Tempting the Knight (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 2)

by Heidi Rice

  “Thank you. I consider coffee making an essential and much maligned art. I got them to grind the beans fresh at the gourmet market.” Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, which looked new, she surveyed the sandwich makings. “I’m afraid you missed breakfast, but I was just going to make a picnic and head to Manhattan Beach.”

  “Returning to the scene of the crime, huh?”

  “Something like that.” The smile tipped up. “But I’d be more than happy to make you a sandwich before I go. If you tell me what you’d like?” She swept her hand over the array of fillings she had out on the counter—ham, bologna, Monterey Jack, tuna, mayo—she seemed to have covered all the bases and then some.

  “You planning on eating all that?” he asked. “I thought models had to starve themselves?” Although her thin frame managed to look slender not scrawny, he knew for a fact he could span that tiny waist with one hand.

  “I like food and I like variety. And starving yourself is so passé. Which is one of the reasons why I jacked in my modeling job.”

  He straightened from the counter. “Since when?”

  “Since Thursday night just before I skipped out on the Foundation’s charity do. Hence my celebratory swim on Manhattan Beach. Which I now plan to repeat in broad daylight and hopefully without the ‘disorderly conduct’ bit.”

  So that explained the hair then. He wanted to question her some more. But she had a challenging look on her face, as if daring him to try. He guessed it wasn’t any of his business. But he was still super curious. Why would anyone jack in a multi-million dollar job, which only required them to stand around and look good? Not something that took a great deal of effort for her, he’d guess. Up close her skin was almost translucent, those dark, blue eyes wide and slanted at the edges giving her an exotic, unusual beauty. In person, she was even more stunning than in her billboard ads.

  “You want some company?” he said on impulse.

  He didn’t have any specific plans for the Labor Day weekend. He knew Faith would be expecting him at the pub that afternoon for the family’s annual Labor Day barbeque. But he’d happily give that a miss.

  He generally avoided visits to Sullivan’s—the neighborhood pub in Bay Ridge his family had owned for two generations—if he could. He certainly didn’t love the place the way his pop and Faith and his three younger brothers did. He’d worked his butt off to get a scholarship to Columbia Law and make a career for himself at the Legal Aid Society, fighting for the rights of the poor and downtrodden, because he came from a solidly blue-collar, Irish American background that he was proud of. But he’d always found Sully’s a depressing place to be.

  The bitter scent of Irish stout that clung to the dark wooden booths, the tinny sound of the traditional reels and jigs his old man played on a loop whenever his brothers weren’t around to provide live music, even listening to the regulars shoot the breeze with Faith about ‘the old country’ while she wiped down the bar, brought back memories of his mother, and the back-breaking hours she’d worked when he was a kid to keep the place going.

  Hours that had taken their toll but which his pop never acknowledged and his siblings didn’t seem to remember. But he remembered, far too well.

  “Haven’t you got plans for today?” Zelda asked, neatly cutting into his grim thoughts.

  “Nothing I can’t break,” he said, dumping the last of the cooling coffee in the sink. He’d text Faith, tell her something had come up. Although he didn’t plan to tell her Zelda was staying with him. He kind of hoped she didn’t already know. Something else to quiz Zelda about. Had Faith given her his cell number? Weird he wasn’t as pissed with his little sister about that as he had been the night before last. “Give me ten to shower and change.”

  He headed off to the bathroom, pleased to have an excuse to ditch his family and hang out with Zelda, somewhere public, where they wouldn’t get into any more trouble.

  Zelda Madison had a wild, reckless streak that was bold and beautiful and exciting, which was why shampoo companies would pay a fortune to make her the face of their brand. But she was a guilty pleasure a guy like him couldn’t afford. He had a plan for his life. A plan he’d put in motion in middle school. A plan which involved hard work, dedication, determination and no distractions—such as surprise booty calls with runaway supermodels. Plus he’d promised himself he’d be a gentleman from now on. So he needed to keep his hands off her for the next couple of days. Only problem was, his resolve this morning didn’t feel a whole lot stronger than it had yesterday evening, because even in her tomboy pants and T-shirt she still looked good enough to eat—or at the very least lick all over.

