Page 118 of Keep Me Close

Good. Truth be told, I don’t recognize myself either. For the first time, that realization isn’t frightening. It’s freeing in the best way possible.

As if I’m finally becoming the woman I was always meant to be.

40

Knox

It’s late by the time we return to the penthouse. Chey is curled against my side on the couch with her legs tucked under mine and her head resting on my chest. She changed into one of those little sets that drive me crazy—sports bra, tiny shorts, and bare feet. I’m in nothing but my boxers, the TV playing something neither of us are paying attention to.

My hand drifts up and down her back in a comforting caress without conscious thought. I can’t stop touching her and making sure she’s really here.

That she’s okay.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo as I try to calm the part of me that keeps replaying tonight on an endless loop. Dakota’s hand locked around her wrist. The stark fear on her face. Something inside me snapped the second I saw it.

“I’m so damn glad nothing happened to you,” I tell her.

She shifts, tilting her face to glance at me. “I’m fine.”

“I know.”

Although, that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about how much worse it could have been if I hadn’t gone looking for her when I did. It’s only when her fingers slide over my ribs that I’m pulled out of my head.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Are you okay?”

For a second, I almost tell her the truth.

That no, I’m not all right. That the thought of something happening to her makes me feel sick in a way I’ve never experienced. That seeing another man put his hands on her in anger nearly sent me out of my mind.

Instead, I huff out a breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She studies me for another second, as if she’s debating whether to push, before her expression softens. “Would you mind playing for me?”

The question catches me off guard. “The piano?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Right now?”

“Please? I kind of need it.”

The admission slips past the last of my defenses. Not because she asked, but because she’s allowing me to give her what she needs in this moment.

Without waiting for a response, she sits up and tugs my hand. “Come on.”

I let her pull me off the couch, even though part of me was perfectly content to stay where we were. After turning off the TV, we cross the space and I settle on the bench, flexing my fingers over the keys. Instead of taking the seat beside me, she climbs into my lap, facing me, her knees settling on either side of my thighs as her arms slip loosely around my neck.

I raise a brow. “You expect me to play like this?”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “Consider it an exercise in concentration.”

My hands settle on her hips, steadying her as she shifts closer. “You’re distracting as hell, baby.”

“Not up for the challenge, huh?”

“Where you’re concerned? Probably not,” I say with a snort.

I lift my hands to the keys, and the melody comes easily as muscle memory kicks in. After everything that happened tonight, it feels good to let the music drift over me, washing away the tension.