Heartless Knight (Sins of Knight Mafia Trilogy 2)

“I’m not sure I do.” She bit her lower lip and I fucking lost it.

7

Kennedy

How many times was I going to do this? How many times could I handle it? Was I going to be able to keep the plan together? The house rattled the same way my nerves did—from one corner to the other. It wasn’t the thunder. It was Knight. His eyes. The heat radiating off his body. His lips. The candles bounced our silhouettes around the room. There was darkness. Darkness in his gaze. In the air. Danger invaded everything we did. How did I forget the threat he posed? The threat of letting him walk out again. The threat that the world we knew could be washed away tonight.

Could I shut the gate in my mind between what I had to do to save my organization and the part of me that was drawn to him? Was that gate reinforced with enough steel to keep the division intact? I knew the games he played. I thought I knew them well enough to write the script for this night. So, why was I struggling with my emotions now? I had a plan in place, and it was faltering quickly. Twenty minutes ago, I was certain.

But Knight moved around my body with familiarity that no other man had. He brushed the hair from my shoulder, and I doubted just how detached I could become from the way my skin fired when he touched me.

It only took one hint. One suggestion. The slightest offer of my lips and Knight’s

mouth crushed mine. His eyes had betrayed every intention he had before it happened. The impact would shatter me, but the way Knight kissed always surprised me. He kissed me like he had always loved me. As if he was trying to know me now, under layers of sadness, pain, and power. His kisses consumed me. Fed off our energy. Depleted me of resistance.

I didn’t want to feel anything. I didn’t want to accept I had lied to myself about what kind of self-control I had tonight.

I wrestled against his strong frame, but once his arms encircled me, I yielded to the firmness of his lips. The flick of his tongue. The tug of his teeth raking across my lower lip. I ran my fingers through his hair, still damp from the rain.

He moved from my mouth to my neck, kissing my throat, running his tongue over my skin.

“Knight,” I whispered.

“Hmm?” The lightning flashed. I flinched, pressing my body closer to his. “It’s okay,” he assured me. “I’ve got you.”

Our eyes met and I attempted to figure out which of the stage of the game this was for him. He was doing the same thing, searching my eyes, trying to read my thoughts. Who had the upper hand? Who had the power?

I shoved hard against the planes of his chest. I backed away, creating some space.

“We haven’t talked about the reason you’re here.” I turned from him to catch my breath and take another sip of vodka. I knew I didn’t have long before the storm consumed our every move. It would control our rhythm. Define our movements. We would crash as the storm did. Roll with the waves in the ocean. Fire with the lightning. Drown with the rain.

We had to talk. I had to find out what Crew was doing having lunch with him. And why involve Seraphina?

“The queen summoned me, and here I am,” he taunted.

“If only it had been that easy five years ago.” I didn’t hide how angry I was.

“I’m not the one who walked out of the Vieux Carre.” His voice was suddenly icy, the words clipped. I was amazed at how quickly the heat rescinded. This was good. I needed ice and wind. I wanted to be washed over by the chill of his resentment. I needed the sharper side of Knight to remind me how vicious he could be.

“Just how did you think I would react when I found out what you had done?” I wanted the truth.

“We’re really going to talk about this?”

“Yes.” I put a hand on my hip. “You aren’t leaving in the storm. There’s no power. What else are we supposed to do?”

His eyes traveled to the bed.

“Oh no. I’m not sleeping with you. Is that what you thought?”

He chuckled. “Isn’t that our go-to?”

“Not anymore.”

He exhaled, lowering himself on the edge of the bed. I would have preferred if he had used the small sitting area at the end of the room. It was easier not to picture him tangled in my sheets.

“All right. Kennedy. You want to know about the PAC.”

“I do.” I leaned against the chaise, afraid that if I stepped any closer to him the new drop in temperature would be disrupted. “I deserve the truth. Especially from the man who swore he had waited five years to be back in my life. The man who had claimed me so many times the other night, I’d lost count.