  A picnic on the beach would be the perfect place to enjoy her company, without risking having his libido torpedo his good intentions again. It was a bright sunny day, the temperature in the high eighties, and it was the start of the Labor Day weekend. Manhattan Beach would be packed. Even a bad girl like Zelda couldn’t tempt him into too much trouble when they were both under the watchful eye of hundreds of Russian Orthodox Jewish mamas.

  “Wait a minute,” she called after him. He swung ’round. “You didn’t tell me what sandwich filling you want?”

  “Whatever you’ve got’s good. I’m starving.”

  Starving for what though, he wasn’t going to think about.

  Better make that a cold shower.

  *

  “Wow, it’s a lot busier than the last time I was here.” Zelda shielded her eyes from the glare of the mid-afternoon sun and tried to ignore the flex and bunch of Ty Sullivan’s shoulder muscles under the royal blue polo shirt he wore with ragged denim cut offs. The man looked even better in his beachwear than he did in a creased two piece designer suit. He’d slicked his thick dark hair back from his high brow, and hadn’t bothered to shave off the day-old stubble. She noticed the dark, swarthy skin that seemed to have tanned even more in the ten minutes since they’d walked through the park from the road where they’d finally found a free space to park his SUV. Faith had once told her Ty was one of the black Irish, because his skin was as dark as his sister’s was fair.

  “Not many families picnic here at midnight, that’s for sure,” he said, but tempered the remark with an easy smile.

  “Speaking of family picnics, I thought you were supposed to be attending the big Sullivan barbeque bash this afternoon?” she said, trying not to sound wistful. Or worse, envious.

  She’d always loved hearing the stories Faith told about her brothers and their family pub when they’d been at St. John’s together. Faith’s mother had died not long before she arrived at St. J’s a year before Zelda, and Zelda suspected the stories had been a way for Faith to work through her grief. But in a strange way they’d helped Zelda work through her grief, too. Because just imagining herself as a part of that close-knit, loving family had comforted her as well.

  Ty had always featured strongly in those tales, which had been whispered between their beds late at night. The big brother who had punched a local bully in the nose for stealing his sister’s lunch money, or worked two jobs to help fund his way through college. Of course, when she’d finally been introduced to Ty that fateful day in the school foyer, she’d dismissed him as a judgmental, self-righteous prig. But she could see now her reaction had had more to do with her own envy—that Faith had a big brother prepared to fight her corner, instead of presume her guilt, and a family who would stand behind her and love her no matter what—than it did with Ty’s judgmental glare. Why wouldn’t he dislike her? Everyone had assumed she was the one who had stolen the wine. And normally they wouldn’t have been wrong.

  But now she felt guilty for dragging Ty away from important family business. As much as she had enjoyed his company last night, and as much as she appreciated watching the way his biceps strained the fabric of his polo shirt as he placed their cooler on the sand and spread out the blanket she’d packed—she would have been quite happy to come to the beach alone. Well, happy enough.

  “How do you know about the
family barbeque?” he asked, prizing the lid off the cooler to pull out a soda.

  “Because Faith’s been planning it for weeks. I don’t want to be the cause of you missing it. You certainly don’t have to babysit me.” Which was what she was worried about. She had a feeling Ty Sullivan had an overdeveloped big brother complex. Something she definitely did not want to be the target of given last night’s X-rated exploits.

  “Faith won’t mind if I skip it. She’s cool about that stuff.”

  More like Faith would never tell him she minded, Zelda thought, because Faith loved him.

  “She knows I have a life,” he added, dipping into the cooler to pull out one of the sandwiches she’d wrapped in greased paper.

  “Has it ever occurred to you that Faith might not have much of a life?”

