Heat of the Knight

by Em Petrova

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved

  Heat of the Knight

  Copyright Em Petrova 2018

  Ebook Edition

  Electronic book publication 2018

  All rights reserved. Any violation of this will be prosecuted by the law.

  Other titles in this series:

  All Knighter

  Heat of the Knight

  Hot Louisiana Knight

  Sean Knight is second in command of Knight Ops, a special task force that’s quickly gaining more notoriety than Seal Team Six. While Sean enjoys showing off his tactical skills on life-threatening missions, he also loves coming home to Louisiana to relax and do some catfishin’… and hunting for sexy females to warm his bed.

  But the mysterious Creole woman he wants isn’t interested in his bed—because she’s working alongside him to find a missing nuclear warhead.

  When six-feet-two inches of sexy steel in camo walks into Elise’s office and decrees she’s working with him, she knows Sean is the type of man she wants to avoid. Though their late nights spent cracking codes are making it hard to stay on task. Who can blame her when Sean Knight is packing heat in all the best ways? While their work takes priority, she can’t help but think deciphering Sean is worth her while, especially when the hard-ass man admits that lately he’s been wondering how it feels to be with a woman who actually cares if he returns home safe after these dangerous missions.

  Heat of the Knight

  by

  Em Petrova

  Chapter One

  “This SOB is fast.” Ben’s huffed words filled Sean’s earpiece and ratcheted his heart rate up five notches.

  Missing out on a foot chase when you were late joining your special ops unit was frowned upon in the military. And when the commander was your big brother, the outcome was even worse. He was in for a world of shit for this, and all for a woman.

  “Heading east. I have the agent in sight. Keep your heads on a swivel.” Ben’s update was followed by several grunts of agreement from the rest of the team.

  Sean slammed the pedal of his old El Camino to the floor and gunned it through the New Orleans streets. The city was quieter at this hour, unusual in this area. He didn’t like it—his sixth sense was blaring like an alarm during an air strike.

  “C’mon,” he urged his baby, smoothing his hand over the leather-wrapped steering wheel. Not half an hour before, he’d been stroking a woman into peak after peak. Getting the summons from Knight Ops was the kiss of death for a relationship, and this was the second time he’d walked out on some very dirty bedroom play with Ali.

  But he’d jumped out of bed, at the ready. While throwing on clothes and hopping behind the wheel, he never thought the Knight Ops team would be able to locate a Russian spy who’d evaded captivity for a decade. Yet they’d found him in their own back yard and had eyes on him.

  “Heading northeast now. Past Creole Joe’s.” Ben’s words came in his normal voice, and the only sign Sean had that he was sprinting was the small hiccup of air between words.

  Sean took in his surroundings. Creole Joe’s was a few blocks over, and he could head the Russian off.

  Without bothering with turn signals, he took a bend at top speed. His left front tire rolled up over the curb but came down smoothly, barely jarring him. He ran a hand over the steering wheel, giving it the caress of affection it deserved. His car might be circa ’78 but it outperformed many modern models. And looked cool as hell.

  “Closing the gap. Ninja, you got him in view?” Ben asked.

  A laugh sounded. “Since when are you calling me Ninja?” their youngest brother Roades asked.

  “Quit fucking around and answer the question, dickhead.”

  Another laugh from Roades. “The agent is not in sight, Captain.”

  “Dammit. You and Dylan must be off course.”

  “We’re not off course,” Dylan put in. “We know these streets like we know our own dicks, sir.”

  More laughter from the other guys, who were fanned across the five-block area, by the sounds of it. Still, Sean was the closest. And he had a six-cylinder.

  A flash of something caught his eye and he veered left just as the man they were chasing hurdled a fire hydrant feet away from Sean. He screeched to a stop and threw the car in park, hitting the ground running. The Russian might be fast, but so was he.

  Pumping his arms close to his body to generate speed, he gained on the man. The guy threw a wild look over his shoulder, and in that second Sean knew he’d do anything to escape. He was a wild animal, cornered by the people who’d ship him to his mother country, where he’d be up on charges on his failure to execute his mission and looked in the eyes before being shot for letting down his commanders. If he stayed in the US, he’d only find himself imprisoned for life under top security.

  He threw himself forward and hit the man from behind, launching them both onto the pavement. The air hung with the scent of yeast from the nearby bakery, but Sean’s nose flooded with the reek of sweat and fear.

  “Don’t fucking move,” he growled as he whipped the man’s wrists together, and with one jerk of his hand, bound them with a zip-tie he preferred to rope. Easier to carry and you could make them as tight as you needed.

  “You got me out of the bed of a very beautiful woman, asshole, and I’m not going to go easy on you,” he said to the man glaring up at him from one eye. He tightened the tie until the flesh swelled around the plastic—he couldn’t risk the guy getting free.

  “I got him on the ground,” he said to his team.

  “What the fuck? Thunder?” His brother Chaz sounded stunned.

  “No, it’s Santa Clause. Did you assholes think I’d abandon you?” He kept a knee in the man’s back. “Name,” he demanded.

