I nodded because I agreed.
Definitely.
He put cutlery on the counter and ordered, “Arrange that shit and park your ass on a stool, babe. I’ll serve this up.”
I grabbed the cutlery, shifted around the other side and arranged it on the placemats as Knight worked in the kitchen. Then I parked my ass on a stool, sipped wine and watched.
He was cutting open steaming baked potatoes when I noted, “You explained the car. How do you know my last name?”
“What?” he asked, buttering the potatoes.
“The doorman knew my last name. I can only assume you told him.”
His glanced at me then went back to the potatoes, now grinding pepper over them. “Nick told me.”
I felt my brow furrow. “Nick knows my last name?”
He put the pepper aside and grabbed some maldon salt out of a small black bowl and tossed it on the spuds. “Day after I ripped him a new asshole about the party, he asked who I took home. I told him your first name then he said, ‘Anya Gage?’ and since you’re probably the only Anya in Denver and definitely the only Anya at that party, I guessed. So, yeah, Nick told me.”
“How did Nick know?” I asked.
“No clue,” he muttered, moving to the fridge.
I didn’t like that.
“I don’t know if I like that. I never told him my name.”
Carrying a tub of sour cream, Knight’s eyes cut to me. “Your girl?”
That could be.
“Maybe,” I muttered.
“Speakin’ of her,” he started, reaching into a drawer to grab a spoon, “she needs to tone it down.”
“What?”
He glopped big spoonfuls of sour cream on the potatoes and then his eyes came to me. “You gotta advise her to tone it down. Seen her at my club more than once though never with you. She’s on the hunt. Makes men edgy. Makes her vulnerable. She’ll do what she’s gotta do to get what she wants and they know it. They also know what she wants. She opens it up right off the bat, they take what they want, throw the rest back and they throw the rest back because she gives the vibe they let her in even a little bit, she’ll suck ‘em dry. She needs to watch you, make your moves.”
“My moves?” I asked as he set the sour cream aside and went for the oven door.
“Yeah,” he answered, sliding out the grill pan.
“What are my moves?”
He answered as he put the thick, fillet steaks on the plates.
“The girl in the corner, surveying the scene, playing it cool. You don’t go to them. They come to you if they got the balls to do it which, my guess, they rarely do because they can’t hack not cuttin’ it and losin’ the promise of you. You’re the girl you take out to dinner. Get the good champagne. You pay her attention. Buy her some shit that softens her up and makes her happy. Then you hope all that sweet turns wild when you get her in bed.”
He saw me in the corner?
And he thought all that other stuff about me?
My throat felt clogged but I forced out, “Excuse me?”
His eyes came to me, brows raised. “Am I wrong?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately.
“Bullshit,” he muttered then went back to the fridge.
“Uh… Knight, I would know and you are.”
He didn’t answer. He just came back with a bowl of salad.
Then it hit me.
“Is this you paying me attention, softening me up in order to get me to bed?” I asked.
“You’ll be in my bed, Anya,” he told the plates as he mounded salad on them.
After the brief satin sheets discussion, I wanted to be.
Now.
Not so much.
“Sure of yourself,” I muttered, he turned with both plates and dropped them on the placemats.
Then he put both hands out wide, palms flat on the counter and leveled his eyes to me.
“One thing we got left that we gotta know is covered is that you suit me in bed. That happens, babe, you know there’s gonna be a you and me. Where that goes, anyone’s guess, but however it goes, there’ll be a you and me.”
Right, now he was a gorgeous, scary, psychopath who was genius at throwing out compliments however they came and unbelievably arrogant.
“What I know is I’m going to set a record for the fastest steak consumption in history and then I’m gonna get out of here.”
One side of his mouth curved up, his eyes warmed and he turned back to the fridge.
Then he came back with a couple bottles of salad dressing, dropped them on the counter in front of me then rounded it and took the stool beside me.
I grabbed the ranch and started pouring.
“Babe, you need to take my point,” Knight said quietly.
“Which one?” I asked cuttingly, spearing into my salad with my fork.