  “How do you mean?” He bit into his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, apparently unfazed by the suggestion.

  “Well, she’s sort of tied to the pub because of your father’s health. She used to want to be an artist when we were in school. She would draw all these amazing pictures in this sketchbook she took everywhere with her.”

  “I remember she got a place at Columbia to study art,” he said. “But then Pop had his heart attack and she wanted to stay and look after him. And the pub.”

  “Yes, I know, but that was eight years ago now. I wonder what happened to her dream of becoming an artist and going to Paris?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you should ask her?”

  “Maybe I will,” she replied, trying not to be annoyed with the dismissive tone.

  Who was she to get belligerent on Faith’s behalf? Faith had never said she felt tied down, or disappointed with life. Well, except when it came to her nonexistent sex life. And what did Zelda really know about healthy sibling relationships? Given that her relationship with her only sibling had barely functioned for over a decade?

  “You do that,” he said, with easy confidence. “But I wouldn’t worry about Faith. She loves the pub.”

  She pulled out her own sandwich, folded down the paper to take a nibble of the chewy rye bread, intrigued by the edge she had detected in his voice. “And you don’t?”

  He finished his sandwich, watching her, the intent stare tightening her skin. The way it had been doing last night. Interesting? His emerald green gaze still had the same potency hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said at last, the hint of defensiveness in his tone more than enough to pique her interest. And make her fairly sure her assumption was correct.

  “I go to Sully’s once a month, to meet up with the girls,” she said. “I’ve bumped into all three of your brothers there quite a few times. But I find it odd I’ve never seen you there. Not once. You didn’t even show the afternoon Finn and Dawn got together,” she added, remembering the impromptu celebration at the pub a few months ago. “And I know Faith tried to contact you.”

  He shrugged and concentrated on grabbing another sandwich and then unwrapping it. Yup, definitely defensive. Bordering on guilty. How fascinating. Did her white knight have a chink in his armor?

  “I have a full-on job. It demands a lot of my time. I was on a case that afternoon. And I don’t generally get much opportunity to hang out in bars.”

  The implication that she did was duly noted. And ignored. She happened to be an expert at handling the old offense-as-defense maneuver after the last few months of sharing a home with her brother.

  “An interesting excuse, but let’s examine the evidence, counselor.”

  He didn’t speak, so she took that as her cue to continue.

  “Your family has a regular time-honored tradition of having big family get-togethers every Labor Day weekend. Something you know your sister has been planning for weeks. And to which you are invited and have already agreed to attend.”

  “How do you know I agreed to go?”

  “Do you deny it?” she shot back.

  “Well, I guess I didn’t exactly…”

  “Interruption overruled, then,” she interrupted. “For badgering the witness.”

  “Why am I getting the feeling you watch way too much Judge Judy?”

  She grinned at the wry—and surprisingly accurate comment. “Judge Judy often makes some very good points.”

  “Judge Judy is an actual judge, whereas her viewers aren’t. Even if some of them think they are.”

  “Right, that’s definitely badgering the witness. Now, back to my evidence.”

  “Supposition and hearsay isn’t admissible as evidence.”

  “It is if it’s true,” she continued, riding roughshod over his objection. “Now let me see, where was I? Oh yes.” She popped up a forefinger before he could interrupt again. “You agreed to go and yet you’re skipping out for very spurious reasons. And without even phoning your sister to let her know. Which makes me wonder if that Catholic guilt of yours might be in play again. And why would you feel guilty about not going, unless you don’t want to go but don’t want to admit it?”

  “I don’t consider having a picnic with you on Manhattan Beach a spurious reason.”

  “You should. You don’t even like me.”

  She took another bite of her sandwich, savoring the sharp, creamy flavor of the cheese—and the odd glow in her chest at the thought that he didn’t consider her a spurious reason.

  Progress.

  “What makes you think I don’t like you?” He put down his sandwich, and picked up her hand. His thumb stroked down her fingers, and she felt it all the way to her toes.

