Knox KOBO

by Christie Ridgway

  “The address of the shop came with the owner’s manual. I was headed here anyway, wanting a mechanic to check out the bike and thinking Mickey of Mickey’s Motorcycle Sales & Repair might know how Dad came to own it.” Thinking somehow that piece of information might enlighten Knox as to why his father had gifted it to him. Had Colin been trying to send the family rebel, the perennial playboy, his unserious second-youngest son a message from beyond the grave?

  Or hadn’t he bothered?

  “Well?” Luke asked now.

  “Mickey’s dead.”

  “Ah. So you’re just sitting around, huh? Waiting.”

  The sympathy in his brother’s voice didn’t sit well with Knox. “All’s good. There’s a woman.”

  “Just one?” Luke’s tone lightened, and Knox could actually hear the other man’s grin. “With you, there’s always a woman.”

  “This time, she’s a—wait for it—yoga instructor.”

  Luke laughed. “You smug bastard.”

  A car pulled in to the parking lot, its headlights sweeping across the blacktop. “Here she is, as a matter of fact. Gotta go.”

  “Take care, Knox,” Luke said. “And leave the yoga instructor smiling.”

  Which meant, Knox knew, actually leaving her alone.

  It proved difficult, because when he climbed into her car he couldn’t look away from her. “You curled your hair.” It fell down her back in loose waves. “And those are some boots.”

  Before he closed the door and the overhead light extinguished, he thought he saw her blush. He knew she shrugged.

  “I like to dress up when I have a chance.”

  It was a short ride to the cul-de-sac in nearby Cinnabar where her friends lived in side-by-side houses. He found out that the Farmer brothers, sons of a local construction developer, had taken over their maternal grandfather’s certified public accounting business while another, older brother, worked with their father.

  “They labored with their dad’s crew to build these homes, though, and that same crew gave me a great deal on the remodel of my house to incorporate the yoga studio,” Erin said.

  Knox followed her up the walk to one of the front doors, admiring the architectural style of the dwellings instead of dwelling on Erin’s perfect ass in a pair of tight dark jeans. New construction in California often meant a Mediterranean style with beige stucco walls and red-tiled roofs. These two homes—though with different layouts—had a beach-and-timber thing going. The walls of the outside entry area appeared to be covered in a white bark.

  Erin caught him scrutinizing the surfaces and paused in the act of ringing the front bell. “Poplar panels,” she said. “You should have Rob and Tom take you to their workshop. They do all sorts of interesting things.”

  Then the door opened and they were swept inside. The interior of the house had an open design, and they ended up perched on stools bellied up to the large island while the host and hostess—Rob and Deanne—passed out beers and wine and slid platters of appetizers onto the granite surface. Marissa and Tom soon joined them, and the conversation flowed easily.

  It didn’t keep him from taking a full inventory of Erin, now that he had a good view of the entire picture she made, from her shiny hair to the tips of her polished boots.

  Her mouth was rosy-pink, and the blush-colored sweater she wore did some sort of miracle swoopy-wrap thing that nearly had it sliding off her shoulders and displayed a sweet hint of cleavage. Though he sat close enough to breathe in her light, floral perfume, he kept his breaths shallow and his attention on the brothers who were regaling him with stories of growing up around dangerous construction equipment.

  “…there was that time on the site when you were trying to shoot a huge, nasty flying beetle with a nail gun,” Tom was saying to Rob.

  “Yeah, you almost pierced my ear instead. And then there was that other time…”

  Knox recognized the tenor of their exchanges. He and his brothers—on the rare occasions when a few of them could get together—shoveled the same kind of shit at each other. God, listening to the other two made him realize how much he missed them.

  A trio of his siblings—Gabe, Hunter, and Luke— had shown up at The Wake in early December, when Hunter needed some boots on his ass to send him back to the woman he so clearly wanted. He’d managed to convince Becka to take him on, making that three of seven Brannigans now paired up. Did that mean the brothers would see each other even less?