“Call down your girl. She needs to cool it. She doesn’t, she’ll get hurt and that hurt can come a lot of different ways.”
“I think last night your brother taught her that lesson,” I informed him and shoved salad in my mouth.
Knight didn’t reply.
I chewed, swallowed and speared more salad as I went on, “And, right now, you’re teaching me a different one.”
Suddenly, his hand was wrapped around the back of my neck and my eyes weren’t on my plate. They were on his because he’d pulled me to him twisting.
“Don’t fight this,” he warned.
“I’ve decided there’s no this to fight,” I returned.
“You’re terrified of me and you walked in here yourself. No one dragged you here. You brought no one to take your back. No one made you stay. Don’t try to bullshit me or yourself about the fact that you don’t wanna explore this with me. You want it or you wouldn’t be here. I get you fighting it. I’m just tellin’ you, you are not gonna win.”
“You don’t know that,” I told him.
“Yeah, I do because you’re sittin’ right here with me.”
“And I can walk away.”
“Yeah, you can do that but you’re not going to and I know this because you came in the first place. And I also know this because when we were talkin’ about my sheets, your face told me you wanted to know what I could do to you on them and no matter what your head tries to fuck you with, you’re not gonna be able to stop until you find out.”
“I’m not certain I like you.”
“You don’t need to like me to let me fuck you but since I like you, I’d prefer it that way.”
I stared at him feeling my belly curl despite being pissed at him.
Then I whispered, “You like me?”
His eyes again moved over my face before locking on mine and he whispered back, “Babe, you apologized for bein’ in my bedroom and you meant it. In one day, you returned a phone that cost a G and you did it with all its packaging. You thanked me for roughin’ up your landlord. And you made me laugh. And this doesn’t get into how much I like lookin’ at you. So, yeah, I fuckin’ like you and I do because you are the only woman I’ve met in over a decade who’d do any of that shit.”
I liked that. I liked a lot of things about him. I also disliked a lot of things about him. And there was so much coming at me, I could keep track of which was winning out.
“I find all of this very confusing,” I admitted cautiously.
“You get in my bed, I’ll sort you out.”
Seriously?
Something for the dislike side.
“You’re that good?” I asked with mild sarcasm but he pulled me closer so my face was an inch from his.
“Yeah, I am, baby. I will take care of you there in all the ways you need me to do it. That I can guarantee.”
I could feel my heart beating in my neck as I looked into his super serious eyes.
Call me crazy but his confidence and the words that went with it which pretty much promised he’d look out for my needs was definitely on the like side.
Time to shut this down.
&n
bsp; So I blurted, “I’ve decided I’m hungry.”
His eyes went from serious to warm again. When they did that last I wasn’t up close to get the full impact and having it, I wished I didn’t at the same time I memorized that look and the feeling it gave me.
Then he said gently, “Then I better let my baby eat.”
“That’d be good,” I replied quietly. “But can we do it without talking? Most the time you talk, it freaks me out.”
It was then his eyes lit with humor close up and that was even better.
“Works for me,” he muttered then, “You cut into that steak and taste it, you won’t be talkin’ anyway. You’ll be shoveling more in.”
“Can’t wait,” I whispered, his eyes dropped to my mouth and darkened.
Okay, that was the best.
Then his eyes came back, his hand gave my neck a squeeze and he released me.
He turned back to his plate. I followed suit. He started eating. After a gulp of wine that almost choked me, I resumed.
About five seconds later I found he was right about the steak.
Melt in your mouth.
Perfect.
Chapter Six
Something Calm and Nourishing
My eyes opened slowly and I had no clue where I was. I just knew I was supremely comfortable and warm.
Then I saw them. Floor to ceiling windows and the lights of Denver twinkling.
I was on the slouchy, comfortable, gray suede couch in Knight’s whatever room, the one at the end of the hall where he kept his TV and clearly where he did his normal, average, everyday living (if he did that). It was decorated in shades of gray from dove to charcoal but it was far less stylized, decked out for comfort not visual impact. And it was where he led me to wait it out when he got called away for some business he didn’t exactly explain to me.
