Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) (4 page)

Fire seems to be the operative word here.

“So I’ve heard,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“The contractor’s guys spent five days digging out a pool that’s four feet south of where it should be. The landscapers are pitching a fit and everybody wants to quit.”

“So you want a PR crisis consult in case this whole thing blows up?”

“No—I need you to help my buddy Knox here find a decent place to live so I can get him out of my hair.”

Huh?

“I told Jackson that I could handle house-hunting on my own,” Knox says apologetically, “but he thinks I need an insider to find my way around the Atlanta real estate market.”

“Thanks, Shelby, I really appreciate it,” Jackson says, squeezing my shoulder on his way out. “I owe you.”

I guess I’ll be trading a dinner date with my couch for a ride-along with Knox. I force images of all the positions we could squeeze into in a backseat out of my mind. So far our attempts to keep our hands off each other in tight spaces haven’t been that successful.

I just hope his car has air conditioning.

“
N
ice ride
,” Shelby says, cocking her head at my new wheels. “A bit of a tight squeeze.”

She’s right about that. My car doesn’t have much in the way of breathing room. It’s gonna be an interesting night.

Shelby runs a hand along the buttery leather dash. “Quite the upgrade from the rental you were driving the first time we met.”

“Not a lot of headspace, but the horsepower more than makes up for it.” And this time I’ve got a little bit more information about my copilot.

Too bad. Wouldn’t mind turning back the clock to a time when Shelby was just a good-looking stranger with no connection to my life.

Seems like she’s recovered from the surprise of seeing me in Jackson’s kitchen. Maybe I should have sent her a warning text. Then again, I’m still working a deficit on the surprises scorecard. I owe her a couple.

I rap her on the shoulder with the list of addresses Jackson printed out for us. “Copilot’s in charge of directions.”

“At your service. Apparently.”

Can’t say I don’t wish that were true. But Shelby’s here to help me with an above-the-board house hunt. A favor to her big brother.

“Sorry about that,” I respond. “I tried to talk Jackson out of calling you, but he couldn’t be stopped.”

“He’s got a bit of a savior complex,” Shelby mutters as she studies the printout. “But no worries, my house-hunting skills should come in handy. I helped my friend Tracy find a place just last month, so I’ve probably seen like half of these recently.”

We drive away from Jackson’s, Atlanta’s downtown skyscrapers twinkling in the distance.

For two people who have more practice between the sheets and over the couch than they do on solid ground, we’re not doing so great at making small talk. Every time I start to say something, it turns into an innuendo in my head, so I keep my mouth shut instead, not wanting her to know just how aware I am of every shift she makes in the seat beside me, her oh-so-professional work dress inching higher and higher up her shapely thighs as she squirms in the seat. Almost like she can’t stay still this close to me.

I know the feeling.

I force my eyes onto the road, tapping my fingers on the wheel as I drive. The temptation to pull over and pick up where we left off outside the Library is strong enough without a visual. And I already got an eyeful back at Jackson’s.

But as I shift gears a moment later, my hand brushes against Shelby’s knee and I settle it on her thigh for a moment, unable to help myself. It’s like asking me to let someone walk halfway through pitching a perfect game. I can’t make myself do it—not touching her is killing me. Shelby takes an audible breath. Her move now.

Guess we’re working different plays. She crosses her legs toward the car door, moving away from the palpable heat we’re creating.

I jerk my hand away, back to the wheel, and it’s back to our awkward silence.

We’re silent for a minute or two, and then Shelby clears her throat and turns to face me. “So uh,” she says haltingly, “how was your day?”

I can’t help it. She sounds so nervous and weird that I bust out laughing. Then she’s laughing too, and we’re both wincing at each other. “Um, sorry,” I say when the hysteria finally dies out. “This not-touching thing is gonna take some getting used to.”

“You can say that again,” she mutters.

Time to man up and get your head out of the gutter, Knox. Be the gentleman. Stop pursuing her, for both your sake. “I’ll do my very best to stop throwing gopher balls in your direction, slugger,” I say.

If that’s what we really want, I think.

“Keep up the baseball metaphors,” she responds in a playful deadpan. “That’s definitely helping kill the flame.”

I smirk. “I thought we agreed you were going to stop making fun of my sport.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were talking about a real sport, not tossing balls at sticks.”

“If you think it’s so easy, let’s play a game sometime. See how well you do.”

