Then a repeated, “Right, well, you will.”
“Knight,” I lifted a hand and hesitantly placed it on his chest (which was rock-hard by the way… seriously in trouble). I powered through how good his chest felt under my hand and pressed ever onward, informing him cautiously, “You kind of scare me.”
“Yeah. I’m that guy ‘cause I need to be that guy,” he stated mysteriously. Then his face dipped to mine again and he talked quieter when he continued, “Straight up, baby, I’m also that guy ‘cause I just am that guy. But you’ll learn you got nothin’ to fear from me.”
“You drag me around,” I whispered.
“Yeah, and you follow me.”
“I kind of have no choice,” I pointed out.
His head went back and all traces of amusement left his face when he informed me, “You always have a choice. You didn’t take it. Except once, when you pulled away from me at the elevator.”
This was, casting my mind back, kind of true.
“There were two times that you carried me,” I reminded him.
“And both times you held on.”
Damn. This was true too and not kind of at all.
“I need to ponder this.”
His arm tightened, a gorgeous smile spread on his equally gorgeous face and it was at both that I realized I said that out loud.
Then a buzzer sounded in the kitchen.
“Right, then do it eatin’ a steak. I’m hungry,” he ordered, let me go and sauntered toward the kitchen.
I stood, watched him move and took a sip of my wine.
Then I found my feet following him.
When I arrived, he was pulling out the grill pan in order to flip the meat.
“Can I help?” I offered.
“Yeah, grab some placemats. Drawers this side of the bar,” he took me up on my offer as he slid the grill pan back in the oven.
“You have placemats?”
He straightened and looked at me.
“Yeah. Why?”
“A man who wears a Metallica tee doesn’t have placemats,” I informed him and his lips twitched again.
“Yeah, you’re right, unless he’s also a man who hired a bossy bitch who seriously likes to spend money to kit out his new condo. That man owns placemats.”
My eyes swept the kitchen with its black KitchenAid appliances, counter appliances and the hooks under the counter where the shiny, expensive-looking cooking utensils hung. It had a black on black theme with black marble countertops, shiny black cupboards and even black tiles on the floor.
Then my eyes kept moving through the living room with its stream-lined couches, low, glass-topped coffee table and large, tall, chrome, curved lamps at kitty-corners with their domed, white shades drooping over the area. All this sitting on a charcoal gray rug that looked like a huge, square piece of fluffy fur.
Then my eyes moved over the low chest at the top situated against the wall that had three black, huge, glossy bowls on top that were wicked cool but held nothing. Then my eyes took in the heavily-framed print on the wall above it that looked like a lot of gray and black splotches and strokes that depicted nothing and made me feel less. And last, there was another state-of-the art, expensively designed CD player mounted on the wall.
It was all spare, colorless but dead cool.
I looked back at Knight. “So this woman bought everything?”