Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) (23 page)

I
wish
my traitor heart wasn’t swelling so big right now. It started to beat faster the moment I heard Knox’s voice, and sped up when he said my name. Then I heard everything he was saying to Dale, standing up for me, and I can hardly stand the mix of emotions rushing through me. I get high just knowing he’s here, so close I could reach out to touch him.

And yet, knowing I can’t hurts so badly that I want to curl up in a ball on the office floor.

The fact that I can smell his warm, spicy scent from where I’m standing doesn’t help.

“Shelby.”

Knox. His arm is still in a sling, but the rest of him looks as gut-wrenchingly good as I remember.

Dale swivels his head back and forth between the two of us, a look of understanding slowly flashing across his face. “I can come back later if you don’t have time right now, Shelby.”

“Yeah Dale,” I say without even looking at him. “That would be great.”

Not my most professional moment, but Dale owes me.

After Dale leaves my office, the soles of my shoes feel like they’ve been velcroed to the hallway carpet, but finally my legs come back to life and somehow manage to walk my body into my office. Flustered, I slide past Knox in the doorway, not knowing how to negotiate the space between our bodies. My forearm accidentally brushes his as I pass him, and my breath catches in my throat as my body recoils from the electric charge. The jolt scrambles my circuits, a visceral reminder of everything that’s passed between us.

What is he doing here?

I lean against my desk, unsure of where to put my hands, gripping the edge of the glass surface to steady myself. “How’ve you been?” Knox’s molten green eyes scan my face, full of concern.

“I’ve been . . . better,” is all I can manage. Putting it mildly.

He takes a step toward me and my heart begins to race, my stomach clutching as the distance between us decreases. One foot away, now half a foot, now just a few scant inches . . . 

“Shelby, I’m so sorry,” he says slowly, deliberately, his eyes clear, unguarded, not backing down from mine. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Hurt.

The word itself makes my chest ache. I drop my eyes to the floor, vulnerable under Knox’s gaze, wishing our first run-in weren’t taking place in my office—the place where I escape when my apartment feels too full of emotion. Which has been nearly all the time lately.

He takes another step forward and I bristle like a porcupine, my instinct for self-preservation taking over. Knox has hurt me enough. Coming to my workplace unannounced feels like rubbing salt in the wound. I cross my arms and dig my heels into the floor. “Knox, I appreciate the fact that you’re here to make amends, but I’m not ready to be friends.”

I know we’re going to have to figure out how to be in the same room together at some point—neither of us is looking to trade in our entire friend group. But I’m going to need time to inoculate myself against the intoxicating (toxic being the key word) effects of Knox’s physical presence.

Lots of time.

Getting over Knox is going to be hard. But it starts with his leaving my office and letting me get back to the business of saving football players from their stupid mistakes.

Instead, though, Knox reaches for me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. Just that one simple touch sets a fire through my body, my limbs burning, yearning for more. “That’s not why I’m here, Shelby.”

I can only stare at him, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I want to make things right.”

Make things right.

My jaw begins to tremble as I listen, trying not to jump to conclusions. Not wanting to give shape to the kernel of hope that’s been lodged inside of me since the moment I set eyes on Knox today.

“I flipped out over Jackson’s reaction,” he continues, swallowing hard. “And then when shit went south with my shoulder, it felt like maybe you and I were both getting punished. I broke things off because I didn’t want to take you down with me. I wanted to protect you from me. From this.” He gestures toward the sling.

Suddenly I’m back in that hospital room with Knox, on that awful night when the ground shifted beneath me. He thought he was doing me a favor?

I try to breathe, process what he’s telling me. Part of me doesn’t want to listen, wants to shut away the hurt. Grow a layer of sharp needles over that soft spot so that my heart can’t ever get broken again.

Knox’s hand drifts down my arm, his skin rough against mine, sparking a million sensations. Hope, heat, fear. My cheeks flush with the burn he’s sending through me.

