ASingleKnightNook (2 page)

Mirth dancing in her eyes once more, Ruby chuckled. “See you later, sir knight.”

She turned on her heel, showing him her back as she strode across the expansive deck and headed for the steps leading down to the garden.

Addison’s stomach clenched. His throat grew tight. A wave of sheer enjoyment flowed through him, followed by a ribbon of nervous anticipation. It took him by complete surprise. He was used to women flirting with him. He wasn’t used to being worried he’d fail in flirting back. Perhaps he’d shunned his rakish ways for too long? Lost his touch?

“Hey!” He chased after her. Chased. When was the last time he’d chased after a woman? “Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey!”

He dodged a couple snogging on the top of the stairs before propelling himself down to the ground in a single leap.

He landed on his feet with a jarring thud and hurried after Ruby, now well and truly close to disappearing into the yard’s dark shadows.

“Hey,” he called again. “You can’t go yet.”

She turned in a nimble little skip and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why not?” she asked, walking backwards.

“Because…because…” Crap, what did he say? Because he wanted to kiss her again?

Ruby’s lips curled. “Oh, I see what you mean about your brilliant conversational skills.”

He laughed, hurrying to catch her. How could someone in heels so high walk backwards so quickly? “It’s your fault I’m fumbling,” he answered, giving her a mocking glower.

“My fault?” she echoed, continuing her backward strides.

“Your fault. Don’t you know you can’t just throw a game of Suck and Blow like that and not be held accountable?”

Dark-auburn eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “Throw? Are you implying I deliberately let the card fall from my lips, sir knight?”

If it weren’t for the adorable blush creeping over her cheeks, Addison would have blurted out an apology. But she was blushing. And he noticed her nipples were pinching tight, straining against the green material of her shirt in much the same way his cock was straining against the crotch of his jeans. “I am.” He nodded. “I think you wanted to kiss me.”

“Do you now?” She let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. “I think you need to go find a hungry tiger.”

Addison ran a slow gaze all over her. “I think I already have.”

With a roll of her eyes, Ruby showed him her back again. “I think you’re deluded, sir knight,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Which again, is a pity, given how cute you look when you think you’re being charming.”

She grinned and, with nimble grace, sidestepped a group of rowdy men heading straight toward her.

Out of Addison’s line of sight.

Sodding hell.

Chapter Two

Casey-Louise Marley hurried away from Sir Addison Lancaster, her heart racing. Holy moly, what the hell was she doing? Flirting with a British knight? Her grandmother—she of the proud British heritage and portrait of Her Royal Highness the Queen hanging above the fireplace—would have a pink fit. Of course, her grandmother would also have a pink fit about what Casey was wearing. What with the fact people could see the shape of her butt in her white jeans as well as more than a hint of cleavage. But still, flirting with a knighted Brit was beyond her flirtation skills, no matter that he was flirting back. It didn’t help that his lips had felt exquisitely wonderful on hers when the playing card had fallen to the floor.

Yeah, about that, Casey Louise. Just how exactly did that card fall?

Dodging a couple making out with abandonment next to the house’s side entrance, Casey pulled a face at the internal question.

Okay, maybe she’d had something to do with that. Maybe, just maybe, she’d released her intake of breath and let the card slip from her lips. After all, she’d seen the way the Brit had been eyeing her when he’d joined the game of Suck and Blow, and damn, he was so freaking sexy, and when would she ever get another chance to kiss a knight? A real knight? And Christ, he smelt so good. And his biceps were so amazing, hard and sculpted and perfect. And really, she was just a simple veterinarian from up the coast who would never see him again, so why shouldn’t she get to have some fun and live a fantasy just this once?

A warm throb pulsed in the junction of Casey’s thighs at the thought. Once. Man, she would seriously have liked to kiss him twice. Or maybe even three times. But as she really didn’t fit in at this party and really didn’t belong here, the chances of kissing a sexy British knight three times while surrounded by women who looked like supermodels and actresses—some who probably were supermodels and actresses—were pretty slim. Hence letting the ten of hearts fall from her lips.

