Page 37 of The Knight

It was no longer just an embrace. It was a shield, a declaration. Protection and possession intertwined.

Her analytical mind shut up and allowed her heart to speak.

Nothing had ever felt so good.

Ever.

20

Abe woke with a start.

A shaft of dawn pierced the drawn drapes.

What time is it?But he couldn’t check his watch—Freya was lying on his arm. Her body was still pressed against his, as if neither of them had moved all night. His half-awake body reacted immediately to her soft warmth.

Fuck.He needed a cold shower to shake off the pull of her closeness, the way she felt so right in his arms. He never stayed the night with women. It always led to expectations—commitment, a relationship—and he wanted none of that.

At least, that’s what he’d believed for so long. But Freya? She challenged that with every extra minute he spent in her company.

Carefully, he freed his arm without waking her.Past six.

He stood, peeking through the drapes. Outside, the dawn lit the barren landscape, painting it pink and alien, like the surface of the moon.

Today they would make progress.

He showered then dressed before sitting on the bed to lace up his boots. Freya was still asleep, knocked out from the schnappslast night. If she wasn’t used to alcohol, it might hit her hard. Maybe she was still sleeping it off.

He placed a hand on the curve of her hip, recalling what she’d shared last night. She’d opened up to him, revealing her true self—something he usually avoided. So why did he crave to know every part of her? To unravel the complexities that made her tick?

It was safer to keep things light. Fun. Uncomplicated.

Is that what I still want?

Unbidden, thoughts of Mariam surged forward. She had been a supernova, setting his bed ablaze with passion. He’d been foolish enough to believe she was everything he wanted. But none of it had been real. All of it had been a lie.

And yet. His gaze drifted back to Freya’s sleeping form, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

The desire coursing through him now made his memories of Mariam feel hollow. What he felt for Freya was different—deeper. A bone-deep hunger, primal and consuming. How was it possible that this self-contained woman could ignite such a fierce longing within him?

Freya stirred, a soft sigh escaping her. Even in sleep, her guard was never fully down. She fought so hard to conceal her true nature, to present a facade of cool logic, all spreadsheets and numbers. But there was so much more to her, and last night he’d glimpsed the woman beneath.

His Duchess.

He shook his head to clear it of distracting thoughts. Now was not the time. There was too much danger ahead. He needed to keep her safe.

He removed the chair from the door and stepped onto the landing. The house was still as he padded down the stairs, the only sound weathered wood protesting beneath his feet.

The living room was empty—Asta was gone—but Moose wound around his legs, his purrs vibrating through his furry body. Abe made his way to the kitchen, the cat head-butting his shins, threatening to trip him at every step.

“Okay, okay, I hear you.”

He rummaged through the cupboards, eventually finding a box of cat kibble. He poured some into the bowl near the back door. Moose wasted no time sticking his face in the bowl with loud, crunching enthusiasm.

Abe leaned back against the counter.Damn cat has no manners.

From where he stood, he could see out the window. The decrepit Land Rover parked close to the house yesterday was gone. Asta must have gone into town for supplies. There was a greenhouse at the edge of the garden packed with bags of compost next to an ancient-looking generator. She was self-sufficient, but no one could grow coffee or rice out here.

Movement caught the edge of his eye.

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