Knight kept smoking, watching me, stroking me and I pulled in a breath and continued.
“She had no man or no man who hung around a lazy woman for very long though she blamed that on me too. She said the men in her life dumped her because she had me hanging on her neck. But really, it was just her. And worse, she really loved my Mom. Like, really. It’s jacked but I think the only person in her life she really loved was my Mom. I look like my Mom. She told me that all the time. I reminded my aunt of my Mom and she said more often than not that it sucked I was there and my Mom was not. I’ve thought about it and I always wondered if it was that that made her such a bitch. That she missed my Mom, didn’t know how to deal, had an overabundance of feelings she had to get rid of and didn’t know how and was the kind of person to take that out on me. Whatever. Bottom line, it was no fun so the minute I could, I got out. I never see her anymore. Now she’s just a memory.”
Finished, I stopped talking.
Knight didn’t move, not his body or his eyes away from me.
Then his hand left my neck and he shifted around me to go to the table to put his cigarette out in a clean, cut glass ashtray that was sitting on the wrought iron table. Once done with this errand, his eyes went back to the mountains.
He did all this and did not speak.
I didn’t either but I turned to watch him and kept watching him as he surveyed the Range.
Finally, thinking this was weird, I called, “Knight?”
His eyes instantly came to me.
“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow night,” he declared and I blinked.
I’d done what he asked, explaining about my aunt exactly and he had no comment.
Jeez, this guy was weird. Hot, but weird.
“I can’t,” I told him. “I have class.”
“Class?” he asked.
“School. Beauty school. I’m getting certification in skin technology.”
“Tuesday,” he stated immediately and I shook my head.
“Clients. Two of them. One at six thirty. One at eight.”
“Clients?”
“I’m already a certified nail technician. Both are acrylics.”
He turned to face me fully and asked, “Why do you take clients on evenings and weekends?”
“Because I work as a file clerk full-time during the day.”
He studied me.
Then he murmured, “Life isn’t good, find a way to make it that way or at least make it better.”
“What?” I asked quietly but I knew what. Those were my own words coming back to me.
“Don’t know shit about this,” he announced. “Do women who do nails need to have a full-time job to cover their asses?”
“Um… no. But I only have a part-time clientele. To rent a station in a salon or whatever and make a living at it, I need a full-time clientele. I’m working to that.”
“Babe, full-time work with school, just pointing out, that’s an impossible feat.”
“I only have a few weeks left on my skin technology certification so I can start taking clients on Mondays, Wednesdays and Friday nights. That’ll make it easier. And I can diversify and pick up facial clients too.”
His mouth got tight. Then his eyes went back to the Range.
“Knight?” I called.
His eyes cut back to me. “Schedule you keep, babe, no time for me. Not likin’ that.”
I pressed my lips together because this was kind of true.
“I don’t work Saturday nights and most of Sundays,” I said softly.
“I do work Saturday nights which leaves only Sundays,” he replied then repeated, “So, not likin’ that.”
Jeez. He said he liked me but evidence was suggesting he liked me.
And I liked that.
“You come to the club on Saturday,” he declared. “Bring your girls. I’ll give you a VIP and send a car for you and them. Any friends you got that you want there, I’ll give you Kathleen’s number, she’ll get you the passes you need for them to join you in your section. I’ll spend time with you in the club if I got it but rest up, you’ll be spending time with me after I’m done. I also claim Sunday.”
“I have clients on Sunday morning,” I told him.
“I’ll take you home to take them and I’ll pick you up to spend the rest of Sunday with me.”
Take me home?
This meant he assumed I’d be spending the night with him.
And I liked his assumption.
My heart squeezed.
The cell in Knight’s back pocket rang.
“Give me a second, babe,” he muttered, pulling it out, looking at the display then hitting a button and putting it to his ear. “Yo,” he greeted, paused then there was a semi-growled, “Tell me you’re shittin’ me.” Another pause then an annoyed, “What time is it?” Pause then, “Why the fuck did she wait until nearly two fuckin’ thirty to drag her ass to you?” Silence then, “Jesus, fuck, this bitch is gonna do my fuckin’ head in. Shit for brains. She report he’s a regular?” Pause then, more annoyed, as in far more annoyed, “He’s done it before?” Another pause then, sinisterly quietly, “Oh no. This is a message I’m gonna relay. Got Anya with me. Gonna get her settled and I’ll meet you at the club.” Pause then, “Right. Twenty, maybe thirty. Later.”
He hit a button and his eyes came to me.
“I gotta go do something and I want you to wait here for me.”
“Maybe I should –” I began but he shook his head.
“I want you to wait here for me.”
