In Rides Trouble (Black Knights Inc. #2)(61)

Was it Christmas?

Nope. Not for another ten weeks.

But looking at her, especially in those colors, he felt he’d been given the greatest gift on Earth.

What did he want?

Um…nothing…but…sex.

Yessir, sex.

It was the only answer that came to him in the span of a few infinite seconds, during which time he couldn’t move, just stood there staring at her nipples, then down to her boxer shorts, then further to her sleek, bare legs and those brightly painted toenails that always drove him absolutely crazy.

“Um,” he managed to drag his eyes up to her face, though the effort it required was tantamount to Hercules having to slay the Nemean Lion, “I couldn’t sleep thinking that I hadn’t told you what a good job you did today with that reporter.”

And yeah, so sign him up for the Dumbass of the Year Award right here and now.

“Huh?” She yawned and stretched with the sleek grace of a cat. Her shirt drifted up, revealing the circle of stars she had tattooed around her dainty belly button.

Okay, and that was it. He had to get out of there. Now. Two minutes ago…

“I just wanted to tell you that you did a good job deflecting that reporter’s questions today,” he whispered as he started backing down the hall.

“Frank,” she called after him, leaning out of the doorway. The sight of her shirt dipping down to reveal the soft globes of her breasts froze him to the spot. “Are you nervous about the surgery tomorrow? Do you want someone to talk to about it?”

He made himself hold her worried gaze—stop staring at her boobs, stop staring at her boobs—as he shook his head.

The skin across her cheekbones tightened and turned pink as something hot sparked behind her dark eyes.

“Then would you like to come in for another reason?” She backed up and held her door wide.

Yes. Oh, honey, please yes!

“It’d be a bad idea,” he ground out and tried—and failed—not to let his eyes once more angle down to her breasts and the press of her nipples against the satin of her top.

“That isn’t a no I’m hearing,” she whispered in her phone-sex-operator voice, and before he knew what she was about, she reached for the hem of her shirt and whipped it over her head.

Becky wasn’t a big-breasted woman, not by any stretch of the imagination. She was small and soft, her breasts high and round and creamy skinned, topped by light, peach-colored nipples.

In a word: perfection.

He tried to say something; he had no idea what, probably just another reiteration that this was a very bad idea, but the only thing that came out of his strangled throat was a weird choking sound.

Then she did something even more preposterous.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her boxer shorts and shoved them down the smoothly tanned length of her legs, kicking the material back into her bedroom in the same direction she’d thrown her top.

Kee-rist. There she was. Five feet away. Completely, wonderfully, starkly naked. And he could only stand there gaping like a flippin’ dipshit, because the word perfection no longer seemed adequate. He didn’t have a word to describe the radiant, glorious, female beauty of Rebecca Reichert in the nude.

“Well, Frank,” she murmured, smiling that smile a woman smiles when she knows she’s got the upper hand, because the man has completely stopped thinking with the head perched atop his shoulders and has started thinking with the one that usually dangles between his legs. “It’s your move. Are we finally going to do this or not?”

Something inside him broke, just snapped and tore free like all the ligaments and tendons in his shoulder.

He didn’t care that he was her boss or that she was too young for him. He didn’t care about his father and that he was about to commit the same sin Robert Knight had committed over and over and over again. All he cared about was that this was what he wanted. This was what he was finished denying himself.

This woman. This night.

It was all that mattered.

Besides, after tomorrow it might all be over anyway…





Chapter Fifteen


Oh, geez. Did I just make a frickin’ colossal mistake? Becky asked herself as heat washed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

She’d been so sure when she’d been awakened by the sound of someone outside her room. Sure that Frank had finally overcome whatever it was that’d been holding him back from her. And when she’d opened the door to find him standing there, she’d been 100 percent convinced.

But instead of grabbing her and bum-rushing her back into her bedroom to throw her on her bed, he was just standing there, raking in ragged breaths. Instead of crushing her mouth with a kiss to burn her soul, he was hanging on to the waistband of his jeans like some sort of lifeline.

Come on, Frank. Make your move.

But one heartbeat turned into ten and he continued to just… stand there.

Well, if he was going to reject her, again, she was going to make sure this moment was burned into her memory like a brand. Because she’d played her hand, gone all in. There’d be no next time after this time. So she let her eyes drink their fill and really let herself look at him.

He was so big and beautiful.

Her eyes traveled up from his toes, over his calves and thighs and lean hips. With his shirt only half-on, she got a view she was rarely privileged to see. Frank’s chest. Coarse, dark hair spanned his bulging pectoral muscles only to narrow to a thin line that ran down the corrugated muscles of his belly and disappear into the waistband of his jeans—the waistband he was still holding onto like maybe his pants were about to fall off.