  “Fuck off.” Damn, the guy’s English was better than his own. No wonder he’d managed to fit in undetected in this country for a decade.

  Using only a portion of his strength, Sean hauled the man to his feet. “Walk nicely now. I don’t want to have to take out my weapon. Then again, you did fuck up a very enjoyable experience.”

  When the man didn’t budge, Sean kicked his Achilles. The Russian groaned and slowly trundled forward.

  Sean led the criminal to the back of the El Camino and depressed a button to raise the tonneau cover over the truck bed. The cover lifted, revealing a tool box big enough to fit a man.

  The Russian tensed. “You don’t plan to put me in there, do you?”

  He looked over the Russian’s physique. Yeah, he’d fit, no problem.

  Sean contemplated the scars on his face, probably put there by the people he’d failed. Yet there were more open areas of skin than scars, which meant he’d had a successful career. Now it was at an end.

  “Yes, I fucking do intend to put you in there. Did you think you were getting a cushy ride to the airport?” He dragged the man a few more inches to the back of the vehicle and pushed up the lid of the toolbox. “See? Lots of space. Breathing room, we’ll call it. Except you’ll be gagged.” He one-handedly removed a bandana from his back pocket, ignoring the faint whiff of perfume clinging to the fibers.

  “Smells like a cheap whore,” the Russian spat before Sean stuffed it in his mouth.

  He glared at the spy, who stood two inches shorter. “Not nice to talk about a lady like that. Now g
et in the box.”

  He stood there unmoving just as Ben and Chaz careened around the corner and skidded to a stop by the El Camino.

  “Now it’s three against one and you don’t have use of your hands. I know you don’t like those odds. Get in the box.” Sean’s voice grated with authority.

  Ben and Chaz closed in, reaching for the Russian. Chaz used a short bungee cord around his mouth to hold in the bandana Sean had stuffed inside. Then the two lifted him bodily and dropped him into the box.

  Sean stared at the man impassively. In the past few months he’d been part of Operation Freedom Flag Southern US division, or OFFSUS, he’d seen and done some wild shit, but this guy deserved far worse than transport in his toolbox.

  Sean moved to close the lid, but the man kept his ankle on the edge. “Move it or I’ll smash it. We weren’t told to deliver you whole—just alive.”

  So much hate burned from the man’s eyes as Sean bound his feet as well.

  “You never told me your name,” Sean said in a deadly, low Russian with a perfect accent. The guy’s eyes widened minutely at Sean’s use of his native tongue. “But you don’t need to. Say goodnight, Aleksandr Polakoff.”

  He slammed the lid and turned to his brothers and fellow teammates.

  Ben raked his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Sean.”

  Without a word, Sean circled to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. Through the open window, he heard Ben giving Chaz orders to meet up with the rest of the team and follow. Then Ben slid in, riding shotgun.

  Sean pulled into the street.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Ben demanded.

  “Occupied. Won’t happen again, Captain.” He really did feel damn bad that Knight Ops had begun this mission without him, solely because he couldn’t untie Ali, make sure she was okay, and dress and arrive in time.

  “Damn straight you will, or I’ll have you court martialed and shot.” Ben’s tone was the no-nonsense bark of a captain, not a big brother. And Sean couldn’t blame him. The team’s success and safety depended on them all doing their jobs.

  “I know it’s all bluff.” Sean shot him a sidelong look.

  Ben didn’t glance away from the windshield. “Try me.”

  Silence descended as they rolled through the Louisiana streets, the lights of businesses switched off and leaving only shadowed storefronts.

  “Why the hell was Polakoff in the Big Easy anyway?” Sean asked after a spell.

  “Who the hell knows. Must be meeting someone.”

  “Who tipped off OFFSUS?”

  Ben lifted a shoulder and let it fall. The action could be a shrug or Ben’s signature move when he felt uncomfortable about answering a question. Not unusual in the Knight family, considering their positions.

  “Guess we’ll hear it all when we debrief.”

  “Yeah.” Ben sat silent for another block or two. Finally, he said, “So how tall was she?”

  Sean grinned. “A gentleman never talks.” His mind was thick with images of the sultry Ali, long-limbed and strung up, about to be seduced out of her pretty little mind. He’d been seeing her for a month or so, and to say their nights were hot was like calling a Marine a wimp.

  “You bringing her to the cabin this weekend?”

  Now it was time for Sean to shift his shoulders in a semblance of an uncommitted shrug. While he’d been considering taking Ali to the family cabin to meet his maman and pére, he wasn’t sure they were at that level yet. Besides, Knights were playboys, not known for settling down.

  “I’ve thought about bringing her,” he said finally. “If the family is actually at the cabin, that is.” The Knight brothers were first and foremost defenders of their country. While based in the South, they still found themselves flown off the grid at times, gaining more notoriety than Seal Team 6 the past few months.

  “Yeah, might not be a good idea to bring her just yet.”

  Sean nodded, eyes directed on the road leading to the base where they’d unload the baggage in the back.

  “You did good back there, Sean. But you know I have to tell Jackson that you were late to the scene.”

