Page 51 of Keep Me Close

There’s nothing staged about the way my body lights up beneath his touch. And there’s certainly nothing practiced about how I melt against him. When his tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips, every coherent thought vanishes as I open for him.

A soft sound catches in my throat as his tongue slides against mine, and for one dizzying, impossible moment, it feels like we’re alone despite the hundreds of eyes on us. It’s like the world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the press of his palm at my waist, and the hard line of his body against mine.

By the time he pulls back, my pulse is pounding so hard, it echoes in my ears. He doesn’t move far, his arm staying planted around me, almost as if he has no intention of ever letting go.

We answer a few questions, or rather Knox does most of the talking while keeping me tucked against his side like he’s trying to make a statement out of our proximity alone. Then he guides me toward the entrance, effectively shutting down everything else as we step through the door.

The sounds from outside dull immediately, replaced by music, polite applause, and the buzz of elegant conversation. Crystal chandeliers throw golden light across the room. Servers weave through the crowd with trays of champagne balanced on their palms.

For a second, I stand beside Knox before sneaking a glance up at him, expecting… something.

Some sign that what just happened hit him as hard as it did me.

But his expression gives nothing away.

It’s controlled.

Unreadable.

As if he didn’t just kiss me in front of the world like he meant every single second of it. He maintains his hold on me, and if I’m being honest, it’s what has me unraveling. Not the cameras or the questions. Not even the fact that the internet is probably melting down right now.

It’s the steady weight of his palm and the fact he hasn’t let go.

For the first time tonight, it truly sinks in that, yes, we came here to send Dakota a message.

But whatever that kiss was…

Whatever it meant…

I’m no longer sure it had anything to do with the cameras at all.

18

Knox

The ballroom doors swing open, and the noise hits like a wave. There’s the low strain of music, the murmur of conversation, and the clink of glasses. Cheyenne’s fingers are still curled around the arm of my jacket. For one disorienting second, all I can think about is her taste as it continues to linger on my lips.

The kiss on the red carpet had been meant to sell the story. That’s what I told myself, anyway. But the second I touched her, it stopped feeling like strategy and started feeling like something else entirely.

Something that was hotter and hungrier.

It was much too real for a crowd of cameras and shouted questions.

I force air into my lungs and try to get my head on straight.

It shouldn’t be so difficult.

“You ready to do this?” I murmur.

She glances up at me, emerald silk hugging every curve, auburn hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders.

“I hope so,” she says with a small smile.

Even though it’s in no way full-blown, it still manages to catch me right in the chest. I don’t understand what it is about this woman that crawls under my skin. I just know no one else has ever managed to do it.

My grip tightens around her before I can think too much about it, and together we step farther into the ballroom. The space is packed with players, donors, sponsors, and enough money to fund a small country. Laughter drifts from one side of the room while a string quartet plays near the far wall.

River is the first to spot us.