One Knight Stand, page 6
A family of six shouldn’t have fit, but they made it work and they’d been happy there. Not even the mammoth mansions he’d looked at in Seattle held the same appeal of his childhood home.
So a five-star hotel was where he called home, even though he didn’t like it. And as he rose to his feet, scrubbed his face, and headed into the opulent master bath for a much-needed shower, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of house Sutton lived in, or if she’d mind helping him find one of his own.
Son of a bitch.
Chapter 8
Sutton
“You’re stalling,” Sabrina accused, eyeing me over her latte with that look of big sisterly disapproval.
“I’m not,” I insisted, even though I was full of shit. I was totally stalling. Today was the big day, my shopping excursion with my big sister in order to find clothes that would help me look like a woman Camden Knight wouldn’t hesitate to put on his arm.
I wasn’t looking forward to it. Sure, I’d been envious of Tate’s ease and comfort with her style and wished for the same, but now that the time had come, that apprehension stirring in my gut was back.
So I’d suggested we stop off for coffee at the shop right outside the mall entrance. One venti macchiato had turned into two, which had been a huge mistake. Now I had to deal with caffeine jitters and bloating while trying on clothes I wasn’t even sure I wanted anymore.
“You totally are,” she returned. “Not that I mind much. The longer we’re here, the longer I’m away from my precious little hooligans, so the odds of me losing my mind when Annabeth does something like draw on any available inch of Liam’s skin with permanent marker are slim.”
“I thought you got rid of all the markers in your house,” I said, knowing that was something Annabeth had already done. It had taken more nail polish remover than most salons carried to get it all off.
“Bryan’s of the opinion that kids will be kids, so when one of them gets stuck in the banister again, it’s his turn to grease them up like a damn Butterball to get them out. Mommy’s taking the day off from being the bad guy. It’s Daddy’s turn.”
I snorted and almost shot espresso from my nose. “Last time you said that, you walked through the door with Annabeth hanging from the second-story landing Mission Impossible style because Bryan wanted to see just how realistic that scene was.”
“Turned out to be pretty damn realistic,” she said with a smile. “Just wish he hadn’t anchored the rope to my wall sconce. I’m still waiting for him to fix the drywall.”
Bryan had been at the bottom to catch Annabeth if she fell, and she was only about a foot off the ground, so not much damage would have been done if she did, but Sabrina’s head nearly exploded when she opened the door to that scene.
Man, I loved my family.
She set her cup on the table and rested her elbows on either side of it. “I get this isn’t your favorite thing, babe, but I have to ask… why’d you do it?”
“Do what?” I asked, cocking my head to the side in bewilderment.
“Hide. You didn’t used to dress like this,” she said, waving her hand at my getup: baggy jeans that didn’t hint to a single thing I had going on beneath, and a tee that was better for sleeping in than wearing out in public, it was so big. “I remember when you used to sneak into my room to steal my clothes. Then something happened right before you started college, and you changed.”
“Nothing changed,” I answered, looking down to the napkin I was currently shredding into teeny tiny pieces. “They’re just more comfortable.
Sabrina placed her hand on the mess of scraps, pulling my eyes back to hers. “You can talk to me, you know? I’m not stupid. I know something happened to you that you’ve refused to ever talk about. I’m here for you, sis. You know that, right?”
I did, but I couldn’t. I could barely think about that night, let alone talk about it. I’d moved on as best I could, started my life over again, and most days it worked. Most days it was nothing but a fuzzy memory in the very deepest, darkest recesses of the back of my mind. But on days like today, it came tearing through the wall I’d built in my head to keep it back, creating a heavy black cloud that loomed over everything I was working hard to keep good.
“I know,” I answered, plastering on a smile she’d see right through. “But there’s nothing to talk about. Really. It’s just a comfort thing.”
She didn’t believe me—it was written all over her face—but thankfully she let it go. “If you say so, but if you have one more sip we’re gonna be stopping every thirty seconds for you to pee, so enough with the coffee. Time to get this show on the road.”
I wanted to lock my feet around the legs of my chair and shout, “No! You can’t make me!” but I knew my sister. She would have dragged me out of the coffee shop by my hair. She was too good at dealing with wild kids seeing as she already had two at home, so fighting was pointless.
That didn’t mean I didn’t pout as I stood up, grabbed my two empty coffee cups, and tossed them in the trash.
I wasn’t sure if this was the time to say it or not, but I really needed to pee.
* * *
“Are you sure these are supposed to fit like this?”
“You mean like a decent pair of jeans?” Sabrina deadpanned. “Uh, yeah, sweetie. This is how they’re supposed to fit. They’re supposed to cup your ass and make it look nice and round, as opposed to the ones you’ve been wearing all day that make it look like you took a dump and have been carrying it around with you.”