  He grunted. “Second in command’s usually the fuck-up, so he’ll be expecting it.”

  The gates opened, and he rolled through, followed by the black SUV carrying the rest of the team. The next hours consisted of an exhaustive and exhausting debriefing. When Colonel Jackson got Sean alone, the intimidating officer gave him the cold stare that typically made a Marine’s gonads crawl inside and seek shelter.

  Standing at attention, Sean stared back.

  “At ease, Knight. I hear you were late to the party.”

  “With all respect, sir, I was the party. I captured Polakoff.”

  He narrowed his eyes at Sean. “You Knight brothers are all the same—mouthy. Your parents raise you to be mouthy, Knight?”

  “No, sir. Had my mouth washed out with soap more days than I can count.”

  Colonel Jackson grunted. “That El Camino’s pretty damn good for hauling prisoners.”

  He grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  Long seconds passed. Sean had been sized up many times in his lifetime, and he knew when a man was assessing him. Colonel Jackson was damn good at making a Marine shake in his boots, if Sean was the boot-shaking type.

  “What do you want for yourself, Knight?”

  He blinked. “Sir?”

  “What are your goals? And you better not give me that bullshit Ben did when he said he wanted to golf, fish and fuck.”

  Sean smirked. “I love me some catfishin’, sir. Can’t deny it.” His Cajun drawl was even more pronounced when talking about the things he loved.

  “Catfishin’. Hmm. I’d say you love hunting the ladies too.” He gave Sean’s shoulder a sniff. “Do you have aspirations of having your own team someday?”

  He jolted. “My own team?”

  “Leading your own team. Taking control.”

  Mind whirling, Sean wondered if the colonel had learned to dig into a man’s psyche or if he was in this superior position because he knew how to do it. Since his second tour, Sean had thought of pushing for that top spot in the food chain, but since being recruited to OFFSUS, he hadn’t given it much thought.

  “You’re damn good at strategy, Knight.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “There might be something opening up for you in the months to come. Be sure your tardiness doesn’t hamper that. Dismissed.”

  Sean gave a stiff salute, but his heart was pounding out of time. His own team? Leading men of his own?

  He walked out of Jackson’s office and started down the corridor. Dylan suddenly flanked him. “Okay, bro?”

  “Yeah.” He held out his fisted hand and Dylan brushed his knuckles against his. Sean had to get out of here. Besides needing to think on Jackson’s words, he had a beautiful woman who deserved a finish to what they’d started.

  “Does Ben need anything else, because I’m going to jam.”

  “Nah, go on. She shouldn’t be kept waiting.” Dylan raised his chin in farewell to Sean and dropped back to speak with Chaz, who was emerging from another office.

  As Sean sailed through the streets to reach Ali, he didn’t think about the spy who’d occupied the toolbox just hours before. He could only think of one thing—a certain sultry vixen.

  At her place, he used the key she’d shown him hidden among a potted fern and let himself in. The place was silent, dark. His balls ached in anticipation, fueled by the adrenaline rush of the mission he’d just completed.

  Fucking after a battle was a high unlike any other, and even if she had no clue what he did for a living, she could benefit from his adrenaline woody.

  He pushed open the bedroom door and peeked in. His breath caught at the sight of her legs in the air… and another man balls-deep in his girl.

  Ali looked over the man’s shoulder at Sean and gasped, trying to scramble into another, less raunchy position. But it was too late—Sean’s emo
tions were already switched off.

  “Oh my God, Sean!”

  He only stared at her face, not giving a fuck what the other man looked like. “Guess I’m not taking you home to Maman.” He twisted away.

  “Wait, Sean. I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  He kept walking, his heart a block of ice. “That’s exactly the problem.” He tossed her key on the coffee table on the way past and slammed the door behind him.

  As he got behind the wheel of his El Camino, he realized why he’d told Ben he wasn’t ready to bring her to the cabin—the connection wasn’t strong enough. He had no idea what a true relationship should feel like, but having a woman eager for him to return was number one on his list.

  Plenty of women out there were eager and supportive. Hell, Ben’s woman Dahlia had tracked him down and hopped a flight to New York City to be with him the night before they flew out on one of the most dangerous missions Sean had ever survived. There would be plenty more like it… but who would be here to give a damn if he returned?

  * * * * *

  Elise walked into her bedroom wrapped in a silky robe and came face-to-face with the six-foot-three-inch wall of muscle that was her ex-husband.

  “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” The words came out as resigned. Since this happened all the time, she was resigned. She moved past his chiseled flesh and started toward her walk-in closet.

  “I like what you’ve done with the decorating.” Bo, aka Robert Hawkings, known as Hawk to his team of special ops agents working with homeland security, waved at her surroundings. “It doesn’t look anything like you, but I like it.”

  “Thanks. I think.” She’d changed the space to reflect her personal tastes. On the outside, she was a hard-nosed special operator for the US government, but at night she wanted to shuck off her tough persona and crawl into her big white shabby chic bed with the flowered quilts and ruffled pillowcases. Her lamp was antique glass and the shade sported pompoms that Bo flicked with a fingertip.