ASingleKnightNook (4 page)

The smile she gave him bordered on mocking. “Oh, I think my virtue should be safe, sir knight.”

She spun on her heel and disappeared back into the house, leaving him on the marbled front porch.

He tried not to fidget. Tried not to peer back into the opulent foyer, searching for any sight of her. More than one partygoer approached him as he waited, most inebriated or high. Most in a state of undress. The party, it seemed, had rapidly descended into a Roman orgy. Once upon a time, he’d have been right in the thick of it. He had been a rake after all, but the only reason urging him to enter the sexual fray once more was to find Ruby. Make sure she hadn’t changed her mind. Make sure her
ride
hadn’t decided to drive Ruby home after all. Or convinced her to stay at the party.

What would he do if that were the case? He’d retreated to Madagascar after losing his heart to a woman who’d chosen another man over him. Could he handle it if it happened again? Sure, Ruby hadn’t claimed his heart, but she sure as shit had claimed his attention. He didn’t actually know if her ride was a man, but if that was the case…and if she did chose to stay at the party instead of driving to Newcastle with—

A warm, soft body draped over him. “Wanna take me home, Sir Addison?”

He started, jerking his head around to find the supermodel he’d arrived with gazing at him, clearly drunk.

“I’ll give ya a night you’ll never forget.”

As gently as he could, he curled his fingers around her wrists in an effort to remove her hands from his hair and his chest. How in the sodding hell had she slipped her fingers past his collar to rub at his nipple so quickly? “Thanks for the offer, love.” He gave her a smile. Why hadn’t he noticed before how bleached white her hair was before? How glaring her red lipstick and heavy purple eye makeup? “But not tonight. I’m just about to leave. With someone.”

She persisted, fighting against his attempts to withdraw her hand from inside his shirt with laughing tenacity. “C’mon,” she slurred, mashing her breasts and hips against him as she pinched his nipple. “I could see you undressing me with your eyes on the plane. Take me home and you can undress me with your hands. And then fuck me with your—”

“Ready, honey?”

At the sound of Ruby’s voice, Addison stiffened. Snapping his head in her direction, his neck protesting at the violent action he was forcing it to make, he stared at Ruby, his pulse pounding.

She stood on the bottom porch step, her lips twitching, her dimple denting her cheek. Devilish merriment danced in her eyes. “Or are you otherwise occupied?”

“Ruby!” he burst out, unable to keep the relief from her name. “Sweetheart, darling. I was just explaining to…” He swung a look back to the supermodel, suddenly aware of the fact he had no idea what her name was.

“Gemma,” she provided with a wounded pout.

“Gemma,” he continued, turning back to Ruby even as he persisted in his efforts to remove Gemma’s fingers from his nipple, “that you and I were leaving.”

“You’re leaving with her?” Gemma exclaimed, her breath hot on the side of his face. “She’s short. And fat.”

Addison opened his mouth to tell the woman she could just sodding well shut the fuck up, but Ruby beat him to it.

“Y’know,” she said, affecting a serious expression, a level gaze directed at the supermodel. “I considered being a walking swivel stick once. And then I realized I had a brain.”

And before Gemma—or Addison for that matter—could respond, Ruby crossed to where they stood, wrapped her fingers around Addison’s wrist and strode down the path.

Tugged out of Gemma’s arms, Addison spun into a lurching one-eighty and followed Ruby.

“Bitch!” the drunken supermodel shouted at his back as Ruby pulled him along.

He tossed Gemma a quick grin over his shoulder. “Sorry, love. But I did say I was leaving with someone.”

Ruby didn’t slow her pace. It wasn’t until they were at the shadowed street a few yards from the house’s entrance that she finally stopped.

“Can I just say—” he drew level with her, smiling, “—that I think you are bloody brilliant. And amazing.”

She pulled in a slow breath, her stare fixed on the road. “I am not fat,” she grumbled.

Addison raised his eyebrows. “Ruby, you have the hottest body I’ve ever seen. Period. Curves in all the right places. All the right places.”