I glared daggers at her through the mirror as the saleswoman gave the waistline a tug. “They fit beautifully, ma’am. In fact, I think you could even go down one more size.”
“No,” I replied instantly, my tone slightly more brusque than I intended. These jeans were tight enough. Any tighter and I might never be able to get them off. “That’s okay. I mean, I think these are great. And comfy. No need to go a size down.”
The top I’d tried on was a soft cream knit with a pale pink and purple floral pattern. The neckline came down in a deep V, and the hem barely hit at the top of the jeans. The only saving grace was the fact that it had three-quarter length sleeves. And despite my hesitance, I had to admit I looked pretty good.
“She’ll take those,” Sabrina chimed in. “We can add the jeans and top to the pile.”
The pile, as Sabrina called it, was quickly growing out of control. I’d tried keeping a running tally of what we were spending in my head, but I’d lost track about five outfits and two stores ago.
“Brina, I think we’ve gotten enough, don’t you?”
She scrunched her lips in an unhappy pucker, scowling at my reflection in the mirror. “Your boss gave you a goddamn black Amex card told you to have at it. This is us having at it. Next up is Sephora to replenish your ridiculously lacking makeup collection. You stop your whining, and I’ll get you a soft pretzel before we head home.”
I could have argued, but I really liked soft pretzels. And the sooner we could get out of there, the better.
I quickly redressed in my own ugly clothes as Sabrina paid for my latest purchases, and we headed to get my makeup. Walking out of the mall a long while later, I had my soft pretzel in the hand not laden down with shopping bags, thinking this day was finally starting to look up when my sister dropped the next bomb.
“I got you a four thirty appointment at Urban Relaxation, so get the lead out.”
My boring flats came to a halt on the grimy asphalt of the parking lot. “You got me what?”
She looked back and rolled her eyes at me from over her shoulder. “You didn’t really think I was letting you get through today without the complete experience, did you? Your hair is too good to keep twisted up in that bun like you do. You’re getting a cut… and a wax while we’re at it.”
“A wax?” I shouted. “Why the hell do I need a wax?”
She shrugged like the idea of having hair ripped from her body was no big thing. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?” Then it dawned on me. “Oh hell, no. There’s no chance Camden Knight’s getting anywhere near”—I waved my soft pretzel at my nether region—“here, so a wax is totally unnecessary.”
“You say that now—”
“Because it’s the freaking truth.”
“But,” she continued, undaunted, “who knows what the future holds. Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Wrong. So very wrong. My…”
“Hoo-ha?”
“…lady business,” I inflected, giving her a searing look, “is totally off-limits, especially to the likes of Camden Knight.”
“Well then do it for my peace of mind,” she huffed with an exaggerated eye roll. “I’m worried my little sister has cobwebs down there. You need to dust the cootch off and get it back in the game.”
“I’ll have you know I keep it nicely trimmed,” I snapped. “And there’s not a cobweb to be seen!”
It was then I noticed the old couple walking by, staring aghast at our exchange. I offered a quick apology before rushing to Sabrina and grabbing her arm. “I’ll cave on getting my hair done, but a waxing is out of the question,” I muttered as we finished the trek to her car.
She beeped the locks, and I dumped all my bags in the back before climbing into the front.
“Fine,” she replied once she’d climbed in beside me. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
“Girl, I could spank your behind for letting all this gorgeous hair go to waste!”
The man I’d only just met when I walked into Urban Relaxation behind Sabrina minutes ago ran his fingers through my hair with a gentle touch I hadn’t been expecting. I usually cowered back when it came to men of his size and stature getting in my personal space—that being larger than me by a long shot, and far more muscular—but by the way he dressed and talked, plus his mention of a boyfriend within the first ten seconds of my butt hitting his chair, I knew I had nothing to fear from him.
The only man I hadn’t felt that sense of fright with was Camden, shockingly enough, but I told myself it was because of our mutual dislike for one another that he wasn’t a threat. I just wasn’t sure I believed that anymore.
I’d gotten a rein on that fear over the years, learned to hold the reaction inside instead of letting it show, but the need to protect myself was still there. I just made sure to keep them at a distance without making it obvious.
Marc tousled his fingers at my scalp before flipping my long, blunt locks in the air. “Oh yes, my darling. We’re gonna make you look like the diva you truly are.”
“Oh, uh….” My eyes went big at my reflection in the mirror. “I’m not sure I need to look like a diva. I was thinking maybe just a little trim?”
He and Sabrina both broke into a fit of laughter. “Oh no, no, precious girl,” Marc tittered. “It’s all glam all the time here, and you’re going to be my masterpiece.”
