Page 118 of Knights Game

“Sunshine,” his knuckles graze my cheek, his voice like a soft caress on my subconscious, I blink against the bright lights of the garage, “let’s get you those bubbles.” He climbs out the car and I do nothing to move, until he opens my door, letting the coldness seep in causing a shiver.

He pulls me out the passenger seat, navigating me past his expensive cars to the lift.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit, studying the clean white tiles, unwilling to meet the obsidian pools of his eyes whilst I push down the ice-cold bitterness of my despair. “My cheek throbs.”

“We need to ice it.” His fingers dance over my cheek bone and he tilts my head to the light. “It’s going to bruise.”

My penance.

The elevator doors open on a ping, and I’m faced with the biggest bunch of lilies I’ve ever seen.

He remembered and my chest warms.

It’s the small gestures, I don’t think he knows what they do to me.

“Dad always bought Mum lilies every Friday.” I take off my boots as he pulls my jacket off and opens a door off the main hall, a cloakroom, and hangs it up.

“What about the boxes?” They are in the boot of his car.

“Can wait until tomorrow, come,” he instructs, walking through the hallway up the floating wooden stairs to the master suite. “Sit.” He pushes me onto the bed, and I flop back, his smell engulfs me along with the pillows and covers moulding to my body.

He heads into the ensuite and I let my body relax into the soft bed. I could really go for something alcoholic. I stand and pad across the huge master suite and lean against the door frame.

His black top is rolled to the elbows, his forearms thick and covered in bubbles as he swills the water around. He couldn’t befurther away from the ruthless man I know he is. He feels my presence and turns.

He’s beautiful.

“Wine?” I ask.

“Layla,” he grimaces, striding toward me, “your face.”

He pulls me into the bathroom and positions me facing the mirror. The bruise forming over my right cheek bone stands out like a neon sign.

“It looks worse than it is.” I touch it gently and wince. “I look a mess.” My eyes meet his in the mirror.

“It’s my fault.” We stare at each other, the silence broken by the sound of running water.

All day I’ve wondered why last night ended in such a shit show, all day I’ve fought the jealousy, but just like Katy said, he’s the one who can give me answers and explain.

“What happened last night?” I ask.

He breaks eye contact with me, his jaw clenching, his nostrils flaring. “I fucked up. I disrespected you, and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m a cunt. I can assure you, there is nothing between Isla and I.”

“But you were looking at her. Why?”

“Because I wanted her to see that whatever notion she has in her head that we will ever be together, is baseless. That I am completely devoted to you.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Layla, when will you realise that this isn’t a game for me? This deal, this arrangement, was nothing but a way for me to get my way, to have you. Surely you must know that by now.”

He stares at me with such intensity in the reflection before turning me around. I cock my head defiantly, holding onto the last of my resolve. “You stalked me. You stood outside my flat, you watched me,” I say stupidly.

He pushes into me, walking me back so that I hit the large vanity unit, caging me in. One hand holding my hip, his body holding me in place, as his other hand cups my cheek, his palm warm and strong. “You are beautiful, and you are mine. And I will do anything, and I fucking mean anything, for you.” I can’t bear to meet the intensity of his gaze. He forces my chin up, making my eyes meet his.

“Don’t fight this, whatever this is. Don’t fight me. There are many reasons why this shouldn’t happen, and you can look for every single one of them, but I won’t let you go, Layla. And you don’t want me to. You're just too damn stubborn to admit it.”

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