you last night, shoulda known, you on the scene, you’d catch his eye. I heard. I lost it. Was pissed at him, took it out on you. Babe, I get pissed, I do it a lot, that’ll happen.”