21. Luke

The space between the man's words and Elijah's movements lasted a second.

If that.

Yet everything around me slowed to the point of absurdity, becoming painfully obvious.

The wild urge to laugh at the way he'd said I'm here to kill you, like he was checking in for a dentist's appointment. How his facial expression never changed, not even when he lunged forward with a knife. How the small plate of mini éclairs he held crashed to the floor first.

How none of those details really mattered, because all I cared about was one thing.

Elijah.

He reacted so quickly, so confidently, I was only aware of his body stepping in front as the knife swung my way. Only aware of one big hand shoving me back as he hooked an arm around the man's neck and brought him down to the floor with a quiet fury.

The people around us screamed and a server dropped a plate of champagne flutes.

The man gasped, choking, and then Elijah was flipping his body and pressing him face down into the floor, one knee on his spine. He shouted something into his walkie as other security personnel rushed our way. Someone called 911. Someone else asked if I was okay.

Meanwhile, my brain was stuck in a single loop.

Elijah, knife, Elijah, knife, Elijah, knife.

I frantically searched for blood, for a wound, for any sign he was hurt. I sprang forward, reaching for him, but Elijah stopped me with a hand to the chest. Still kneeling, chest heaving, he twisted at the waist and met my eyes.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice eerily calm while anguish burned in his gaze. His fingers flexed where they held my shirt, gripping the fabric.

"Me? No, not at all," I sputtered. "Are you? Did he…?"

"Your father ruined my life," my would-be attacker screamed. "And you're just like him, you piece of?—"

Elijah gripped the man's hair and yanked up his head.

"Say one more word and I rip your goddamn face off," he said through clenched teeth.

Sylvester was rushing over, followed closely by the police. They shoved Elijah back and took over restraining the man on the ground. I watched Elijah rise slowly and have a short, terse conversation with the other guards. Then he turned on his heel and took me by the elbow.

"I need to speak with you," he growled, "now."

He dragged me through a crowd of people trying to get our attention. Grady pushed toward us, asked where we were going, but I only had eyes for my bodyguard, who radiated a dangerous frustration that tripled my already erratic pulse. The cords in his neck stood out, the muscle in his jaw flexed, and when someone tried to stop him from going down a hallway, he barked "Move" so furiously the person audibly gulped.

We passed three doors. At the fourth one, Elijah pushed it open, revealing what looked like a guest bedroom, eerily empty in the moonlight spilling in from the windows. Sirens screamed in the distance as Elijah yanked me inside.

Slammed the door shut.

Locked it.

I was pushed back against the door and Elijah's palms followed, caging me in. It was only then that his distress became clear—the ragged hitch in his breathing, the frantic dart of his eyes across my face.

"Did he stab you?" I asked, lifting his jacket, his shirt, searching for blood. "Elijah, are you hurt? Please tell me you did not take a knife for me. I swear I'll beat the living shit out of whoever that was."

But he didn't answer. He was reverently running his fingers up and down my arms, shoving off my jacket, palming my chest, my hips.

"I thought he hurt you," he said gruffly.

"He didn't." I tried to still his hands but to no avail. "He didn't, I swear, I promise. You stopped him. Elijah…Elijah."

He fell to his knees, his hands roaming up my calves. His forehead dropped to the center of my thigh and he took a shaky inhale. Gave an even shakier exhale. "I thought he stabbed you."

My fingers sank into his hair, caressing. His back shuddered, and I felt the heat of his breath through the fabric of my tux. "You saved my life. Sweetheart, please look at me."

His head tipped up, and the look of relief carved into his face had my heart in my throat. I couldn't even feel embarrassed by the way sweetheart had slipped from my lips like a prayer. Not here, in this silent room, with Elijah on his knees and his fingers trembling where they gripped behind my thighs.

A grip that felt clinical at first but then grew firmer, gliding slowly up the side of my legs until he could hold my hips. My cock was swelling by the second, so close to Elijah's face, his mouth.

He knew it too, because a desperate groan rumbled from the center of his chest. Then he was pressing his open mouth, the tip of his nose, to my cock—now fully erect. His hand joined, cupping me through the fabric with that same urgent reverence.

Lust roared through me, mixed with the adrenaline from the attack, and I was suddenly more turned on than I'd ever been. My fingers twisted in his hair, and he peered up at me. Then a tinny voice on his walkie asked where I was.

Still staring at me, Elijah brought the radio to his lips. "Luke was upset. He's lying down in the dark. Give him twenty minutes."

The person on the other end responded with a quick "yes, sir," and Elijah tossed the radio to the floor. He rose, deliberately dragging his hands up the entire length of my body. He dropped his face into the crook of my neck, same as the other night, and drew in a raspy breath as his mouth moved up the side of my throat.

I went completely still, not entirely convinced this was real. Not entirely convinced I wouldn't wake up from this dream soon, just one of many I'd had starring the man currently holding my face with fingers like steel.

"You should tell me to stop, Luke," he ground out.

I fisted my hands in his jacket and yanked him flush against me. "You know I won't. I've never wanted someone the way I want you."

His thumb traced my lower lip, tugging it down. "If that man had put even a scratch on you, I would have ended him right fucking there. I swore to myself I'd control this, swore that I?—"

I kissed him. Felt his whole body freeze up while I was burning alive. For a terrifying moment, I worried that I'd messed up again, pushed him when I should have stepped back, should have listened to his concerns and let him go.

With an agonized growl, Elijah slanted his lips over mine and consumed me. His mouth was a devastation, kissing me so skillfully, with so much goddamn passion, I would have collapsed on the carpet if his hips weren't pinning mine to the wall.

I opened for him, moaning with each movement, letting my head tip back as he scraped his teeth across the front of my throat. My fingers dove into his hair while he ran his tongue up the curve of my ear, biting down with a hushed snarl. Then he caught my mouth again. Didn't let up until we were both breathless, until I shuddered against him, already drunk on his taste, his tongue, the smell of his skin.

I opened my eyes to find him staring at me in sheer, glorious wonder.

And then…a miracle in the middle of this moonlit room. Elijah Knight smiled at me. Not just smiled, he grinned—one side of his mouth pulling up rakishly, showing off a dimple I never knew was there.

He nudged our noses together. "I've been wanting to do that from the first moment we met."

And if I thought I was gone for this man before, it was no match for the truth of this moment. That I was utterly and completely undone by a single kiss.

There would be no turning back for either of us now.