Page 66 of Hard Bargain

Dominic dragged in a breath and pushed his voice back to the register that made people stop arguing. “Maybe.” A pause. “Order stands.”

Knox looked at the door. Looked at Dominic. Some private calculation happening behind those pretty blue eyes. Finally he unlaced a boot and kicked it free. The second followed with a dull thunk. “Fine,” he said, before stalking to the leather couch.

Dominic moved automatically, anything to keep his hands busy and his thoughts away from earlier. That was the policy. He returned with a pillow and a thick blanket, dropping them on the cushion next to Knox. The boy accepted them without a word, though Dominic felt him watching. Tracking every movement, trying to decode something.

“Need anything else?”

Knox shook his head.

Dominic nodded and turned toward the bedroom. He paused at the threshold. “Six a.m.,” he said. “Set an alarm.”

“Yes, boss.” Knox tried for a grin and almost got there.

Dominic shut the bedroom door. Then he lay down fully clothed and stared at the ceiling. He was aware, with painful precision, of every inch of loft between his heartbeat and the one he’d ordered to stay under his roof.

He didn’t sleep for a long time.

Chapter 18

Knox

BEEP-BEEP—BEEP-BEEP—

Knox jerked upright on the leather couch, disoriented for half a second before the ache in his cheek reminded him exactly where he was. He killed the alarm and sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, dragging both hands down his face.

What the hell had that been?

That was the part he couldn’t make sense of. Not that it happened—that part was painfully clear. But the fact that he’d liked it. No, liked was too tame a word for it. It had been hot. Stupidly hot. He had absolutely no explanation for why, and he wasn’t going to sit here looking for one.

He pushed to his feet. An existential identity crisis could wait. The best move right now was obvious: leave before this got any weirder. Preserve whatever scraps of dignity hadn’t died last night. He found one shoe halfway under the coffee table, scanning the floor for the other.

The bathroom door swung open.

Knox stilled.

Dominic stepped out, toweling the last beads of water from his hair, and Knox forgot what he was looking for. Dominic was half dressed, wearing charcoal trousers and a white shirt still hanging open. Black ink curled over nearly every inch of visible skin, dark patterns that turned muscle into a living sculpture.

He couldn’t look away.

Oh, this was bad.

Dominic’s gaze flicked up. “You’re awake.”

“Looks that way,” Knox managed, throat sandpaper-dry.

Dominic started buttoning his shirt, hiding the ink inch by inch, and Knox felt a pull of disappointment so immediate and so stupid that it almost startled a laugh out of him. He shut his mouth before anything showed.

“Coffee?” Dominic asked, still working the last buttons.

“Yeah,” Knox said. “Thanks.”

Dominic moved to the machine without comment. Knox’s eyes wouldn’t leave the man alone. He tracked the shift of muscle under white cotton, the efficient way Dominic moved through his own space. By the time the coffee was ready, Knox needed the distraction.

Dominic set the mug on the counter and Knox crossed over, wrapping both hands around the warmth of it.

“Are you always up this early?” he asked. Mostly to hear something other than his own heartbeat.

“Habit,” Dominic said, moving through the kitchen, pulling things from shelves. “Discipline starts early.”