Page 12 of Ruined (The Knights of Ruin)

You’re crazy.

Yeah, I really was. I didn’t have feelings for Smoke. He was the best friend I had in the world—like a damn brother. End of story.

He frowned. ‘What the fuck, Cat?’

My cheeks were on fire and I really didn’t want to look at him. But I made myself do it, folding my arms defensively over my chest. ‘I need some space, okay?’

His dark gaze scanned my face and, damn him, he probably knew exactly why I was blushing. Jesus, how embarrassing was that?

Slowly he folded his arms, mirroring me, and I couldn’t stop noticing the flex of his biceps as he did so, and the black ink of the stars cascading down his left upper arm flexing along with them.

I’d never been a fan of tattoos—not when all they ever spelled for me was bad news. But the stars on Smoke’s arm suddenly seemed...fascinating, somehow. They drew my attention to the muscles there, to the tanned skin beneath the ink. Made me wonder what the rest of that skin looked like...

God, he was tall. And broad. I’d noticed that once, back when I was sixteen and crushing on him like crazy. Even at eighteen he’d been muscular and lean hipped, like a panther. Now, at thirty, he’d filled out, the cotton of his T-shirt stretching over his chest.

‘Cat.’ His voice had gone low and husky. ‘Are you checking me out?’

You are. You’re totally checking him out.

The blaze in my cheeks felt like a supernova. I should have looked him in the eye and brazened it out, but I couldn’t make myself do it. Avoiding his gaze would tell him more or less the same thing of course, but it was way less confrontational. And I’d had too much confrontation tonight as it was.

‘No, of course I’m not,’ I snapped and turned on my heel, heading to the kitchen. ‘I’m going to get a damn beer.’

Plus some space while I was at it.

In the kitchen, I pulled open the fridge and grabbed myself a can, popping the tab and taking a long, deep swallow to cool myself down.

I had no idea what the hell was going on with me. No idea why I was suddenly checking out my best friend like I hadn’t had sex in years.

That’s the problem. You haven’t had sex in years.

I scowled at the cracked paint of the kitchen wall. That was unfortunately true. I hadn’t. But men were such bastards and I’d had enough. I certainly had after Justin.

He’d started out so great—just the kind of guy I was after. A lawyer earning good money, on the straight and narrow. Definitely not a drug user or a criminal, like the people my dad used to associate with. In fact Justin was as far from that as it was possible to get—which was why I’d fallen for him like the proverbial ton of bricks.

It wasn’t until I was pregnant and things weren’t going so well at his firm that the cracks in his good-boy facade had started to show. He’d always had a problem with anger, and when he got angry he lashed out. At me.

The first time he hit me I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do. He cried and told me he was sorry, that he’d never do it again. So I forgave him. It didn’t happen again until after Annie was born. Then he did it again. And again. Three times I put up with it. The fourth he nearly knocked me out.

So I left him.

Good boys were overrated... Bad boys were just like my dad. And since there was nothing in between, I took nothing. It was easier—better for me and better for Annie. After all, between her and my two jobs—the call centre during the day and Lucky’s, the bar I worked at some nights—I didn’t have time for men anyway.

I didn’t miss them. Sex with Justin had been pretty average—certainly no better than what I could get with my own imagination and a decent vibrator. At least I was in charge of my own orgasms, which I found very satisfying.

So why were you looking at Smoke?

That was the one question I couldn’t answer, though I wished I could. Because that was the very last thing I needed in my life right now.

‘You gonna tell me what’s going on?’

I turned sharply, my heart giving the stupidest jump at the sound of Smoke’s voice.

He was standing in the kitchen doorway, one shoulder hitched up against the frame, his arms folded. His black eyes had narrowed. I’d never found that look threatening—not once. But I did now. Not because he was going to hurt me—I knew Smoke would never do that—but because he knew me. He knew that something was bothering me.

And if you’re not careful he’ll guess what that something is.

Shit. He would, too.

---