Page 90 of Knox Unleashed
“Your daughter?” Knox’s eyes harden and he steps forward. “You say that like you know what it means to be a father and not just a fucking sperm donor.”
“Fuck you,” my father says.
Knox huffs. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think this was allyourdoing. It embarrasses you that Maren runs this place. The only person who really benefits from what happened last night is you, if it scares Maren into selling her business.”
“Don’t you dare turn this on me. Maren told me you were interested in buying this place. Maybe you’re doing all this so you can take it off her hands at a discounted price.”
I squeeze Knox’s wrist. “When you came to talk to me on the dock that day, I needed to give him a reason.”
Knox drops his lips to my ear and whispers, “Shouldn’t turn me on that you lied for me.”
My father’s face flushes red with anger. Spittle forms at the corners of his mouth. But for once, he keeps his anger contained. Because deep down, he knows he’s no match for Knox.
“You promised me breakfast,” I say, tugging on Knox’s wrist.
The tension in Knox’s body eases. “I did.”
With that, he picks me up again, and neither of us acknowledges my father left standing in the lot.
30
KNOX
Maren weighs nothing over my shoulder, and while it’s a pleasure to run my hand over her delectable ass, I’m worried about her.
Her father is a physical force to be reckoned with. He doesn’t scare me, but even I have to admit he’s a solid wall of oppression and control.
When I put Maren down in her open-plan apartment, she heads to the small kitchen and places her hands on a white marble island, head dropped between her shoulders.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Come here.”
I tug her into my arms, the silence a contrast to Caldwell’s bellowed bluster. I’ve never been more struck by the difference between the Maren the rest of the world sees—the confident, capable businesswoman—and this one, the one whose childhood has left her vulnerable and lonely.
And I’ve never admired the fact she’s still standing, more.
She snuggles into me without resistance, like it’s everything she needs. She doesn’t hide the fact that she’s shaking from me. Or the fact I can feel the fast puffs of breath against my chest.
I slide my hand up her back, settling between her shoulder blades, and rub small circles. My other holds her around her waist, anchoring her to me, hoping that some of my strength seeps into her, reminding her she’s not alone right now.
“Has he been like that your whole life?” I ask.
“For as long as I can remember.” The words are muffled against my chest.
I shift and guide us to a pretty pale blue sofa. It’s adorned with soft cushions.
In fact, soft describes just about everything in this place. The artwork, the furnishings, even the flowers. There’s a whimsical vase of drooping buds on the small coffee table made from reclaimed wood.
Nothing matches perfectly, but somehow, it all works. Nothing is bright or harsh. As if the view of the water beyond the three windows is the only masterpiece the apartment needs.
That said, there are five paintings, messily hung in a style where one slightly overlaps the other, giving the abstract landscapes a three-dimensional effect.
I sit and pull Maren down onto my lap, settling her sideways across me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Knox,” she protests, pushing against me. “I need to go and get showered so I can go back downstairs and?—”
“Maren,” I say, cutting her off. “Shut up and take a minute.”
As if my instruction was just what she needed to shift from what she thinks she’s supposed to do to what she wants to do, she leans into me, snuggling her head against my neck.