I saw the enormous plasma TV mounted on the wall was blue screen which meant the DVD Knight loaded for me was done. I’d missed it. With a sleepless night, I’d zonked out.
But I’d done it without the soft, woolen throw on me.
Knight was home and he’d thrown a soft, woolen blanket over me to keep me warm.
Okay, right.
Um…
Crap.
I took in a deep breath, stayed stretched out warm and comfortable on his couch and allowed my mind to sift through our post-lunch activities which were what led me to agree to hang while he saw to what he needed to see to in order for me to be there when he returned.
He had, as agreed, not talked while we ate. He had also provided me with an amazing lunch. It wasn’t just the steak which was, incidentally, by far and away the best piece of meat I’d ever tasted. The baked potato was delicious too. The skin was crunchy and somehow flavored in spices, garlic, Italian herbs, and the inside was fluffy with just the right amount of seasoning, butter and sour cream. It was simple, filling and yummy.
When we’d finished, he’d broken the seal on speaking to tell me to “keep your ass on the stool”. I did this while he picked up our plates, carried them to the sink and casually dropped the cool-as-heck crockery in with a clatter. He left them there without rinsing and moved to refill my wineglass.
Then he’d sauntered out of the kitchen, disappearing around the wall only to return within moments with a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter in his hand. He came direct to me, tagged my wineglass, handed it to me then took my other hand. Gently, he tugged me off my stool and moved toward the doors to the balcony, not going down the steps to the sunken portion but guiding me around the edge.
Even in bare feet and just a tee in the mid-March Colorado chilly air, he walked out, taking me with him. He let me go to shake out a cigarette and light it with flicks and twists of his Zippo. I was not a smoker but, call me crazy, I’d always thought Zippos were cool. Then he dropped the pack and the lighter on the wrought iron table, wrapped his fingers around my elbow and positioned me at the balcony railing.
Then I held my breath as he positioned himself behind me and wrapped an arm around my chest, pulling me back into his front side.
Then he lifted his cigarette and took a drag. I lifted my wine and took a sip.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” I advised after I swallowed.
“Heard that before,” he muttered.
“I bet you have,” I muttered back.
“It bother you?” he asked and I thought about this.
Even though I was a lifelong non-smoker, it didn’t. It was whacked but it reminded me of home. My Dad smoked. So did my aunt. I was used to the smell. As far as my Dad was concerned, it made me nostalgic. As far as my aunt was concerned, it was just the way it was. It was home. Both of them that I had growing up.
“No,” I answered softly but honestly. “It reminds me of home.”
“Your folks smoke?”
“Yeah, my Dad. Then my aunt. She was a chimney. Pack and a half a day.”
I felt his body tense and he asked, “Your aunt?”
“She raised me after my parents died.”
He was silent a moment, the tenseness increasing then his arm loosened around my chest only for his hand to shift me. He shifted too, resting a hip against the railing then his arm around my waist pulled me close to his front, almost touching, as he looked down at me.
“Your folks passed?” he asked quietly, his eyes intent but his face back to blank.
“Yeah, when I was in second grade.”
His eyes slightly narrowed. “Both of them?”
“Carjacking.”
No blankness then. A flash lit his eyes and I heard him draw in a sharp breath.
Then he whispered, “What the fuck?”
“They worked together. No…” I shook my head. “They went to work together. They worked in buildings across from each other so they drove in together. They drove me to school, dropped me off then drove into work together. Witnesses said they were sitting at a red light and some guy with a gun opened Dad’s door. He shot him three times, yanked him out to the street, got in and took off with Mom in the car. Fifteen miles from there, they found my Mom, also shot, in the road. Dad survived the trip to the hospital but died in surgery. Mom took a bullet to the temple. She was gone before he shoved her out of the car.”
His arm left me, his eyes did not, then his hand came to the side of my neck and slid up into my hair as he muttered, “Jesus, fuck, baby.”
