Pride & Pleasure (The KNIGHT Brothers Book 1) (9 page)

“We have plenty of guests rooms, sweetheart. There’s one downstairs that has your name written all over it.”

****

I can’t believe I’m here. It’s beautiful, but way out of my league, and yet I felt more comfortable tonight than I have in a very long time. Is it this place with its tranquility and beauty, or something more? A tall, dark, handsome man with eyes that seem to sweep into my bloodstream. This is the first night I haven’t wanted to check the doors to see if they’re locked or look under the bed before I went to sleep. Although it’s not a huge step toward recovery, it certainly is a beginning. Baby steps. That’s what the doctor said to expect from myself. I enjoyed the company of Angelina and I saw true understanding in her eyes as I explained how fear had paralyzed me. I couldn’t help but feel privileged being in the presence of such a strong, solicitous, amazing woman. To make a hard choice, one that isn’t widely accepted, shows just how strong she is. I do believe I have a lot to learn from her and wonder if my arrival is more for my benefit than hers. I still am not sure how to take Victor. He’s a mystery as much as he is astonishing. I’ll just have to see how tomorrow goes before I make a real, logical judgement on him.

Closing her diary, Avary put it away and got out of bed to go to the window. She looked at the twinkling stars, extra bright against the inky backdrop of the sky. Everything was so quiet here, which wasn’t always a good thing. A house this size needed noise…people laughing, kids playing, dogs barking. That was not a place where she should allow her mind to wander, yet, Angelina had said herself that she wished Victor would find someone to love him, someone he could love with all of his heart. His sister worried about him.

Avary and Angelina had become instant friends. Avary couldn’t begin to understand what Angelina felt as death loomed closer, but the woman was brave and had more strength than anyone Avary had met. It made her think about her past, how the mugger had taken away her security. This was nothing compared to what Angelina was experiencing. How horrible Victor must feel, watching the person he loved, part of his family, becoming sicker each day. Avary could grasp how that would make him bitter. If anything happened to her sister, Avary couldn’t imagine going on.

She went to the bedside table and took out the glass panda, smiling. It was Victor who’d given her the gift. She should be shocked, but it wasn’t shock that she felt. Over the years she’d kept the figurine close, feeling as though it was special and never understanding why. A part of her wished he’d given it to her himself, instead of asking the nurse to, but she hadn’t been prepared to see anyone…not even her sister at that time of her life.

Once she’d left Angelina’s room, she’d wanted to run to Victor and tell him thank you for the gift, but if he’d wanted her to know, wouldn’t he have told her?

Did he even remember bringing it to her?

If he told her he didn’t, it would ruin the special feeling.

She decided it was best to wait.

Going to the bed, she climbed between the luxurious sheets and cuddled against the large pillow that was soft and welcoming. However, sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned, punching the pillow as if it was some way at fault.

She had brought her prescription, a mild sleeping pill for nights when her mind wouldn’t shut down or anxiety got the best of her. She used them only on occasion.

Turning on the lamp, she took the bottle out of the top drawer of the nightstand and started to open the lid when she decided she would skip the sedative. Instead, maybe a glass of water would be better.

The clock read one A.M.. Would everyone be asleep?

Leaving her room, she quietly made her way down the hall and the stairs, through the semi-darkness, grateful for the wall sconces that were on, and into another hall and was beginning to think she was lost until she finally found the kitchen on the other side of two swinging doors. Turning on the light, she scanned the large space. It was a chef’s dream with professional stainless steel appliances, a rack overflowing with pans, and baskets of fresh vegetables and fruits on the island.

“Now where would the glasses be?” she whispered, opening one cabinet then another with no luck.

“Can I help with something?”

