Mr. Knight/A Jordan Knight Fanfic ✔️

34

34. subtext

Rufus won't leave my side as Jordan gives me a tour of the three-bedroom home. The interior has been beautifully renovated into a modern writer's retreat. Serene and inviting, the space reeks of Jordan's singular presence.

It's no effort to imagine him inspired here; nor is it hard to see his inspiration manifested. The restored wood floors, elegant grey walls, and crisp white molding provide a stunning backdrop for bold paintings and eclectic flotsam he's collected over the years.

I hadn't realized how barren his Wallingford home had been, thinking he preferred an uber-minimalist approach. When I mention the thought aloud, he chuckles knowingly.

"I'm actually a bit of a packrat. The majority of my things were in storage for my first year here."

I arch a brow. "Weren't sure U-Dub would stick?"

He shrugs, turning to open a door at the end of a hallway. "I wasn't sure about a lot of things back then. I thought you might like to see this room in particular."

As I walk into the shadowed interior, he flips a wall switch.

"I'm dead and this is heaven," I breathe.

A library.

The walls to either side of me are covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, nearly every shelf full. Directly ahead of me is his desk, set inside a spacious alcove and facing a large bay window. No curtains mar the view outside; though I can't see much, I have the impression of lush greenery.

"This is what sold it for me."

"Damn right it did."

Jordan smiles and watches me browse the nearest shelves. "Are you hungry, pet?"

"A little, yeah." Rufus' tail starts thumping. I stroke his head, laughing as I look up at Jordan. "Honestly, I can't believe he remembered me."

Jordan tugs a hand through his hair, expression sheepish. "I might of, uh, found a t-shirt you left at my old place. It's since become Rufus' favorite blankie."

My eyes widen. "Rufus sleeps with one of my t-shirts?" His lips twitch as he nods. "But it's been three years! You had to have washed it since then, right?"

I'm rewarded by a faint flush on his cheekbones. "You're not going to let me out of this one, are you?" he murmurs.

"Nope. Not even a little bit. Spill."

He looks at the ceiling and mumbles, "I might have purchased a bottle of your perfume."

A warm, weightless feeling expands inside my heart. "Jordan Knight, you bought my perfume to spray on Rufus' t-shirt blankie so he wouldn't forget me?"

He winces. "When you say it like that, it sounds rather pervy, doesn't it?"

"No," I say softly. "It sounds hopelessly romantic."

His gaze lowers to my face. "What can I say, I'm a poet." And though the words are flippant, the look in his eyes is anything but.

Heat dances in my chest and belly, sinking lower and intensifying. My expression causes him to close the distance between us in two long strides.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Darcy."

He doesn't wait for a reply—not that one is required. There's nothing in the world I want more in this instant than his mouth on mine.

The touch of his fingers on my face is featherlight, trailing across my jaw and up cheeks, and finally sinking into my hair. With a gentle tug, he draws me forward until my aching breasts meet his chest.