A tickling heat filled her cheeks and she closed her eyes, remembering the way his lips had claimed hers.

Holy moley, was it—

She ran into something hard.

Something hard that smelt so good. Something hard that grabbed her upper arms with long, firm fingers.

“Did I also mention—” her British knight grinned down at her, tracing his thumbs in soft circles on her biceps, “—that I’m an incredible hunter?”

Casey gaped up at him. Long enough for him to release one of her arms and close her mouth with a gentle tap under her chin.

He chuckled. “Finally.”

“Finally what?” she asked, forcing herself to recover. She hadn’t forgotten how delicious he was this close. That would be impossible. What she had forgotten was how quickly her body told her to throw herself against his body and do wicked things to him. Things like unbutton his shirt and explore his chest with her lips and tongue. Things like slide her hands down his torso until they dipped below the waistband of his jeans so she could feel how tight and toned his arse was. Things like—

“Finally, I get to do this again,” he murmured, a second before he lowered his head and kissed her. His lips brushed hers, a hesitant caress of skin on skin, before he buried one hand in the hair at her nape and delved his tongue into her mouth.

Casey shivered. Her belly knotted. Her pussy contracted. Holy moley, this guy could kiss. Her knees trembled and, before she could stop herself, she smoothed her palms up his chest and clung to his shoulders.

Lancaster growled into her mouth and rolled his hips. The long steel ridge of his arousal pressed to Casey’s belly, making it knot tighter. Making her pussy squeeze again.

She moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders. God, she could come right there and then, the kiss was that hot. He plundered her mouth, nibbled on her lips, sucked the bottom one and then explored her mouth with his tongue again. His hand at her nape directed her head, positioning her exactly where he wanted her to be. She didn’t fight. Why would she? This was the most intense, incredible kiss of her life.

With a whimper, she surrendered completely to the rapture of his lips on hers. She pressed her hips forward, seeking more of his erection’s hardness through their layers of clothing. He raked his other hand down her back, grabbed her arse and kneaded her right cheek for a heartbeat before yanking her closer still to his groin.

Fresh need blossomed inside her. She moaned, grinding the curve of her belly to his rigid length. She should stop what was happening. They were in public. People were everywhere. And Lancaster was famous, not just for his knighthood, but for his Academy awards and BAFTAS and…and…oh God, was he sliding his hand down to her boob? Was he sliding his hand… Yes, he was. He was. Oh God, he was cupping her boob. Cupping and kneading it. Worshipping it with his hand and fingers.

Liquid pleasure flowed through Casey, pooling in the junction of her thighs. A shudder followed, making her nipples pinch tighter.

Lancaster growled his approval, scrapping his thumb over the puckered tip as he did so. His lips feasted on hers, growing hungrier with each nip and swipe of his tongue.

She met his ferocity. Fucked if she was going to deny herself this one moment.

With a low groan, she raked her nails up into his hair, caught his tongue with her lips and sucked.

He responded in kind, massaging her breast with increasing pressure, pinching her nipple, grinding his erection to her belly.

Casey’s head swum. Another shudder rocked her. Her clit tingled with heat, desire swelling the sensitive nub of flesh. She pressed her thighs together, the ache and need building in her sex almost painful.

Holy moley, had she ever been so turned on by a—

Something hard slammed into her.

She stumbled sideways, out of Lancaster’s grip.

“Shit,” a male voice slurred. “Sorry, doll.”

Fighting against the fog of her pleasure-stupefied brain, Casey blinked up at the bulky man standing beside her. He was familiar, but she didn’t know why.

“Oh,” he said, turning to sneer at Lancaster. “It’s the pommy bastard. Why don’t you fuck off to the mother country and leave our women alone, eh?”