The thick, rich voice made her body still and her spine prickle. She slowly turned and found Victor standing in the doorway, holding one swinging door wide open. His eyes appeared silver and pensive. His jaw was covered in a crisp layer of beard. She lowered her eyes over his bare shoulders, broad, smooth chest and rippled abs that told her he took care of himself. The waist of the jeans settled low on his hips. She dragged her attention back onto his face, wishing her nipples weren’t bunched and tingly. “I-I didn’t think anyone would be up.” She hated that her quivering voice told of her inner turmoil.

“Neither did I.” His gaze slipped over her and one corner of his mouth curved into a sultry smile.

She wore the red, satin nightgown Dawn had packed for her and she realized how thin the material was. The heat from his stare seeped in, burrowing through her flesh straight into the center of her bones. Her knees wobbled and her belly fluttered. “I’ll leave you alone,” she muttered. Stepping across the room, her feet tangled in the hem of the gown that was too long, and felt herself stumbling awkwardly forward.

“Shit!” Victor moaned, grabbing her elbow and tugging her back, drawing her into his body.

Avary leaned against him, realizing how close she’d been to falling face first on the ceramic tiles. Her embarrassment didn’t last long. It was exchanged for something else—something entirely delicious and haunting. He continued to hold her, her back pressed against his iron hard chest and lean hips. His scent swirled under her nostrils, reminding her of a fresh load of laundry coming out of the dryer—clean and fresh. There was also a hint of body wash—spice and musk. All entwined together made an aphrodisiac for her senses. Her knees weakened and she allowed him to steady her.

“That was close,” he whispered near her ear, his breath sweeping across her cheek.

He didn’t release her and she didn’t move. Instead, he lifted his hand to her jaw and slowly brushed his knuckles across her skin, tracing the line to where her pulse beat rapidly in the hollow at her neck. His fingers moved along her shoulder, examining the trembling flesh, gliding the tip of one finger over the tiny strap that held the top of the gown in place.  He tucked his thumb underneath and gradually tugged it. The gown slipped low onto one breast. Her nipples turned to solid pearls. He skated his thumbs down her arms and she shivered, a whimper escaping her quivering lips. His breath grew hotter against her nape, his chest lifting and falling raggedly. He nuzzled her neck, his sandpapery beard rasped her sensitive flesh, but quickly forgotten when he brushed his lips against her ear lobe, lower to the spot where her neckline met her shoulder. She was at a loss, uncertain what she should do. She couldn’t move for fear that she would land on her face. And her body liked his touch, enjoyed how he erupted a cluster of sensations through her, over her, around her.

She felt his gentle touch on her wrist—the hand with the scar. She moaned in refusal, but he continued to slide his fingers along the length of hers, his thumb tracing the puffy red line. Sparks traveled up her arm and all she could do was stand there, allowing him to coax forbidden sensations within her.  He brought her hand to his mouth and he kissed the spot where the scar was reddest, where the knife had first entered her flesh, the deepest cut. Then he traced the line with the tip of his tongue, upward from her palm, over her sensitive wrist and stopping where the scar ended, then kissing her again. Her veins quaked and her heart skipped ten beats. She’d never known such tenderness, such emotion.

A low groan slipped from within his chest and he easily turned her around to face him. She met his burning gaze and her lungs deflated. Seconds ticked by, maybe hours…maybe forever. She was in a hypnotic state as she watched him, his lovely eyes, his beautiful mouth that promised passionate kisses and of the secret things he could do to her—for her. For the first time in her entire life, she wanted a man to rip her clothes from her body and take her—hard and fast. She wanted to know what he felt like, have him explore her virgin flesh.

Would he oblige her?

****

It occurred to Victor that he was in some kind of fascinating time warp, where everything stood still and the only two things that mattered were the woman he held and the need burrowed deep in his groin.

He was captivated by her, mesmerized by how beautiful she looked in the gown, how her nipples caressed the fabric as if searching for a mouth to suckle them raw. Her hooded, ‘fuck me’ gaze that reached into his center and threatened to make him cum in his boxers. Oh, but she wasn’t the fucking type. Not Avary Pine with the innocence of a lamb. He had to force air into his lungs, pushing it out as he watched her closely, not wanting to miss one glimpse of change in her expression.