“But I realized that what was going wrong with me had nothing to do with us, Shelby,” he murmurs. “You and me, that wasn’t a mistake. That was the only thing that was right.”

My eyes well up with tears, my words caught in my throat. “But . . . ” I should back away, push his hand off of me, something to break this connection. Only I can’t bear to, not now. “What about Jackson?” I finally manage.

Jackson. The dark cloud that’s been hanging over us since day one. I’ve already risked my relationship with my brother over Knox. Seeing him this morning helped me realize that I can’t afford to do that again.

Knox’s hand reaches mine, and he curls my fingers through his, our palms pressed together, fitting perfectly. “I talked to him this morning.”

I gape at him for a moment. Then comprehension dawns on me, when I notice a smile lurking at the edges of Knox’s mouth. “You talked to him.”

“Yes. I put everything out on the table. I told him you and I weren’t a fling. That I want to make things right with you.”

My heart flutters in my throat. “And?”

“Well, if I ever do something stupid enough to lose you again, it’s not gonna end well for me.” Now he really, truly smiles. His other hand catches under my chin, his thumb tilting my head up until my gaze meets his. “But I’m fine with that agreement. Because I’m never going to leave your side again.”

My vision blurs, but through it I can’t tear my eyes from his clear-eyed, deep gaze.

“Getting injured helped me figure out what was really important. It’s you, Shelby. Jackson is okay with this—if you are.”

In reply, I do the only thing I can. I close the gap between us and press my lips to his, kissing him hard.

For a moment he freezes, startled. Then he sighs in relief and sinks into me, our lips melding together as we kiss each other slowly, deeply, more intensely by the second. He parts my lips with his and I lean into him, hungry and urgent. I forget where we are. I forget what we’re doing. The whole world melts away, and it’s just the two of us together. My knees buckle and the ground seems to move beneath me.

Knox pulls me in tight, his chest pressing up against me, the solid mass of his muscles providing all the support I need.

I place a hand on Knox’s arm and gently pull myself away, taking a breath and fighting for composure amid the swirl of sensation that’s coursing through my body. It’s a losing battle—with his warmth and scent so close, my senses respond to him even when we’re not touching.

“God, Shelby,” he whispers, running his fingers through my hair. “I missed you.”

“Knox, I missed you too.”

The tension is so thick I feel like we’re swimming through the current of our mingled desire. All I want to do is strip off this man’s clothing and let him have his way with me right here, right now. The look in his eyes tells me that’s what he wants too. But though I struggle to get the words out, my self-protective instinct overrides my sense of yearning.

“But,” I continue, my voice a bit steadier now, “I need to know that the next time something difficult happens, you aren’t going to push me away.”

Recovery and rehab are going to be a long haul for Knox, as they are for any professional athlete. It’s not always going to be fun times at the batting cages and visits to the happiest place on earth.

Knox smiles sadly, bending to kiss my lips again, light and sweet this time. In that kiss, I feel his ache too. He’s hurting too, because we’re both better off together. “Shelby, I know what I’m facing,” he murmurs, his voice deep and determined. “A long slog and possibly a humbling return to the pitching mound. But what I realized is that I don’t want to face any of that alone. So what do you say? Are you in this too?”

At that my remaining resistance wilts. I don’t want Knox to face his recovery alone either. And I don’t want him to be anywhere other than by my side, and in my arms.

I look deep into his eyes and finally crack a smile. Then I throw my arms around his neck. “Obviously. Now shut up and kiss me again, Cooper Knox.”

H
ot sun beats
down on us. The seats are amazing, right behind home plate in the seats known as the Hank Aaron section, but with the way the sun's abusing us, I'm starting to get jealous of the teenagers up in the nosebleed seats.

Except, not really. Because from their point-of-view, the players are just dots on the field. I much prefer my view, potential sunburn and all, because it means I get to watch my man work.