“Knight –”
“Anya, you aren’t gettin’ this but two weeks ago when you walked into my bedroom to use my phone, the life you been livin’ which isn’t all that good got better. A fuckuva lot better. Because I’m gonna make it that way. And in return, I’m gonna ask very little of you. And right now, all I’m askin’ is for you to hang here until I come home so I can spend more time with you since I’m probably not gonna see you again for another week.”
He was going to make my life better.
Oh God.
Oh my.
Oh crap.
He was right. He already had. Expensive phones. Safe apartment. Saved costs of a taxi. Succulent steaks. My girls enduring a scene and getting VIP vouchers and escorts to their car to try to make it better.
“Shit car, babe. Gotta get you something decent.”
Oh God.
He was thinking of buying me a car!
“Anya?”
My body jolted and my eyes focused on him.
“Knight, I don’t know.”
He was three feet away.
Then he wasn’t, his hands were cupping my jaw again and his face was all I could see.
“Babe, eat what you want, drink what you want, watch TV or a movie and just wait for me. All I’m askin’ is for your time and, when I get back, your company. And I’m tellin’ you I really want you to give it to me,” he said gently.
God, seriously, he liked me.
And I liked how much he liked me.
Because, call me crazy, I liked him.
“Okay,” I agreed.
I watched from close as his eyes smiled.
My heart squeezed and my lips parted.
Then I watched from close as his eyes dropped to my mouth. Then I watched them darken.
At that, my breasts swelled, my knees got weak and my one free hand came up to grab onto the side of his tee at his waist.
“Fuck, wanna take that mouth,” he muttered like he was talking to himself but I heard him since he was right there with me, looking at my mouth, eyes now dark and hungry and that tingle slid up my spine, my neck, radiating over my scalp as another tingle hit a secret place deep inside me.
Okay, right.
Okay, God.
I wanted him to “take” my mouth. I wanted that with every part of me.
My body swayed into his but his hands tensed on my jaw and his eyes moved to mine.
“Not now, baby,” he whispered
. “I take your mouth, I wanna give it time and attention and I don’t have the first and, I give it the last, I won’t do what I gotta do.”
That was disappointing. Seriously disappointing.
Even so, I whispered back, “Okay.”
He didn’t let me go, just looked in my eyes.
Then, the pads of his fingers tensing into my skin, in a rough, sexy-as-heck voice that also tingled in a secret place in me, he growled, “Fuck, I cannot fuckin’ wait to have you under me and lookin’ up at me like you’re right now fuckin’ lookin’ at me.”
Okay, right.
Okay, God.
I liked that too.
“Knight –” I breathed.
“Jesus, I’m gonna possess that beauty.”
Oh God.
Another secret tingle.
“Honey,” I whispered as I swayed closer.
“Step away from me, Anya,” he ordered.
“Pardon?”
“Step away from me, baby. Now.”
I looked into his eyes. Then I did what I was told.
His hands fell away but one grabbed mine. Then he took me to his shades of gray, comfy whatever room. Then he loaded up a movie for me. Then he ran a finger across the hip of my jeans, promised me he’d be back soon and he left me.
When he did, I sipped my wine and freaked out. Then I stretched out on his comfy couch while still freaking out and sipping wine. Then I put my wine on the square coffee table in front of me and tried to focus on the movie.
Then, obviously, I fell asleep.
And while I was sleeping, Knight came home and covered me with a soft, warm, woolen throw.
“Two weeks ago when you walked into my bedroom to use my phone, the life you been livin’ which isn’t all that good got better. A fuckuva lot better. Because I’m gonna make it that way.”
I closed my eyes and sighed.
Then I threw off the blanket, pulled myself up and walked across the room to the windows. No sunken portion to this room, all one level. Still, it was awesome.
I stared at the view noting what I’d already noted vaguely. No time, day or night, was Knight’s view bad. Sunshine, Denver and mountains during the day. Moonlight, city lights and midnight-purple mountain shadows at night.
As my eyes unfocused, the twinkling lights of Denver went hazy and I saw me reflected in the windows.
I had good hair. Even Sandrine said she wished she had my hair and her hair was amazing. I also had a lot of it. It was long, past my bra strap at the back. It was shiny even when I didn’t use shine-inducing products. A deep, rich, glossy brunette.
I also lucked out in the skin department. When I was younger, around that time of month, I might get a blemish or two but this stopped in my early twenties. My skin also had the uncanny ability to look good in a rosy, creamy pale way in the winter but I tanned relatively easily in the summer.
And even I liked my eyes. This was because they were my Dad’s and my Mom always used to look in my eyes, smile her sweet smile, and whisper to me in her sing-song way, “When Irish eyes are smiling…” My Dad was Irish and even though neither of them had been to Ireland, both declared with grave authority that the Irish had the most beautiful eyes in the world. And Mom put Dad and my eyes forward as proof and she did this repeatedly.
