Page 17 of A Smile Full of Lies
There, standing by the counter, dressed in all black like a goddamn cat burglar from his t-shirt down to his combat boots, was Knox.
He was casual and calm, like it was a perfectly normal fucking time for him to be rifling through my key rack.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Knox!” My voice came out sharp, too loud, cutting through the quiet like shards of broken glass. “What the hell are you doing?”
Knox didn’t jump. He didn’t flinch. The man just turned his head slightly, that maddeningly calm look on his face, then offered me a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, Ros. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My hands were shaking.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know,” he said, like that somehow made it better. He turned fully toward me then, holding a familiar keyring in his hand, the spare key to his truck, which he insisted on leaving over here just in case my beater car crapped out and I needed a ride in an emergency. “I locked my keys in the truck.”
“And that led to you breaking into my house?!”
His brows lifted.
“I didn’t break in, babe. I have a key, remember?”
“That’s not the point!” I snapped.
His mouth curved, not quite a smile, but the kind of expression that should’ve pissed me off a hell of a lot more than it did.
“There’s a work emergency. I need to drive to Mobile, and I didn’t want to wake you if I could help it. I figured I could just grab my spare key and go.”
“You figured wrong,” I snapped, one hand still pressed over my racing heart, as if that could calm me down. “You scared the living shit out of me.”
His expression sobered slightly.
“Yeah, my bad. That’s on me. I didn’t think you’d be up.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling hard… and then it hit me. I wasn’t wearing any pants.
Nope. I was standing here in front of my hot-as-fuck neighbor in just a t-shirt and panties. Nothing else. No bra. No shorts or sleep pants.
And now that the adrenaline was starting to cool, I could feel the night air on my thighs.
My eyes widened.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, looking down at myself, then back up at him.
Knox didn’t stare. He didn’t leer. But he definitely noticed. His gaze flicked downward — brief and sharp — then back to my face, like he hadn’t just catalogued everything about me in a single heartbeat.
Heat rushed to my face.
I suddenly wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
I crossed my arms, even though the fabric of my t-shirt tugged a little too tight across my chest when I did it. I didn’t care. It gave me something to do with my hands, besides fidget or cover myself like a flustered idiot.
Knox didn’t say a word. He just stood there — dressed vaguely like a sinfully tempting cat burglar in a black t-shirt that stretched tight across his muscles, black jeans, and black boots. The only things he didn’t wear that might have completed the cat burglar look were a set of leather gloves and a balaclava. But no… he was just leaning against my kitchen counter like this was a completely reasonable interaction for us to be having atthree o’clock in the fucking morning.
“I could’ve called the cops,” I said, my voice still pitched too high. “Do you realize how close I came to grabbing the kitchen knife and going full Final Girl on your ass?”
His mouth twitched again. That same almost-smile that made something warm and dangerous curl low in my stomach.
“I would’ve deserved it.”