“Are you always this belligerent?” Lancaster asked, sliding a hand up Casey’s back as he drew closer to her. She couldn’t help but feel like he was protecting her from the inebriated mountain of man. It was unexpected. And nice, even if she didn’t normally like the notion of being a damsel in distress. “Or are you still pouting about the thrashing we poms gave you convicts in the Rugby World Cup?”

Murderous rage etched the man’s face. “I’ll give you a fucking thrashing,” he slurred, reaching for Lancaster with a wild hand, the other raised in a fist beside his jaw.

Lancaster moved. Fast. With fluid grace, he maneuvered Casey behind him and slammed his head into the lunging man’s forehead.

Bam.

The guy staggered backward. Gaped at Lancaster with stunned shock, swung his gape to Casey and then, as if in slow motion, crumpled to the floor, eyes shut.

Deafening cheers erupted around them. People surged forward, slapping Lancaster on the back. Casey couldn’t stop herself flinching. Jostled from all sides by the jubilant partygoers, she stared at the unconscious man at her feet, her heart pounding fast in her throat.

Wow.

“Well done,” someone shouted over her head, no doubt at Lancaster. “The guy’s been a tosser all night.”

“And he can’t coach for shit,” someone else contributed.

“’Bout time,” another voice joined in. “Wish I’d had the balls to do it myself.”

More people pressed at them, all eager to shake Lancaster’s hand or pound him on the back. When an elbow collided with Casey’s temple, she knew it was time to get out of there.

Ducking under the arms, she shoved herself through the crush of hot bodies. It would have been easier without the ankle-breaking stilettos she’d borrowed for the evening, of course. Christ, how did women wear these all the time?

Finally free of the madness, she allowed herself a glance back at the boisterous crowd—mostly men—engulfing Lancaster in congratulatory cheers. He stood in the middle, bemused merriment on his handsome face, a bright red spot glowing in the middle of his forehead.

Casey’s pussy fluttered. He was so gorgeous and sexy and she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him. The night couldn’t get any better…or surreal. Which told her it really was time to go.

Heart fast, she turned from her British knight and hurried away.

Somewhere in amongst all this expensive debauchery was her cousin. The one who’d dragged her to the party. She’d find Sharon and they’d head home. As a breakfast-show DJ, Sharon had an early start the next morning and the drive back to Newcastle was a long one. Fingers crossed, her cousin remembered she’d agreed to be the designated driver for the night. Casey wasn’t drunk, but she’d had at least three cocktails. Too many to consider driving.

Not drunk on alcohol, Casey. But seriously drunk on Lancaster’s kisses.

She rolled her eyes at her own corniness. Still, she’d never forget this night, that was for certain. Or Lancaster’s touch. Damn, there was a lifetime of serious fantasies and vibrator fodder right here. In fact, as soon as she got home, she’d pull her rabbit from the top draw and revisit the wickedly wanton lust the British knight had awoken in her.

It took fifteen minutes to find Sharon. And another thirty seconds to realize her cousin wasn’t driving anywhere.

Standing at the door of what looked like some kind of sexual torture chamber, complete with cameras mounted to the walls—just who’s house was this?—Casey watched her half-naked cousin lick her way up the incredibly sculpted six-pack of the country’s newest soap-opera heartthrob before lifting her face to the country’s newest pop sensation, who began pouring Moët straight from the bottle into her open mouth.

Casey cleared her throat. “Err, Shaz?”

Without pausing in the rather unorthodox consumption of champagne, Sharon wriggled a finger that clearly said not now at her. And then she wriggled her hips on top of the soap-opera heartthrob stretched out on the shag rug beneath her.

Casey licked her lips. The erotic sight was stirring up the lingering pleasure of Lancaster’s hand on her boob. “Shaz, it’s almost eleven and you’ve got to start work at four a.m., remember?”

Her cousin rolled her hips against Actor Heartthrob and smiled up at Pop-star Heartthrob. “I’ll call in sick. They can play a best-of compilation. Besides, no one listens to the radio early Sunday mornings.”