All Knighter

by Em Petrova

  He stood at the side of the floor, watching pretty girls moving with their pretty friends, sparkly tops reflecting the lights. Couples bobbed to the beat, standing close with their heads together, talking over the music.

  Ben was happy to be off the job and away from his brothers, who’d surely be setting up poles for night fishing and cracking open some beers right about now.

  His gaze roamed around the room, moving from one face to the next. It only took him a few before he realized he was only searching out dark-haired women.

  If he found her, he didn’t know how she’d even react to seeing him. He’d never looked her up and had left her sleeping with only a note of farewell. Why hadn’t he contacted her again? He knew where she lived. Sure, he had a reputation for loving and leaving women with no remorse and hardly a backward glance as he left their beds, but his thoughts had returned to Dahlia—a lot.

  What were the chances he’d see her again tonight? He was a fool, but that didn’t stop him from seeking out the next head of rich black hair in the crowd.

  After he disregarded half a dozen more women, his heart gave a hard jerk against his ribs.

  Could that be?

  He circled the crowd to get a better look. Too many bodies in the way. He’d have to go in.

  Carrying his drink, he stepped onto the floor, his gaze trained on the spot where he’d seen the dark beauty. She was wearing a deep red top, a color that was too close to what Dahlia had been wearing when he’d seen her last.

  Actually, he’d seen that red top wadded up half under her bed on his way out, but that was beside the point.

  Someone jostled him from behind, and the whiskey in the bottom of his glass sloshed over his fingers. He raised the glass and swallowed the rest and then passed his empty glass to a dancer.

  She looked at it, back to him, smiled and continued dancing, still holding the glass.

  Ben placed his hand on a guy’s shoulder and moved him aside so he could pass. By the time he reached the spot where he’d seen the woman, she was no longer standing there.

  He was tall, had the advantage at six-three of towering over most men. But Dahlia was much more petite and could easily be hidden by so many bodies. If she was here at all.

  Last time they’d been together, he’d been coming off his stint in North Korea. Missions didn’t make him flighty—coming back and joining civilization did. He had trouble transitioning, working out how he fit in after the shit he’d seen or done. Tonight being the perfect example.

  His mind had been pretty blown up with details of the mission, and Dahlia had managed to wipe it to a blank slate with a single stroke of her silky-soft, talented fingers. Not to mention that sweet mouth and all the things it was capable of.

  Great, now he was sporting wood again. He stepped around a group of dancers and spotted the dark hair that had fallen like a sheet around them as she rode him well into the night. The curve of creamy shoulder.

  He closed his fingers on that shoulder and she spun to him, tipping her head all the way back to see his face.

  Arousal hit his system like a fucking SS missile, along with a blast of something that felt uncomfortably like relief. Her eyes were the same deep chocolate that he’d fallen into before, and no, nothing about her appearance had been exaggerated by his brain. She was even more beautiful, if that was possible.

  He breathed out a word, knowing she wouldn’t hear above the music, but he needed to say it anyway. “Dahlia.”

  * * * * *

  All night long, Dahlia’d been giving herself pep talks. She was not going to see Ben, so just forget it. She wasn’t here to go home with somebody, only to meet a few new people to hang with and fill her boring evening.

  Now he was standing right in front of her, looking bigger, stronger and more bad-ass than she remembered.

  Before she could overcome the reaction of her body at seeing him, she caught a whiff of his aftershave, though he didn’t appear to have shaved in a week. She’d stopped dancing and stood there stupidly staring up at him. They were the only two people on the dance floor standing dead still.

  He still held onto her shoulder and squeezed it as he leaned in. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Not “Can we talk about me leaving before you woke.” Not “I never even asked for your number.”

  She gave herself the fifth pep talk of the night. You’re not going home with Ben.

  But her body had other ideas, if the heat pooling in her lower belly and slipping down between her legs was any indication.

