“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.
“Yeah, I like it,” I answered softly.
“Good,” he replied just as softly.
“I’m a vegetarian though,” I blurted mostly because I liked his light touch, I liked his soft voice, I was losing myself in both and I had to keep my wits about me.
He blinked.
Blinked!
I made Knight Sebring blink!
“Not really,” I let him off the hook, his eyes held mine then he threw back his head and burst out laughing.
I stared.
I’d never seen him anything but impassive, irritated and angry. He was gorgeous even through those.
Now, laughing, it wasn’t to be believed.
Oh God.
Seriously.
I wasn’t crazy.