She gave him a sideways frown. “Ruby? What’s with the Ruby?”

He blinked. “I’ve been calling you that in my head since I took my place beside you in the Suck and Blow line.”

“Ruby?”

He shrugged. “’Cause you’re a precious jewel?”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he conceded. “It’s because of your hair. What is your name, by the way? We’ve got two hours of driving ahead of us and I can’t keep calling you fair lady. Or Ruby for that matter.”

Ruby studied him for a moment, her expression a delicious mix of contemplation and mischief. “Actually, I think you can. Now, where’s this ostentatious display of manhood and wealth you’re driving?”

Happy warmth bloomed in his belly at the sight of her dimple again. With a chuckle, he held out his arm. “This way, fair lady.”

Four cars along the quiet street, they arrived at the Aston Martin Vanquish he’d rented at Sydney airport. A low, black sleek machine that rumbled like a purring beast when he drove it. Renting luxury-label cars was something he’d always done when he wasn’t in a country for work. It was part of being a rake. Especially a rake with money. Cars that said I’ve got money and sex appeal to burn. Besides, he never drove in anything worth less than one-hundred-thousand pounds for more than a few miles back in England, and he hadn’t intended to do the same here in Australia. His cousin did live over two hours away, after all.

However, standing on the footpath now, running his gaze over the rental Aston Martin’s beautiful lines, he realized Ruby was correct. It was an ostentatious display. He offered her a somewhat sheepish grin. “I’m really not overcompensating.”

She didn’t answer, but he was relieved—and happy—to see amusement in her eyes.

With a wry chuckle, he unlocked the Aston Martin and opened the passenger door for her.

For a heartbeat, she studied the interior, her teeth worrying her bottom lip again. The urge to cup her chin in his palm, raise her face to his and taste her lips once more surged through him. A powerful need. Like an invisible fist pulling him toward her.

He ground his teeth and remained motionless. Something told him if he stole the kiss now she wouldn’t protest. He could do it. A quick brush of his lips over hers. The thing was, the next time he kissed her—and there would be a next time, of that he had no doubt—he didn’t want it to be a stolen one. He wanted it to be a full-body, passion-fueled kiss. He wanted her to bury her hands in his hair and give herself over to the desire between them. And then, he wanted her to invite him inside her home, where he could kiss her all over again.

A thick spasm claimed his cock.

“Just so you know,” she said, her voice husky again. “I told everyone I passed back at the party I was leaving with Sir Addison Lancaster.”

The boast about being with him stroked something primitive inside Addison. Caveman pride perhaps? Possession? Victory? He didn’t know. Whatever it was, it made him smile. “Why thank you. I’m suitably flattered.”

She shook her head. “Oh, don’t be. It was a precautionary act. I wanted to be sure everyone knew who I was leaving with in case you turn out to be a serial killer and I mysteriously disappear.”

And with that, she flashed her dimple at him and lowered herself into the Aston Martin, her exquisite cleavage teasing him as she reached for her seat belt and buckled herself in. “Ready, sir knight?”

Addison’s cock throbbed again. Harder this time. So engorged with desire he feared he might pass out.

Lord, the next two sodding hours were going to be blissful, wicked, delightful torture.

God give him strength to survive it.

Chapter Four

Casey accepted she was in trouble when, three quarters of the way along the F3 Freeway—travelling much faster than her cousin would ever have driven—she found herself wondering how well Sir Addison could drive if she unzipped his fly and slid her mouth down his dick.

She knew he had a hard-on. He tried to hide it, but the Aston Martin’s muted dashboard lights didn’t conceal the number of times he shifted in his seat, stealing his hand down to his crotch for a second each time. It was lunacy, but Casey couldn’t help but be happy. And turned on. Fuck, was she turned on. So turned on her mouth kept filling with water. At this rate, by the time they pulled to a halt in the driveway of her Newcastle home—a renovated miner’s cottage shrouded by snow gum eucalyptus and wattle trees—she’d have a freaking orgasm when he looked at her.