  She nodded. and he didn’t hesitate. Sliding his hand down her arm, he caught her by the hand and towed her through the group of people. If she’d tried to leave the dance floor on her own, it would have taken her fifteen minutes of pushing and excusing herself to get by, but the mass parted for Ben and closed the gap behind her.

  Her mind was going haywire with the messages it was receiving. Her body was already screaming to be with this huge Cajun. To have him backing her against a wall and hemming her in with his broad chest. Crushing her lips beneath his, taking control as he had all those months ago.

  But her brain was trying to wrap itself around some logic. She wasn’t sleeping with him again. No way. She had some self-respect, and while they’d both enjoyed the experience—well at least she thought he had—she wasn’t going for round two.

  He led her to the back of the club where you could hold a conversation, but all the tables were full. Instead of turning around like any other human on the planet, Ben marched up to a table and flicked his head at the patrons.

  They stared at him for a second before getting up and leaving.

  Holy shit. That was arrogant as hell.

  And it had worked.

  The man was very different from anybody she’d ever known, which was saying a lot since she’d grown up with a father in the military.

  Ben turned to her, eyes burning. More green than hazel, she remembered, but tonight they looked darker. Maybe it was the club lighting or the way they burned when he stared down at her.

  He waved a hand for her to sit and after she did, he hovered over her, his mouth close to her ear. “I’ll get us drinks.”

  Damn, her reaction time was slow tonight. If she didn’t know better, she’d think herself concussed.

  Oh, she had been hit in the head, all right. Struck stupid by a hot man who’d done things to her body that—

  Before she could complete the thought, Ben was back, setting two drinks on the table and then taking his seat across from her.

  She blinked at the drinks. “How did you get to the bar that fast? It’s way up front.”

  “I didn’t. I took these off the waitress. I hope you don’t mind Sazerac.”

  She shook her head. The drink was undeniably New Orleans, the equivalent of a whiskey cocktail. She lifted her gaze to his, and electric sparks flew between them.

  Fuck, she was hoping that life-shattering attraction wouldn’t be present between them, but it was already smoldering.

  Ben sat straight in his seat, gaze moving over her face and hair, over her shoulders and down to her breasts then back up to meet her eyes. “I didn’t know if I’d find you here tonight. I haven’t been back since we met.”

  “I haven’t been back either.”

  His eyes hooded. Need spiked in her core. He was looking at her the same way he had right before he’d stripped her. She’d never forget it, and her body sure wasn’t letting her now.

  To cover the quiver in her belly, she picked up her drink. The cognac slipped down her throat, a warm burn all the way to her stomach. When she ran her tongue over her lips to gather the drops off, his gaze shot to her mouth and locked there.

  The quiver amplified.

  “Damn, it’s good to set eyes on you.” His gruff voice barely projected over the noise of the club, but she heard, her every sense attuned to this man. He didn’t touch his drink, but she needed more liquid fortification.

  Taking another sip, she floundered for somet
hing to say to him. When she lowered the glass, she managed, “Why did you come here tonight if you haven’t been here besides that once?”

  His stare pinned her. “To find you.”

  Oh God. A wave of lust and dizziness struck her, knocking her off-kilter. At this rate, she’d be flat on her back with her legs in the air, screaming Ben’s name in minutes.

  “Why did you come here tonight if you haven’t been back either?” he asked in that warm, buttery, low drawl.

  She directed a lock of dark hair over her shoulder and fought to be one of those cool women who never comes off as silly or stupid. Even though Dahlia wasn’t one of them.

  “I needed to unwind tonight.”

  His eyes sparked, tiny creases appearing around each. “So do I. What a coincidence.”

  She reached for her drink again, but he removed it from her clutch and wrapped her fingers gently in his big, rough hand. If she stood up, she’d be so embarrassed, because she was sure her panties had just gone up in flames and all the ash would fall out from under her skirt.

  9-1-1, what’s your call?