And boy, is Knox ever working it. This is his comeback game, and the fans turned out in full force to a sold-out stadium, more than a few of them wearing his number on their backs. Knox pretended he thought nothing of seeing more and more of his jerseys sell as he worked his way back from recovery, but I can tell the former Yankee didn't anticipate this kind of a warm welcome to the team, especially considering the disastrous start to his season. But after the injury, people really fell for him. Every time we hit the Library, patrons stopped by our table to slap his shoulder and wish him well, telling him to get better soon (or, in the case of some women, to shoot him flirty winks until I wrap an arm around his shoulders and smile fiercely in their direction).

He even got his beloved baseball cap back. Someone mailed it all the way from Ontario, with a Get Well Soon card attached, which had been signed by some two hundred fans from across the country. He wouldn't admit it, but that card totally made him blush. I should know. I'm the one who took full advantage of that vulnerable moment to run my hand up his thigh and make the blush even darker. That is, until he flipped on top of me and decided to pay me back.

Mm... A pleasant shiver runs through me at the memory of Knox looming over me on the couch, suspended on his strong, muscular arms, bending to kiss his way from my neck all the way down my throat to my chest, while his hand inched up my shirt to toy with the clasp of my bra.

He might have blushed that one time, but the man certainly knows how to make me turn bright red any time he wants.

"You can't possibly be cold," Jackson scolds from the seat beside me, crunching through a whole container of peanuts.

"That wasn't a cold shiver," I reply with a smirk.

"Gross. Do not elaborate," he mutters, as Ruby bursts into delighted giggles on my other side. Farther down the line, Cash and Ryder shush everyone with annoyed glares.

"He's winding up for the last pitch," Ryder hisses.

"If he lands this one, he pitches a perfect game," Avery breathes.

“You are
never
supposed to utter those words during the game, Avery,” Savannah scolds in an excited tone. “You don’t want to jinx him do you? Now shush and cross your fingers." She and Cassie already have every limb crossed, their arms wound around one another's and their legs intertwined in the totally weird yet totally
them
‘lucky charm’ that they've devised throughout the course of this game.

No matter what happens now, I tell myself, Knox has proven himself to the Braves. More than proven himself -- he's become a team favorite. The whole stadium is silent now, like a single giant holding its collective breath. You could hear a pin drop.

Or my brother crunching on another peanut.

I elbow him, and he grins sideways at me. "Don't worry," he whispers. "Our boy has this in the bag.”

What no one tells you is that a no-hitter is an extremely boring game. Very little action is happening on the field because no batters are moving around, and it really isn’t until about the sixth or seventh inning when people start getting wind of the fact there have been no hits. Only then do things really start getting exciting and people start holding their breath at each pitch. Still, I can't help the faint gasp of anticipation that escapes me as the final fastball flies from my boyfriend's fist, barreling straight toward home plate. The batter winds up, steps into the ball, swings hard and --

"Strike three!" the umpire bellows, audible from our seats even over the roar of the crowd around us. "You're out!"

That's it. They won.

No, they didn't just win. They completely
crushed
the opposition. Knox didn't let a single person land a hit or walk even one base.

Perfect game.

The team collides in the middle of the field, jumping and screaming and high-fiving Knox from every angle. Me, I have eyes only for my man. I cannot drink in enough of the pure, screaming joy on his face. Looking at him today, you'd never in a million years believe that this is the man who was convinced he would never play again, let alone reach the top of his game after that injury.

All around me, our friends jump and scream, their fists pumping in the air. The stadium starts to breathe again -- no, more than breathe, it starts to chant. At first, the syllables just sound like so much noise rushing in my head. But eventually, they begin to resolve into words. A word, a single one, that I can't help but shout along with every other fan in our huge, sold-out stadium.

"
Knox, Knox, Knox!"

The head coach, who we've had over for dinner on more than a few late evenings this season, glances my way. My friends are still bouncing around me, oblivious, but me, I'm waiting for the coach’s signal. The one he gives me now, with the slightest of nods and a faint wave of his hand.