I couldn’t see them very well in my reflection in the window but I knew they were a light gray with a very thin ring of midnight blue at the edge of the iris. They were set well in my face and with Mom giving me her dark, long lashes and dark, arched brows, even I had to admit my eyes were striking.
I was five seven. I had tits and ass and a slightly rounded tummy that even though I tried to run as often as I could, did ab crunches and stability ball crunches not to mention regular pushups and other stuff , that roundness didn’t go away. My midriff was lean, my waist tiny, I had decent arms, not as toned as Sandrine but they weren’t flabby but that round in my belly always got to me. Vivica told me I worked it, it looked good on me, men totally dug it, especially as it came with my little waist, big ass and breasts. She also told me I’d learn that as time went on and get over hating it.
But that had yet to happen.
Other than that, looking at my reflection and knowing it by heart in my mind’s eyes, still, I was seeing me differently.
I was seeing what Knight saw in me.
People were people and everyone was different. There were as many different tastes and opinions as there were people. And it wasn’t lost on me there were men who liked tits and ass and hair far, far more than they liked super lean and cut.
And, clearly, Knight was one of those.
But it was my face he talked about and standing there, I remembered how Dad used to stop Mom for no reason but to cup her cheek and run his thumb over it as his eyes moved over her face. He did this like he was mesmerized, like he was seeing her for the first time even though he’d had her for years. And he did it always smiling.
And I also remembered how my aunt would get drunk on occasion and wax on and on about my mother’s extreme beauty.
“Coulda had anybody,” she’d slur. “Anybody. A movie star. A millionaire. With one look. That was how beautiful was my Ekateirna.”
It didn’t hit me until right then that even though she talked trash to me often about what I wore, my makeup, my hair, she also told me often I looked just like my Mom. So her giving Mom that compliment meant she was also, even though she didn’t get it, giving it to me.
I had a face that launched a thousand hard-ons. A face men would fight wars for. A face that, a man as aggressively masculine and beautiful as, Knight wanted to possess. So much, he barely knew me but knew he had little time with me and intended to make ways to get as much as he could get.
I watched my hazy reflection in the glass smile a secret smile that was just for me as I felt something calm and nourishing settle deep inside me.
Then I moved out of the room in search of Knight.
The minute I opened the door, I heard Billie Holliday. It was super quiet and I knew that was because he wanted music but he didn’t want it to disturb me.
I smiled my secret smile again but it didn’t curve my lips. It curved in that tranquil, sated place inside me.
I hit the living room-kitchen area and saw the under the counter lights on in the kitchen and one domed light softly illuminating the sunken living room. There was also a tall floor lamp I hadn’t noticed in the corner of the windows on the upper level that was casting a soft glow on the space.
Knight was not to be seen until my scan of the area took in the outside of the balcony and I saw his shadowy frame and the glowing tip of a cigarette.
I moved there and out and saw him turn to me.
He’d put on boots and a black turtleneck. I wondered if it covered Metallica or if Metallica was gone and totally casual, personality-showing Knight was a memory and I had somewhat casual, hot guy club owner in an expensive turtleneck Knight.
“Hey,” I called as I moved across the balcony to him. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
“Here, baby,” he called back softly even as I was going there but when his arm came out I knew he meant he wanted me there as in, in his arm.
I thought about it as I moved the two feet I had left.
Then I did it and his arm curled around my waist and he pulled my lower body into his.
“Business done?” I asked, tipping my head back to look at his face softly illuminated partly by moon and city lights and partly by the lights coming from his apartment.
“Yeah,” he answered then asked, “You sleep last night?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Fuck,” he muttered then got half the reason right, “Nick.”
He was the other half of the reason but I didn’t share this. I didn’t say anything.
He shifted and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray he had resting on the edge of the railing.
Then he came back to me, curving his other arm around me so he held me loosely in
both and asked, “What happened to him?”
This question was confusing so I asked back, “Who?”
“Guy who did your parents.”
I sucked in an unexpected breath like he’d struck me with a surprise body blow.
He either didn’t hear it or was focused because he repeated, “What happened to him?”
“He got life,” I whispered.
“No shot at parole?”
I shook my head. Two murdered people who were doing nothing but driving to work. They were the parents of a seven year old and killed by a man who took their car because he was literally on the run from cops. Cops who finally caught up with him because he was wanted for putting his pregnant girlfriend in the hospital because he was pissed she was pregnant. A problem he solved since she lost the baby.
No. No parole.
Knight kept at it. “He livin’ a long one?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“He died in prison, it’s likely cops would let you know.”
“Would they tell my aunt?”
“If he bought it when you were a minor, maybe, expecting her to tell you. Now, no. They did it, they’d find you.”
“Well, I haven’t heard anything.”
He was quiet a moment before he muttered, “No shot at parole, nothin’ to inform you about.”
I suspected this was true but I had no idea. I didn’t think about him. Ever.