  Something hitched in Knox’s solar plexus—envy?—at the thought that the coupledom gene must have missed him.

  “Uh-oh,” Tom said, pointing at Knox. “He lost his smile. We’re scaring him, Rob.”

  His brother crossed to the refrigerator for another beer. “We’re not as savage as we sound.” Then he paused. “Or maybe we are. It comes from growing up with brothers.”

  “And from working for our dad since we were nine,” Tom added. “Love the man, but he’s a martinet. Don’t know how Eddie—that’s our older brother—can stand it. We had to get out from under his thumb.”

  “I know how that is,” Knox admitted. “I worked for my dad for a while, and that flamed out fast.”

  “Yeah? What did you do?”

  He hesitated. Then thought, what the hell. It wasn’t a secret. “He ran a media company. I worked on the television side of things for a very short period of time.”

  “Your father…” Tom began, then released a low whistle. “Wait. Your last name is Brannigan. Your father is…was Colin Brannigan?”

  “Right.” He could feel all eyes on him and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “He recently died,” Tom said. “In late summer? It was all over the news.”

  Erin placed her hand on Knox’s thigh, and the others made compassionate noises. It was enough to necessitate an immediate change of subject. And venue. He stood. “I heard about a workshop? How about a tour?”

  That successfully rerouted the conversation as well as the group itself. They all tromped outside to a large building at the back of the adjoining properties. Inside were dozens of specialized tools, work benches, and projects in progress—tables, chairs, carved cabinets.

  “Wow,” Knox said, running his hand along the surface of a long dining table they said was made with reclaimed lumber. “This is a mere hobby?”

  Rob shrugged. “For now. Maybe someday, with a little capital, we could each run Grandad’s CPA business half-time and devote the other half to this.”

  Erin wandered to the far side of the room. “Oh,” she said, looking down at some photos laid out on a bench. “You’re framing our photo.”

  “Almost done, and then you’ll each have one.” Tom strolled over, and the others followed. “I like the use of the twigs.”

  So did Knox. The irregular border comprised of natural material suited the three identical 8 x 10s, a picture of three little girls dressed in sneakers and sweats and surrounded by trees.

  “My 11th birthday campout,” Marissa said, pointing. “That’s me, Deanne, and Erin.”

  “We stayed up all night planning our wedding proposals,” Deanne added.

  “Wait,” Tom said. “I thought it was your weddings.”

  “Nope,” his wife said. “We were certain if our groom-to-be proposed the way we dreamed up then we’d be certain of making the right choice.”

  Erin pointed to Deanne. “Disneyland. During the fireworks show.”

  “Hey.” Rob looked pleased. “I did that right.”

  Marissa rolled her eyes. “Because I told you what to do.”

  “And I told you to tell him what to do,” Deanne added. “Rissa thought her perfect guy would propose with a puppy.”

  “There were so many hints,” Tom said, “that I couldn’t miss it.”

  “But the dog tag inscribed with ‘Marry Me’ was your very own idea.” Marissa patted his arm. “And now we have our darling Lab, Buster.”

  Knox looked to Erin. “And you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t eve
n remember.”

  “A bathtub filled with flowers,” her two friends said together.

  “Don’t ask me why,” Erin said, hanging her head. “Clearly I had low expectations in the romance department even then. I should have gone with a trip to Paris or a pony.”

  Clearly I had low expectations in the romance department even then. For some reason, the comment ate at Knox throughout the rest of the evening. As did something else, that he finally addressed when they’d made it back to his hotel after an excellent dinner shared with pleasant company.

  “You didn’t seem surprised that my father was Colin Brannigan.”

  Erin pulled into a parking space and turned off the ignition. The interior of the small car had warmed during the short trip from her friends’ house. “I put it together after you talked about your brothers and your recent loss during dinner last night,” she said, shrugging. “Like Tom, I remember seeing it on the news.”