I rush out of my seat and down the aisle headed towards the Braves’ dugout. I walk on top of the platform that is emblazoned with the Braves’ logo on it. It feels almost sacrilegious to be standing on it. It’s such an icon in this stadium, but what the hell, I have to get to Knox. Behind me, I hear Jackson shout, but I wave over my shoulder at him, ignoring his protests as I climb down the short drop into the team dugout. From there, I take off running across the dirt, then the turf, which squeaks under the soles of my boots. At last, after what feels like an eternity, but has probably only been about ten minutes since his pitch, I reach the mound in the center of the field.

The players still bob around Knox, carrying him on their shoulders, shouting his praises, offering high-fives when they can catch him for long enough to slap palms. We've hung out with these guys enough over the last six months, though, that when I finally approach, they all cast one look in my direction and start to back off in a slow wave. The guys lower Knox to the field and sweep their arms in my direction. It feels like standing in the middle of a prince's procession. But the moment my eyes meet his, it's all normal. It's just me and Knox, no one else in the world between us.

It feels like the world is slowly narrowing in on us, a camera zooming in on this stadium, this field, this pair of people standing on the mound where the near impossible was just achieved, unable to tear their eyes from one another.

I reach his side, and his strong arms fold around me. The warmth that floods my body is at once familiar and magic. The kind of magic that immediately lets me know:
You are safe
. That's how I feel every time I'm folded into his arms. Safe, protected. Nothing can touch us, now that we've found each other.

"Good pitching, stud," I murmur.

He runs his hands through my hair, his fingers brushing over my scalp and setting my whole head tingling. Then, without warning, he grabs me with both arms and hoists me into the air. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to him. He grins down at me, both hands cupping my ass through my jeans, holding me securely against his strong body. "That was nothing." He tilts his forehead close to mine, until they're touching. We gaze up at one another, a nose length apart. "Just wait until I pitch for you tonight," he murmurs, his hands tightening on my ass. I shiver against him, and he laughs.

In retribution, I lean forward an inch to catch his lower lip between my teeth and bite down. Hard. The soft groan that escapes him makes me forget everything around us. The stadium, the field, the thousands of screaming fans and the dozens of cheering teammates, they all vanish into black, until there's no one but Knox and I, alone together, all we ever need and more.

"You'll pay for that," he whispers against my lips.

My grin widens. "I’m looking forward to it," I breathe in response. With that, his lips sink into mine, and I melt into his kiss, slow and smooth and tasting like Knox, all spice and salt and a hint of sweat. We kiss so deeply, we don't even notice the rest of the team parading off the field, until someone wolf whistles at us, breaking the spell, and we jerk apart to realize we're nearly alone in the stadium, just the team waiting on the sidelines with our friends, and a few dozen fans still scattered throughout the seats, slow to leave.

"Get a room!" someone, probably Cash, yells.

Looking at our friends, our friends who supported Knox through the ups and downs of a potentially career ending injury, waiting for us for what I am sure will be an epic celebration at the Library, we exchange matching grins this time, every inch as saucy as each other. "What do you think?" he asks. "Should we go with them?"

I lean in for another slow kiss, taking my time, savoring the silky flow of his lips on mine, the rough stubble of his cheeks where they scratch my skin. I run my hands through his hair as we kiss, and when I finally let my lips separate from his, we're both panting. "I suppose we could tag along for now." My grin deepens. "As long as you promise we'll celebrate by ourselves later."

"Trust me, slugger." His hands squeeze my ass once more, tight enough that I jump against him. "I wouldn't miss a private celebration with you for the world."

He puts me down and we leave the field hand-in-hand to meet our friends, his team, and the whole bright, sunny future ahead of us.

S
tay tuned
for the next novel in the Sexy Bastard series — JACKSON! Jackson Masters’s love story will have you begging for more.

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