“I’d say yes just to watch your expression when I win, but last time we played games it wound up being a little too fun, if you know what I mean.” She catches my eye with a grin of her own, and I curse myself inwardly.

Fuck. This is gonna be even harder than I thought.

“Left here,” she says, taking pity on me.

I force my poker face back on. “So. Apartments. This is the two-bedroom with a vegetable patch and an option for joining a co-op?”

“Yes,” Shelby says. “Perfect for all of your homesteading needs.”

“Hey, isn’t urban farming supposed to be all the rage?”

Shelby laughs. “It really sounds right up your alley. No realtor, says we’re supposed to ring the doorbell for the ground-floor unit.”

We pull up to a clapboard duplex that looks like it hasn’t seen a paint job in the last couple of decades. The vegetable patch is a scraggly, weed-filled hole in the ground, and there’s a rusted-out old station wagon permanently parked in the driveway. Shelby looks mortified, but I smell one of Jackson’s practical jokes. I play along, telling her that years of New York City apartment-hunting will prepare a man for anything. I’ve seen worse.

“Do we have to go in?” she whispers as I ring the doorbell.

“You never know,” I tease her. “Could be a diamond in the rough.”

“Was that a baseball pun, because—”

“I just meant a regular diamond,” I interrupt.

Just then something scurries out of the bushes and into a crack in the foundation. Shelby screams and practically leaps at my arm, squeezing my forearm as hard as she can. “On behalf of Jackson and all your friends and family, I forbid you to live in this apartment,” she hisses. I’m unexpectedly thrown by her touch. I guess a little bit of skin-to-skin is okay in an emergency.

More than okay
, my traitorous sex drive tells me.
Let’s take advantage of this. Grab her arm too and . . .

The door opens a crack, a wiry head of white hair pokes out, and an angry voice barks, “What’s going on out here?”

“Sorry, we’ve got the wrong address,” Shelby says, still holding my arm and dragging me back to the car. I let her hang on until we get to the car doors, and it’s with a wrenching in my gut that we finally break apart to slide into our seats.

We’re laughing, though.

“What the hell was Jackson thinking? Is he serious?”

“Hate to break it to you Shelby, but I think that may have been one of Jackson’s little pranks.”

“Oh my god, what a jerk! I’m going to kill him.”

“You gotta hand it to him, though, the guy puts in the effort.”

“All I know is this next place better be legit.”

A nice condo on a quiet block, the next spot does have potential. The realtor, Diane, meets us in the lobby and instantly launches into her sales pitch. The neighborhood is safe, the kitchen’s just been redone, the building’s got a gym and guest parking. And the schools in this area are some of the best in the city, she explains to us with a knowing smile.

Shelby and I exchange a look.

“Oh, uh, no, we’re not—” I start to say, but then Shelby loops her arm through mine with a smirk on her lips. My skin burns hot where it touches hers.

“Public or private?” she says with a sugar-sweet smile.

“Both. You’re in driving distance to two of the best private schools in the state as well as one of the top-rated public elementary schools in the city.”

“Wow, lots of options, honey. Sounds like a place we could really grow into.” The realtor turns her back and Shelby gives me a little wink. I glare back at her, but this only makes her faux-innocent smile widen. She’s clearly enjoying herself. But that wink gives me a glimpse of the sultry side Shelby showed me the first night we met.

Maybe Diane could make herself scarce for a few hours and give us a chance to give the place a trial run. Like any happy couple would.

“Big closets,” Shelby says.

“Yes. You could easily convert one into a baby’s room.” Diane gives us a pointed look. “If that’s the direction you’re going.”

Shelby holds up her left hand and wriggles her fingers. “Still waiting on a ring,” she says. “He’s saving up.”

Diane turns to me, taking the bait. “Better not make her wait too long. Wouldn’t want such a nice young lady to slip between your fingers!”

My stomach churns. Not because I hate the suggestion, but because something about it sounds so
right
. A life here. A home like this one. A woman like Shelby at my side. I could actually picture it, the white picket fence and 2.5 kids, the whole shebang.

Shit, why am I torturing myself?

Oh right. I’m not the one doing the torturing this time.

Shelby looks up at me with twinkling eyes. “Did you hear that, babe? Nice young ladies shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

Oh believe me, if I could help it, you’d never be left wanting again.

Shelby does look like a nice young lady in that professional getup she’s got on. But those red heels and that devilish sense of humor tell a different story. As my eyes roam over her body my mind wanders to the night we shared. I’d let her keep her little red shoes on this time, if she wanted.

