“Okay,” I repeated.

“I’ll try to stop it but I know me. There are times I’ll fail. You gotta get it and roll with it.”

“Okay,” I whispered again.

“Now, movers’re almost done. I’m gonna cook. You’re gonna take your coat off and give me your keys so Spinolli can move your car. And you’re gonna drink a glass of wine, eat and spend the afternoon with me.”

“Okay,” I said softly.

He held my face in his hands as he held my eyes.

Then he whispered, “Okay.”

Then my breath left me, my heart, which had finally started beating again, tripped as his hands tipped my face up, his head dipped down and he slid his nose along the side of mine as he continued to hold my eyes captive.

“I’ll kill him, he touches you again,” he murmured.

Oh boy.

“Knight,” I breathed, my fingers clenching tighter in his tee.

“Kill anyone, they touch you.”

Oh God.

I closed my eyes and felt his nose slide back up as a tingle slid up my spine into my scalp then I felt his forehead touch mine right before he released me.

Since he was moving away, I had no choice but to let his shirt go, so I did and opened my eyes.

“Yo!” he called as he walked to the opening to the kitchen. “One of you boys go downstairs, can you take a set of keys to the doorman?”

“No worries,” one of them called back.

Knight turned to me.

I stared at him a beat then took my bag off my shoulder, dug in it and pulled out my keys. I walked to him, he lifted his hand palm up, I dropped them in and his eyes caught mine a second before he turned and disappeared around the wall.

I stood in his kitchen holding my purse wondering what on earth was wrong with me.

Then it came to me.

“Wars fought over a face like this.”

I was trembling, scared now for a different reason, a far more terrifying reason but I didn’t move. I just stood in his kitchen trembling.

Then he reappeared and looked at me.

“Jacket, Anya,” he stated. “Throw it wherever. I gotta see to the steaks then I’ll get you a glass of wine. Make yourself at home.”

Then he went to his meat.

I shakily shrugged off my jacket while walking out of the kitchen.

Okay, all right.

What the heck was I doing?

Okay, all right.

Oh boy.

Shit!

I wandered down to the sunken living room and tossed my jacket and purse on one of the two identical black leather couches that faced each other. Then I wandered across it and up to the area on the other side that was all windows. Then I stood there looking through the clear day to the uninterrupted vista of the Front Range thinking spring was coming. Soon, I could wear flip-flops.

“Where’s Nick gonna go?”

Yep, that was me asking the window.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Pause then, “Do you?”

“Not really,” I mumbled and considering I was across the grand expanse of his apartment he probably didn’t hear me.

“Out of my place, out of my business,” Knight muttered to himself and I rethought him not hearing me mumbling since I heard him just fine.

I looked from the Front Range to him.

“He works with you?”

His neck twisted and his eyes came to me. “For me and not anymore.”

Oh brother.

As in, literally.

I turned to face him fully. “Knight, if this is about me –”

“Anya, it isn’t,” he cut me off, I lost him as he bent to shove the meat in the oven but his voice kept sounding. “It is and it isn’t. That party?”

He stopped and I prompted, “Yeah?”

He reappeared and moved around the kitchen. “Not the first time. Not even the f**kin’ second. This is not his place. It’s mine. He was crashin’ here. Then he moved a bunch of shit in here. I don’t care, never around anyway, but he knows I don’t want or like attention. He’s always gettin’ it for me.”

He moved to the counter that delineated the kitchen from the living room and set two, wide-bowled wineglasses on it then shifted back through the kitchen as I watched.

“So he’s out,” I called to his back.

“Yeah. Out. Done comin’ home to him f**kin’ bitches on my couch. My food gone. My booze gone. My wine gone. Blow residue on mirrors my cleaners find because he leaves them out everywhere. Them complainin’ to me about used condoms in the f**kin’ trash bins. Jesus. I don’t need that shit.” He came back to the counter with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew and his eyes came to me. “Last night, he touched your girl. My boys told me it was not a good scene. Then he touched you and made his play the way only Nick can make a f**kin’ play with a woman like you which was also not a good scene. I’m done.”

“Right,” I whispered thinking with all that and all I knew of Nick Sebring, I would be done too.

I turned back to the windows.

I heard the movers reappear but I didn’t look as I heard them speak.

“Done, Mr. Sebring.”

“Good. Invoice or pay now?” That was Knight.

“Invoice.”

“Right.” Again Knight.

There was nothing for a while then, “Whoa, thanks, Mr. Sebring.”

That, obviously, was not Knight but, apparently, Knight tipped well.

Not surprising.

“Don’t mention it.” That was Knight, in a mutter.

Then nothing as I stared at the Front Range and did everything in my power to stop my mind from moving to why I was still there. Yes, the wars fought over a face like this comment was epic. That didn’t make me any less crazy because evidence was suggesting Knight Sebring was a whole lot crazier than me.

Tingles slid up my spine into my scalp radiating out when I felt a finger lightly tracing the edge of my racerback tank.

I turned and Knight was there, eyes down, hands both holding wineglasses, index finger on one out clearly to touch me.

God.

Seriously.

I was totally crazy.

And I should never, never, ever have worn this sweater. It was my best but it was also my coolest and sexiest.

His eyes came to mine and he held out a glass.

“Red,” I whispered, taking it.

“You don’t like red?” he asked and I looked from my glass to him.