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “Should I have? Because he was a wealthy and powerful man? That doesn’t matter to me. You’re the one I know.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not suggesting I know know you, that sounds presumptuous, but—”

  “I get what you’re trying to say.”

  “Whew. Because it was coming out all wrong.”

  Knox shifted his knees to angle her way. “I like the Farmers. They’re good people.”

  She nodded, a bob of her head that signaled nerves.

  He knew why. In the small confines of the car, the electricity generated between them was impossible to ignore. The air was humming.

  Tension coiled in his belly and tightened his muscles.

  Hardened his dick.

  Even from a seat away. Even without touching her.

  But he’d decided to play saint and keep his hands and his mouth to himself. Damn. He let his head fall against the cushioned rest behind it, knowing he’d spend the rest of the night frustrated and hurting.

  Every male instinct he possessed told him she’d be doing the same.

  “I want to kiss you,” he admitted, his voice low. He couldn’t help himself. “I’m dying to kiss you.”

  He heard her audible swallow. Without looking at her, he was aware she trembled.

  “My hands are itching to crawl over your skin,” he continued. “I want to discover your heat, your wet. I want to know the flavor of you. Your nipples. The taste of you between your thighs.”

  Another swallow. A short pant. “W-why are you saying this?”

  “Because despite my best efforts not to, I’m considering a seduction, darlin’.” Despite the fact that it might only underscore those low romantic expectations of hers. “If I decide to go in that direction, you’re free to refuse me, of course, but fair warning.”

  “Fair warning?” she echoed faintly.

  “I’ll try my very best to persuade you to take a little walk on the wild side. To take a little walk with the rebel inside me.”

  “Knox…”

  He reached for the door handle, levered it down so it swung open, letting in a blast of bracing night air. “Take tonight to think over your response. If I do decide to try coaxing you into bed with me, you need to figure out whether you truly want to deny yourself.”

  While taking yoga class, Erin urged her students to quiet their minds through smooth movement and something they called ujjayi breathing, in that way disconnecting from day-to-day annoyances and ordinary cares for fifty minutes. But as she finished leading her late-morning Monday practice, she knew this time the teacher had been no example for her pupils.

  During each pose, her thoughts had been consumed by Knox. Well, by what he’d said the night before.

  If I decide to try coaxing you into bed with me, you need to figure out whether you truly want to deny yourself.

  What decision had he come to? And what would her response be if he did, indeed, attempt a seduction?

  He’d been to the studio that morning, during an earlier class, when he’d unobtrusively slipped into one of the locker rooms to continue working. He’d slipped out just as quietly, giving her no indication of what he’d settled on.

  But more of his words continued to drift through her head like smoke.

  I want to kiss you. I’m dying to kiss you.

  My hands are itching to crawl over your skin. I want to discover your heat, your wet. I want to know the flavor of you. Your nipples. The taste of you between your thighs.

  A shiver rolled down her spine as she came to her feet. Then, while mats were rolled and bare toes were slipped into shoes, she made her way to the studio entrance to bid the class members goodbye. As the first exited, she noted the pleasant temperature of the sun-laden air—they were having a warm spell—and propped open the door.

  One by one her students exited, until the final pupil paused in the patch of yellow sunshine cast on the wood floor. Lindsay Fox, who took an early lunch from her admin job at the large spa-resort a few miles south, tucked her mat under her arm. “Your yoga class almost makes me look forward to Mondays.”

  “That’s quite a compliment,” Erin said, smiling at the other woman. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  And that you didn’t notice my distraction. “Have a great rest of your day, Lindsay.”

  “I just might,” the other woman said, nodding over Erin’s shoulder. “With the memory of that inspiring sight to brighten my afternoon.”

  She glanced around and saw Knox had returned. In the parking lot, he leaned against the front of the old VW van, legs crossed at the ankles, arms relaxed. His eyes on her.

  I want to kiss you. I’m dying to kiss you.