  Uh oh. A bit too much progress.

  She snatched her hand back, knowing when she was being sidetracked. Even if she was enjoying being sidetracked. “Now you’re adding misdirecting the witness to badgering.”

  “I thought you were the prosecutor?” he countered, the lopsided smile doing funny things to her insides.

  Yup definitely misdirection.

  She needed to get this cross-examination back on track before he misdirected her right into a kiss. “Okay, misdirecting the prosecutor then.”

  “You know, you’re the cutest prosecutor I’ve ever come up against.”

  Leaning forward, she tipped up his sunglasses, assessed the gleam of amusement and something hotter in his eyes and then dropped them back on his nose.

  “That’s an underhanded tactic and you know it,” she all but purred.

  “Didn’t you know, all’s fair in love and fantasy prosecutions?”

  She did now. A lot of good it did her. Her mind scrambled to engage having been somewhat misdirected by the fireball of lust spreading up her torso. “Just answer me one question.”

  He’d picked up her hand and began nibbling her fingertips. Misdirecting her even more. “Hmmm?”

  “Why did you really ask to go to the beach with me? Was it to avoid going to the pub?”

  “I agreed to go to the beach with you so I would stop thinking about jumping you again. I needed a distraction.”

  “Surely going to the pub would have been a better distraction,” she said, her voice more breathless than she wanted it to be. “Seeing as I wouldn’t even be there.”

  “And miss seeing you in a bikini? And quite possibly wet? I love my family. I don’t love them that much.”

  “I don’t have a bikini. I was going to swim in my underwear.”

  “And get another citation?” He sounded outraged. But she wasn’t convinced, because the grin only got more wicked. “Boy, am I glad I didn’t let you come here alone.”

  “But surely there’s nothing wrong with swimming in your underwear in broad daylight? Especially as you really can’t tell this bra and panties isn’t a bikini.”

  “I don’t think we should risk it, you’re already into me for two hundred bucks.”

  “What do you suggest we do then?” she asked. “It’s way too hot to just sit here in the sun.” And getting hotter by the second.

  “How about we go back to the barge and investigate exactly how mu
ch that bra and panties looks like a bikini when wet. If we find them innocent we can come back in a couple of hours.”

  She swallowed the next bite of her sandwich, with difficulty, past the lump of lust in her throat. “Are you saying you want to cross-examine my underwear, counselor?”

  “Any objections?” he said, the grin positively devilish now.

  Endorphins careered round her body at a rate of knots. “I suppose not,” she said. “As long as you promise to be thorough.”

  He balled up the sandwich paper and dumped it in the cooler. Grasping her hand, he stood up, then dragged her close, to plant a kiss on her lips. “When it comes to cross-examining hostile underwear…” His mouth curved and her breath gushed out in a staggered gasp. “I think you’ll find I’m extremely thorough.”

  *

  It had taken them nearly twenty minutes to find a parking space in the crowded roads near the beach. It took them less than ten to find the car and race back to the marina.

  He took her hand as they headed through the security gate to the dock. The barge was cool inside, the air conditioner unit working overtime. But her flesh felt hot and sticky nonetheless. They’d hardly spoken on the ride back.

  This probably wasn’t a good idea. She flattened her hands against his chest as he hauled her into his arms. He stilled, although she could feel his chest vibrating with tension.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  “Not necessarily, as long as we both know this is just an endorphin fix.”

  Not something she would normally bother to point out. But Ty Sullivan wasn’t like the men she usually screwed around with. He was an upstanding guy; he was one of Faith’s brothers. And she doubted he was as well versed in the etiquette of the anonymous hookup as she was, because very few people were.

  “I just thought I should clarify that,” she added, feeling mildly idiotic when his brow creased in a curious frown.

  “Got it.” He dipped his head to nuzzle the pulse point in her neck, his hands settling on her waist and cruising up under her new T-shirt. “Are we good to go, now?”