  I just melted my panties. I think I’m spontaneously combusting. Please send help.

  But who could help her? Under Ben’s steady, smoldering stare, with her hand firmly enclosed in his, she had no choice but to follow her instincts.

  And sleep with the man.

  No, no—to get up and leave. She’d come to the club to unwind and now she was more high-strung than when she’d arrived.

  “All I have is my bike, but there’s a helmet for you. If you’ll come with me.”

  She shook her head, an action that was becoming habit around him. He probably thought her simple-minded. They hadn’t exactly exchanged a lot of words the first time around. Saliva, yes.

  He reached out and snagged her other hand, holding her captive by his gaze and his touch. “Dahlia, I need you tonight.”

  Oh fuck.

  “Will you let me take you home again? I promise we’ll come back for your car in the morning.”

  There it was, the promise for more than waking to find your new lover gone. There would be a morning, which meant coffee, conversation, the possibility of a shower and…

  Her mind was running away with her. She hadn’t agreed to leaving with him.

  He stroked his thumb up and down hers, circling the base in an insinuative way that had her conjuring flashes of memories of his touch all over her and his mouth slanting across hers as he sank deep into her again and again in a series of sexy man pushups.

  “Dahlia,” he said quietly, cocking his head and his brow at her, “don’t make me beg.”

  At that, she laughed, the sound throaty from the cognac and desire. “As if a man like you begs.”

  “I can beg, but I don’t want to. Just walk out that door with me, get on the back of my bike and wrap your sweet legs around me. We’ll go back to your place and I’ll show you how sorry I am for leaving in such a hurry before.”

  She didn’t believe for a moment that he had a reason—she figured loving and leaving was his way. He was a playboy—his amount of game made that clear. Nobody used his eyes and words and touch like this without practice.

  He drew small circles up her thumb to her nail and looked deep into her eyes. “C’mon.” Without waiting for her answer, as if knowing she was already caving, he stood and drew her out of her seat. When he slid an arm around her waist and led her out of the club, it took her mind several seconds to catch up. As the cooler night air hit her hot face and the thrum of bass in her ears quieted, she realized he’d gotten her outside.

  What a fool she was. She stopped walking.

  “Good idea.” He planted his hands on her waist and dragged her against his steely chest as he slammed his mouth over hers. He kissed like he did everything else—with total command. Her body was at his mercy as he kissed the hell out of her.

  “Ben…” she murmured between sweeps of his tongue that had her toes curling in her high heels.

  He drew back, face in shadow, but she saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I’ve been thinking about you every day since we were together.”

  Stunned by his words, she blinked up at him. What could she say to that? The only thing on the tip of her tongue was that he’d popped into her head every day too, but she couldn’t admit that, could she?

  Though he just had.

  If they were laying it all out on the line, she had one thing on her mind. “How can I ride a motorcycle in a skirt?”

  He dipped his gaze over her body, leaving a trail of warm, sticky honey behind. “We could take it off first.”

  A laugh escaped her, just as throaty as before. “I don’t think so. This is the party capital of the world, but I think the police would frown on a naked woman riding on the back of a bike unless it’s Mardi Gras.”

  “Well, cher,” he drawled, pressing closer to her and planting his hand on her buttocks to keep her in place, “you’ve had me between your thighs before. Call it a warmup.”

  She shivered at his words, and when he caressed her ass, hiking up the fabric of her skirt as he did, she nearly came on the spot.

  He did that incredibly hot maneuver again where he leaned close to speak into her ear without turning his lips to it. “What do you say?”

  She felt herself nod.

  Walking across gravel in heels was never an easy task, let alone when one had knees of jelly. Why the club didn’t pave the parking lot was beyond her, probably thought it lent to the authenticity or something.

  Dahlia could barely remain upright but somehow made it to his bike. She expected something polished, shiny and new. Instead, Ben’s motorcycle was vintage, looking to be from the ’50s at least.