  “Oh. Well.” A blush crawled up her neck.

  “Friend?” Lindsay asked, waggling her brows.

  “Just a guy doing some work for me,” she answered, well aware Knox could hear every word. “He probably has a question or something.”

  “Speaking of work,” Lindsay said. “I’ve had an idea.”

  “Okay…?”

  “What if you came to the spa and taught some classes there each week? Now we direct guests to your studio, and certainly many make the trip, but you might get more clients if you came to us.”

  Erin tilted her head, wondering about the logistics. “You have the space?”

  “We could make the space. And in good weather you could hold class on the lawn or even on our beach. I know that would be a hit.”

  “It’s an intriguing offer,” Erin said. “Let me give it some thought.”

  “I’ll think some more, too. I mentioned it to my boss and she was very interested. We’ll talk about how many sessions we think we could fill. Maybe create some special events too.”

  “Okay. Let me know.” Erin smiled again. “Thanks. And thanks for the consideration.”

  Lindsay strolled out the door then, not even trying to hide the long, admiring look she sent Knox. Grinning, he gave her a nod, then pushed off the van to saunter, loose-hipped and lazy, toward Erin.

  “’Morning, teach.”

  “Good morning.” She checked the clock. “Well, it’s nearly afternoon.”

  “Yeah. Lunchtime. I see on the posted schedule that you have a break until three.”

  “That’s right.” Just the way he was looking at her made her skin tighten on her bones. She cleared her throat. “Um—”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  Did he mean go to bed with him? Sheesh. What happened to seduction? Licking her lips, she stalled for time. “Do, um, what?”

  “Hold some yoga sessions at the spa like that woman mentioned. Seems a natural way to branch out.”

  Okay, not seduction. He wanted to talk about business. She made a face. “I don’t know. I’ll see how many sessions they want to offer, what else they have in mind. There are only so many hours in the day.”

  “You lead all the classes yourself now?”

  “I do.”

  He frowned. “What about when you take a vacation?”

  “Va
cation?” She cocked her head, as if it was a brand new concept. “What’s that word?”

  His frown deepened. “All work, no play, Erin.”

  “It takes a lot of energy and focus to get a new business off the ground,” she said, her tone defensive. Because his comment reminded her of what Deanne had said recently. Now it’s time for the yoga girl to have a little fun again.

  “Things are solid at the studio?”

  She shrugged, nodded.

  “So now you get some other instructors on the payroll. Consider those classes at the resort. You should have some branded clothing to sell here, by the way, and I bet the resort gift shop would stock it as well if you taught there. Your logo’s a winner.” His gaze shifted to where Yoga Girl was painted on an interior wall, the “o” a yellow sun with spiked rays, a blue crescent moon hanging off the bottom curve of the second “G.”

  “I came up with it myself.”

  “Good eye.”

  She ignored her flush of pleasure. “For a part-time bartender, you sound like you know something more than how to make a mai tai.”

  “In a shaker, pour one ounce each of lime juice, Martinique rum, and dark Jamaican rum. Add half an ounce of orange Curaçao, another of orgeat, then one-fourth ounce of sugar syrup. Next comes crushed ice, fifteen seconds of shaking, and then pour the mixture into a double old-fashioned glass. Garnish with mint.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his battered jeans, now with a few paint spatters here and there. “But I also have an MBA. I specialized in entrepreneurship.”

  She blinked.

  His smile was self-deprecating. “And here you thought I was just some guy with hay between his ears instead of brains.”

  “I didn’t say that.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I didn’t think that.”

  “You’re cute when you’re indignant,” he said, and flicked the tip of her nose with his finger. “Ready for lunch?”

  “Oh. Well…” The quick switch of topics flustered her.

  “I brought a picnic. I thought we could eat it on the beach.”

  Did he plan his seduction on the sand? Or was this just a friendly gesture, and he’d decided he didn’t want her after all? She bit her lip. “I have paperwork…”