He registered her every soft curve, her scent, the delicious way she whimpered, not in pain, but in lust. His thigh was tucked between hers and heat seeped past the denim. She looked up at him with brilliantly blue eyes, shooting desire through him that rocked his world. He’d always known she was beautiful, but now he added sexy and dangerous to the mix.

Although they knew each other only shortly—knew very little about each other—he realized that he could totally lose himself to her. That thought scared the hell out of him, and it should her too, because he knew once he loved, he would love with every fiber of his being.

He definitely wanted her—on the brink of needing her more than he needed his next breath.

And if he wasn’t already sure that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she closed her eyes and her lips slightly parted. Every cell on his body came to alert. She inhaled sharply and her chest lifted, her lovely, large breasts pressed against his chest, and his cock grew so big he thought it would find its way out of the waist of his jeans.

Her eyes opened slowly and there was a new look, one with purpose, a resolve of how she felt. She stood on tiptoes, placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed one corner of his mouth, then surprised him by following the seam with the tip of her tongue. He growled and pressed his mouth to hers, pushing his tongue deep, swirling around her precious mouth. She stood her ground, tongues grinding, rubbing, need transferring between them in heated waves.

He bent, placed his hands on the back of her thighs and lifted her high. She wrapped her legs around his hips, the hem of her gown coming high on her waist and the apex of her thighs pressed his groin. He backed up until he reached the island, turned and placed her on the edge, situating himself in the wide V of her spread thighs. Both were breathing heavily—both wanted to take things to the next level.

Dropping his hands to the top of the gown, he pushed the material down over her bare breasts, molding the firm mounds under his palms, rubbing her swollen nipples with his thumbs. She arched her back, moans of pleasure rolling off her parted lips, sending scorching signals to his cock. He wanted to tear off her panties and thrust himself deep inside of her body, feel her wrap around him, but he needed to take things slowly.

Lowering his mouth to her breast, he suckled the pale pink nipple, flicking his tongue over the bud, then sucking the flesh as far into his mouth as he could. He could lick her tits all day long and never get enough. He had a feeling she’d like him to.

Her nails nicked his scalp, scraping across his skin as she tugged him closer. Her scent grew heavy in his nostrils and he knew she was ready. He found the elastic of her panties, slipping his fingers past the wispy barrier, he touched the soft, tuft of hair at her sex. It’d been a long time since he’d been with a woman who didn’t wax her pussy bare. The thought of her still having tight curls on her sex excited him, made him harder, if that was possible.

He spread her moist lips wide, paying special attention to her clit, tweaking it until the silken flesh swelled under his fingers. Her breaths were now pants, heavy and fast, her heart beating so fast he could hear it, or maybe that was his own.

“You like my hand on your pussy, don’t you, sweetheart. I bet you’d like my tongue lapping your juices,” he muttered against her breast. “I bet you like it fast and hard.”

“I-I don’t know,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “No reason to be shy, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

She stiffened slightly. “I don’t know.”

He froze, lifting his chin. She brought her head up and met his gaze. “Has no man ever…?” She gave him a jerky shake of her head. “How is that possible?”

“I’ve never been with a man before.”

“Avary, what are you saying? Are you a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck!” He took a step back, pulling his hand from her body. Her juices still moistened his fingers.

“Victor?” Her eyes were dark.

“Avary, I’m not the right man for you,” he muttered.

She reached out and touched his shoulder, her scent an intoxicating fragrance that seeped into him.  His adrenaline was so strong, he believed he could have jumped off a high rise and flown.

“You don’t want me?” her soft voice tugged at his veins.

He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along the soft skin. “Oh, sweetheart, I want you, but I can’t have you.” He’d almost allowed things to get out of hand. He couldn’t take her innocence.