Time to move things along before I forget all about our friendship pact and lock myself up with Shelby in one of these closets. I nudge my make-believe fiancée (fuck, it stings to even think about that jokingly) and tilt my head to the door. She asks the realtor one last question about the neighborhood nightlife, then wrinkles her nose at me. “We’ll be in touch,” she says.

“I think we can do better,” she whispers as the two of us walk out. “I’ve got a feeling about the next place.”

“Glad you’re finding this all so entertaining, Mrs. Cooper Knox,” I tell her, because I have to get in at least one dig of my own.

She punches me lightly in the arm. “Hey, I’m keeping my name!”

S
helby’s
real estate instincts turn out to be solid.

The four-bedroom house off Peachtree looks even better than it did in the pictures. Recently remodeled, clean lines, not so much square footage that I’d need to buy a ton of new furniture to fill it. The realtor flips a switch to turn on the outdoor lighting, and Shelby and I both gasp at the reveal: a huge, awesome backyard with a sleek infinity pool and a covered area for outdoor entertaining. Sold.

Shelby takes a stroll around the pool while I take a seat on a couch in the outdoor lounge and start filling out the application.

“Anything we can do to expedite the process?” I ask the realtor.

“Sure,” she says, “I just need you to fill out this rental contract and I need to touch base with the owners.”

“That’d be great.”

She steps inside the house, leaving me to my paperwork and Shelby to her sightseeing.

Home sweet home, I think as I take another look around. I won’t be missing my place in New York, even if it did have some pretty sick views.

The view out here isn’t so bad either. Shelby is reclining on a lounge chair as she checks her phone. That dress she has on is hugging her every curve, and I’m not having too much trouble picturing her lying there in a very small bikini. Or picturing myself striding across the yard, taking that phone away from her and kneeling between her legs to trail my tongue up her inner thigh, slowly working my way toward the mound between her legs, until her pussy is soaking wet, until she’s got her hands fisted in my hair, begging for it as she bites her lip and moans . . .

My place, my rules. If I wanted to make Shelby come several times in a row on my open-air patio, that’s my business. And if she wanted to return the favor by taking my rock-hard cock in her sweet little mouth and sucking me until I lose control, that’d be between us, too.

My mind strays dangerously quickly toward
No one would have to know
territory. This woman is a terrible influence on me.

“Lots of space for barbecues and pool parties!” Shelby calls out, sadly still fully dressed back here in reality, not in Knox lalaland. She strolls back over my way, her hips swaying with every step.

Keep it together, Knox. “I’ll put you on the housewarming committee,” I respond. She has a way of warming things right up. Including me.

She settles down on the other end of the couch, keeping me at arm’s length. Smart girl. I eye the foot of space between us, and the air in it practically seems to vibrate with heat waves.

“I’m starving. Know any ballplayers who’d buy a girl a drive-through dinner for her troubles?”

“I can think of one who might be willing to spring for a burger, but no extras.”

“Please inform him that I can float him the cash if he’s feeling the squeeze.”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “I think the rules of our truce prohibit the use of words like ‘squeeze.’ That’s an automatic foul.”

Shelby tosses her hair behind her shoulder and bats her eyelashes at me. “Are you going to bench me now?”

“Oh sure, now you like the baseball talk.” I smirk at her. “One more infraction and you’ll be in the dugout for the rest of the season, slugger.” In reality I’d be more likely to take her behind the dugout, so the two of us could have some privacy.

She smiles and leans back on the couch, crossing her arms, not swinging for that last pitch. “Fine by me. If you’re on the mound, the view’s better from the dugout anyway.”

My fingers itch to reach for her. We’re both playing this game right up to the hilt, then backing away before we get ourselves into trouble.

The realtor comes back out with her laptop in her hand and a huge grin on her face. “You’re a pitcher with the Braves!”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Well, needless to say, everything checked out. We should be able to get you the keys by morning. Welcome back to Atlanta, Mr. Knox!”

“Thanks, it’s been a very warm homecoming so far.”

Shelby arches an eyebrow back at me. There might be a cold shower in my very near future.

“You know, the owners may be interested in selling the place down the line. If you think you might be looking to buy, I can put in a word for you.”

“I’m gonna keep things simple for now, but good to know,” I respond. I’ve still got an apartment to sell in New York, and who knows how well this trade is going to work out.