Chapter 33: Damage Control II

"No," I said instantly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Absolutely not, Sheridan."

"Think about it, Bookworm," Knox said, leaning one heavy arm against the brick wall beside my head, effectively trapping me in his shadow as he spoke in a smooth and infuriatingly logical voice. "A staged kiss in the middle of a crowded living room looks like obvious damage control. Everyone in that room knows Brad dared us. But if any of them catches us making out in a hallway when we think nobody is watching, the rumor dies instantly."

"I’m not making out with you in a dark hallway just to satisfy Brad Orwell’s fragile ego," I snapped, glaring up at him through the dim light of the corridor. "I’m not a performing show dog."

"It’s not for Orwell," Knox growled softly, taking a half-step closer until his broad chest pressed against mine, making my breath hitch in my throat. "It’s for the contract. Unless you want my father calling Coach Brennan in six hours to void the whole deal and cancel your check."

The mention of the paycheck hit me like a splash of ice water.

The money from this deal... all of it rested on keeping this fake relationship intact until the month ended. I hated that he knew exactly which leverage point to press to get under my skin.

Before I could fire back another argument, the soft thud of footsteps, giggling, and loud chatter echoed from the main living room, heading straight down our narrow corridor toward the back patio doors.

Knox’s dark eyes sharpened instantly. The teasing edge vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating focus that sent a sudden flare of panic through my chest.

"Too late," Knox whispered, his breath hot against my cheek. "We don’t have a choice."

"Knox, wait..."

Before the words could fully leave my mouth, Knox reached out and unclipped his jacket from my shoulders, letting the leather pool onto the floor behind us in a dark heap.

The cold hallway air hit my bare arms immediately, but I barely felt it over the pounding of my heart.

He didn’t give me time to hesitate, panic, or process what was happening. His large, calloused hands slid around my waist, his fingers digging firmly into my hips as he lifted me straight off my feet in one effortless, fluid motion.

My survival instincts kicked in before my brain could stop them. My arms reached out to grab his broad shoulders for balance, and my legs automatically wrapped around his waist, pinning me flush against his rock-hard chest against the brick wall.

Then Knox leaned down and covered my mouth with his.

I gasped in shock, but the sound was completely swallowed by the sudden, overwhelming heat of his lips.

This wasn’t a fake, polite peck or was it a gentle, timid tap for the cameras.

Knox kissed me with a deep, possessive intensity that sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down my spine to the soles of my feet. His tongue slid past my parted lips, taking over with a ruthless, commanding heat that made my head spin and my knees go weak beneath me.

I had kissed guys before... Drew back in high school under the porch light, a boy from AP Chemistry after a study session, but those felt like polite, predictable drills.

This was entirely different.

Knox tasted like cold night air, dark mint, and raw power. His hands gripped my waist tight enough to burn through my fitted black top, holding me pinned against the wall as if he had no intention of ever letting me go.

My fingers tangled into the damp, soft curls at the nape of his neck before I could even stop myself.

My heart hammered wildly against my ribs like a trapped bird, and for a terrifying second, the crowded house, the viral photo, and the contract vanished into pure, liquid heat.

"Oh shit!" a voice gasped from the doorway of the hall.

The approaching footsteps stopped dead in their tracks.

Through my closed eyelids, a sharp, white camera flash flickered twice against the shadows of the corridor, burning bright through the dark.

"Get a room, Sheridan!" someone shouted, laughing loudly before the rapid clatter of sneakers retreated back toward the living room to spread the viral news to the rest of the party.

Knox slowly pulled his mouth back, his breathing heavy and ragged against my neck. His dark eyes were blown wide, burning with a raw, dark intensity that made my pulse race completely out of control.

Neither of us spoke for two long, agonizing seconds. The air between us was thick, charged, and heavy, the warmth of his chest pressing flush against mine.

Knox set my feet back onto the floor, picked up his varsity jacket from the ground, and caught my hand.

"Come on," Knox said in a rough, deep voice.

He pulled me up the stairs toward the second-floor wing of the SinBin, heading straight for his room at the end of the hall.

As we reached his door, footsteps thumped up the wooden stairs behind us.

Brad Orwell and three other guys rounded the landing, Brad calling out with a taunting laugh: "Nice show on the patio, Sheridan! But everyone knows you two were screaming at each other an hour ago! That kiss was staged... you haven’t even touched her!"

Knox didn’t even look back at Brad. He unlocked his bedroom door, pulled me inside, and slammed the door shut, turning the brass lock with a sharp click.

Outside in the hallway, Brad’s voice echoed loudly through the thick wood: "Come on, Sheridan! Prove it!"

Knox leaned his back against the heavy wooden door, his chest heaving under his dark t-shirt. He looked at the locked door, then turned his dark, unblinking gaze onto me.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Knox reached down and started to unbutton his shirt. "We’re giving them a show, Bookworm," he said in a low voice.

I blinked, my heart dropping into my throat. "What show?"

Knox looked down at me. "We’re having sex."

"What?!"