I shook my head. “Knight, it’s okay. I know it sounds dramatic but it isn’t. Shit happens all the time to a lot of people. Obviously, they had no idea that they were going to die at the same time so they didn’t make arrangements for what to do with me. My aunt, Mom’s sister, got me and control of their estate, such as it was, and life insurance policies. My uncle, Dad’s brother, lives in Alaska. He went through the motions of trying to get me to take care of me but he worked on a pipeline, wasn’t married and lived in a barracks with a bunch of other guys. Judges didn’t go for that. And my grandmother, Mom’s Mom, was already sick so she was out. She left my grandfather and he went back to Russia because apparently he was a jerk but also he missed home but he didn’t miss his daughters and had nothing to do with them after he left. Dad wasn’t close to his parents. They’d already raised two sons and weren’t hot on having a seven year old to raise so they didn’t try for custody. Still, they were relatively cool and still are, though they live in Arizona now. So my aunt raised me and she, um… smoked. And also, uh… she drank a lot of vodka.”
Knight’s eyes kept mine captive and he asked, “Drank? She gone too?”
“No, she’s very alive. Apparently, if you become one of Satan’s Minions, as a reward, he makes you immune to cancer, heart and liver disease.”
At “Satan’s Minions”, I felt his fingers flex tightly against my scalp but he waited until I was done speaking when he asked, “She didn’t do right by you?”
As an answer, I explained, “I had a job at Arby’s and moved in with three girls, paid rent, slept on a couch for eight months until one of th
em moved out and I did this two days after I turned eighteen. I still went to high school until I graduated but at eighteen I was g… o… n… e… gone.”
“She didn’t do right by you,” he murmured then twisted his neck and I watched him take a drag from his cigarette and exhale an angry stream of smoke. Then he contemplated the Front Range with an expression on his face that made him look like he was plotting to annihilate it.
“Years ago, Knight,” I said quietly and his eyes again tipped down to me.
“She beat you?” he clipped out.
I shook my head. “No, she’s just not very nice.”
“In Anya Speak what, exactly, does not very nice mean?”
“Anya Speak?”
“You’re playin’ it down, I know that. But I don’t know you enough to know how you’re doin’ it. So I want to know and I want to know it exactly.”
“Knight –” I started and his face dipped to mine even as his hand in my hair pulled me up to him.
“Exactly, babe,” he ordered.
I sighed.
Then I started talking because I didn’t know him very well either but I was getting to know the fact that he tended to find ways to get what he wanted and most of these ways involved extreme levels of bossiness mixed with tenacity.
When I started talking, he shifted away, let me inch back and he smoked while I did it.
“She was just not nice and her not nice got bitchy not nice when she drank a lot which unfortunately was often. We didn’t have a lot and she didn’t have a lot before she took me on and I’m not certain she was smart because she didn’t count on the life insurance policies and the rest of what she got selling our house and stuff running out so fast. But since she blew all that on vodka, smokes, clothes, new furniture, a stereo, a TV, dumping me with my sick Gram and going to Vegas or on a cruise and stuff like that, it was bound to.”
Knight kept smoking as I was speaking but his hand in my hair slid down to my neck and his thumb stroked the skin there.
It felt nice, so nice it was a distraction and to keep my mind off how nice his thumb felt lightly stroking my skin, I kept talking.
“But she wasn’t even nice before the money ran out. I knew I was a drain on her because she told me. I knew she felt she deserved compensation for taking me on because she pretty much made me her slave. I cooked. I cleaned. The minute I could drive I did the grocery shopping. She didn’t do any of that and when I say that I mean never. She sat on her butt and if she wanted a drink, she told me to get it for her, iced tea, occasionally, vodka, mostly. She didn’t help me with my homework, though she probably wasn’t smart enough to help. Didn’t care about my grades. She constantly made remarks about my clothes, my hair. Just being nasty. The minute I could get a job, she made me then she made me buy my own stuff and stopped giving me money, only a roof over my head and feeding me. She was in a bad mood perpetually. Life wasn’t good for her, never was. But if life isn’t good, she’s not the kind of person to find a way to make it that way or at least make it better. Just expected it to be and as time wore on and it didn’t get better, even if she didn’t do anything to improve it, she got more and more pissed.”