Holy moley, he was yummy. Not just sexy, superficial yummy as she’d first thought, but yummy yummy. He was funny to talk with, quick witted, smart and quite happy to turn almost everything she said into sexual innuendo with such overt intention she could barely stop herself giggling. The fact every word was spoken with a British accent only heightened the pussy-throbbing perfection of it all.

She tried to stay detached to his charm. She really did. She knew who he was—a rake of a Brit who also had a knighthood. Totally out of her league. But the closer they drew to her home, the faster they sped along the freeway toward Newcastle, the more she found herself fantasizing about sampling his scrambled-eggs-making prowess…after learning exactly how good he was with his hands. And all the other parts of his body.

In this desperate—and so far, futile—attempt to stay detached, she’d kept to topics that had nothing to do with sex.

They’d discussed movies, books, food and global warming. Apart from his abhorrence of oysters, they agreed with damn near everything. That didn’t help Casey much. It would be easier to relegate the whole surreally exciting experience to fantasyland if she and Addison didn’t have anything else in common apart from searing sexual chemistry. As it was now, she was well and truly on her way to indulging in the thoroughly insane notion they were connecting on more than just a sexual level.

That was as dangerous as wanting to go down on him while driving along the freeway at one hundred and twenty kilometers an hour. Maybe even more so.

“Explain to me,” he suddenly said, “why a simple vet from Newcastle was at that party?”

Casey snorted, not in the least bit insulted at his use of her own self-description. “Foolish stupidity.”

“How so?”

She flicked him a quick look. Damn, his profile was exquisite. His nose was hawkish, his chin chiseled…even the way his hair flopped over his forehead looked like it was designed especially to make her want to jump his bones.

“My cousin talked me into it. She’s a big deal DJ in Newcastle and knows lots of famous people. She was invited to the party tonight and she dragged me along because we were meant to be catching up over coffee. I thought it’d be fun, but honestly, I felt out of place. Too many rich people.”

“You have a thing against rich people?”

She smirked at the loaded weight in Addison’s question. “Most of my clients are rich people. But when I’m dealing with them, I’m the one in charge and they have to do what I tell them to do.”

He flicked her a sideways look. “Okay, based on what you just said then, I’m going to guess you’re a…hmmm—” he tapped his chin and Casey fought to suppress her grin, “—a dominatrix,” he finished with a nod.

She burst out laughing. “Err…not quite.”

He pouted. “Well, there goes that fantasy. Still, I think you’d look phenomenal in skin-tight black latex. Or leather, if you’re allergic.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “I’m not allergic. But you have to admit, the way black shiny latex looks…” She pretended to shiver.

“Lord, woman,” Addison groaned. “You shouldn’t have done that. Now all I can think about is stripping you out of a shiny black latex body suit.”

A tight pulse began deep in her pussy. “Pretty presumptuous, sir knight,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Given that I haven’t consented to another kiss.”

“Oh, my mind is way beyond the kiss, fair lady. Way beyond the kiss. The things you and I have been doing in my head these last—” he shot the dash a quick look, “—one-hundred and seventy five kilometers…whew. Filthy. Debauched. Illegal in most countries, I suspect.”

Casey laughed, even as the throbbing between her thighs intensified. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Probably better you don’t.” He squirmed in his seat with melodramatic discomfort. “You’d most likely throw yourself from the car.”

“Is that right?”

He nodded. “Case in point, at this very moment, you are slowly licking your way up my—”

“Okay, okay,” she cut him off, glad the Aston Martin’s cabin was dark. Damn, she was blushing. And her nipples were so hard they felt like they were going to poke through the material of her shirt.

He laughed. “See? Way beyond the kiss.”

“Way beyond,” she echoed, her head filling with an image of her straddling his hips and exploring his chest with her lips and tongue as he kneaded her butt cheeks, his cock buried to the hilt in her sex.