  He shot her a crooked smile that felt like syrup dripping over her body as he mounted the bike in a slow, deliberate maneuver and kickstarted it. Then he handed her the helmet, which she strapped under her chin, the long hair she’d released from the confines of her bun after work trapped around her neck and shoulders.

  Ben tipped his head for her to get on the back, and she did, obviously giving him a show when her skirt rode up her thighs.

  “I just saw your panties, and I can’t wait to take them off you,” he growled. “Now put your arms around me.”

  Holding on to a man this big wasn’t easy with short arms, but she scooted up until her pussy was pasted to his ass and she could lock her fingers together. As they rolled out of the parking lot, her mind spun. She couldn’t believe she was doing this—for a second time. Where was her self-respect?

  Who cared? He was the sexiest thing on two legs, and she wasn’t going to miss another chance to be in his bed. Opportunities like this didn’t happen more than once in a lifetime, and anything else was baby angels raining golden gifts down upon her.

  When they hit the asphalt, he gassed the bike and they shot forward. Dahlia squealed and felt his rumbling laugh vibrating through her arms and body. She wiggled closer, and he tossed her a look as they took the streets of New Orleans at a pace that suggested maybe he was just as eager to be with her.

  * * * * *

  They fell through her door, and he kicked it shut, reaching back to twist the deadbolt. The sexy vixen was all over him, her arms around his neck and her body plastered to his. He lifted her, and she wrapped her thighs high on his hips.

  “You know the way,” she said in that sultry voice that was quickly stripping away his control. His balls ached and his cock throbbed as he navigated her dark apartment.

  Her bedroom door was open, her ceiling fan revolving slowly and providing a trickle of cool air. His mouth watered as he lay her on her bed and followed her down. When he claimed her lips, his heart gave an odd undulation of excitement. He’d been with women over the course of the months, but he needed to get back between the thighs of this one particular woman.

  To sink into her hot, tight body and lose his mind.

  She plucked at the cotton of his T-shirt on his spine, and he rolled his s
houlders to help her strip it over his head. She threw the garment aside and he dived for her neck as she ran her hands over his pecs.

  “This is crazy,” she gasped as he dotted kisses up the column of her throat and bit into her ear right above her dangly earring.

  “It’s crazier not to follow our instincts.” He scraped his teeth down her neck again, and she squirmed in his hold. When he reached her collarbone, he lapped lightly at the delicate line, following it to the hollow of her throat and finally lower to her cleavage.

  Dragging in a deep breath, his head flooded with her unique scent and the traces of her perfume, the same as she’d worn before. He ran his nose up and down the seam of her breasts and considered shredding her top to get at what was underneath.

  “What is that maddening scent?” he murmured.

  She named a perfume he didn’t know but would definitely remember. It was all woman, all Dahlia. As he scraped his jaw over her blouse to her breast, his beard made a scratching noise against the cloth. He flattened his palm over her stomach, easily able to span her waist with his long reach of fingers. He’d forgotten how petite she was, how fucking perfect.

  He pushed back to look down at her. “I need you naked. Now.”

  She bit into her lower lip and he issued a low groan, his mind running with the memory of what her sharp little teeth had left all over his chest and abs that night. He’d worn her marks for most of a week.

  He reached for her hem and she sat up as he pulled off her shirt. Her bra clasp took a simple pinch of his fingers to release.

  “You’re damn good at that. Practice much?” She cocked a dark, arching brow at him, and he couldn’t help the crooked smile that claimed his mouth.

  Pressing on his shoulders, she got him on the mattress and rolled atop him. With her skirt bunched around her hips, her pussy nestled over his bulging erection. Thank God his jeans acted as a barrier, because if they were skin to skin, he would have lost it by now.

  Need pulsated through his system. This was what he’d been hoping for—her to dissolve that stress and turn his memories of the compound into smoke. With Dahlia, there was nothing but this… wanting.