I didn’t want to be anyone’s masterpiece. I just wanted a trim, for crying out loud, but before I could argue, a black cape was draped over the front of me and Marc got down to work.
It had been the longest three hours of my life, especially since Marc and Sabrina spun my chair around and refused to let me look while he hacked and bleached and foiled my hair into oblivion. I tried picturing it in my mind based on his motions, but everything I envisioned sent me into heart palpitations. I was convinced I’d look like an Edward Scissorhands experiment gone wrong once Marc finished.
However, when the time finally came that I was spun back to the mirror, Marc whipped the cape off with a flourish, and what I saw left me speechless.
“You’re beautiful, sis,” Sabrina whispered in wonder. “Just like always. But this just lets your true beauty shine.”
And shine it did. My chocolate brown tresses were now filled with subtle caramel highlights. The layers he’d cut added texture and flipped this way and that, adding crazy volume to my already thick hair. It all looked brilliant against my peachy skin and brought my flat hazel eyes to light, the green standing out more as the flecks of gold popped.
I looked…
“Wow,” I said in quiet reverence.
“Like I said, my masterpiece.” Marc gave my reflection a triumphant grin as he crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest, threatening the seams of his lavender silk shirt. “I better see you back in six to eight weeks girly. And if I find out you went to a different stylist, I’ll hunt you down and throw the bitch fit to end all bitch fits,” he declared. “That gorgeous head of hair is all mine.”
“Oh, I’ll be back,” I stated passionately. “I’ll definitely be back.”
Because Marc was the kind of genius women named their firstborn after. And I was no exception.
Chapter 9
Sutton
Standing in front of the mirror that hung on the back of my closet door, I placed a calming hand on my belly, but it did nothing to loosen the knot of disquiet growing inside.
Tonight was date number two with Camden, and unfortunately we were on our own with no buffer to make it easier. I didn’t even have the armor of my regular clothes. If it hadn’t been for Sabrina showing up at my house an hour and a half ago and forcing me into one of my new outfits, I probably would have freaked and changed into a frumpy skirt and loose blouse in order to shield myself. However, my sister knew me too well and led a preemptive strike before I could go that route. She helped me get ready and bailed about five minutes ago, giving me no time to undo her hard work.
At least the black floral-patterned top I was wearing was loose and flowy by design, but there were cutouts on each shoulder, the neckline showed about an inch of cleavage, and my evil sister had forced me into a pair of black leggings that hugged all the way down.
She helped me style my hair, and I did my makeup the way the lady at the mall taught me, using dewy pinks on my eyes and cheeks for a natural pop of color. I managed to line my upper lids with a coal eyeliner without blinding myself, and paired it all with some mascara and a touch of lip gloss. The soft pink suede booties on my feet rounded out the entire look. Truthfully, I looked pretty good, but I was still an anxious mess.
“Just relax,” I told my reflection. “You look good. You can do this.”
My reflection didn’t talk back.
“Great. And now you’re talking to yourself. You’re about five cats and one hand-knitted sweater away from spinsterhood.”
My reflection crossed her eyes and puffed out her cheeks just as my doorbell chimed. I turned away from Mirror Sutton and yelped, “Shit.”
It was like a bomb of butterflies exploded in my stomach. I wanted to turn on my bootie-clad feet and run screaming out the back door, but it was useless. There was no turning back now.
“Coming,” I called when the doorbell chimed again.
Shutting my eyes, I ran my sweaty palms down my thighs and pulled in a quick, calming inhale before blowing it past my lips. Then I reached for the knob and pulled it open.
I didn’t know what Camden was expecting when that door opened, but if the expression on his face and the triple full-body scan he did weren’t indication enough that he was shocked, the mumbled “Holy fuck” sealed it.
* * *
Camden
Sutton’s cheeks turned as pink as the flowers on that sexy-as-fuck top she was wearing. “Uh, hey. Come on in. I just have to switch out purses real fast and I’ll be ready to go.”
She turned and headed for the rustic, antique credenza against the short wall that separated the entry from the living room, and he somehow managed to pull his eyes from her luscious apple ass to take in the rest of her place. Camden was just as surprised by her house as he was by her the instant she opened the door.
Walking in to find the place so warm and inviting was the last thing he expected. The open concept allowed him to see the kitchen, living, and dining area from the entrance. The furniture wasn’t new, but it was great quality, comfortable, with a lot of heavy wooden pieces that had obviously been restored with a great deal of love and care. Colorful rugs lay on the distressed wood floors. Bright, fluffy pillows were strategically placed on the overstuffed cream couch and chairs. Even the squat-based lamps on the antique end tables were painted with bright designs. Her house was the antithesis of the woman whose wardrobe consisted of gray, black, white, and brown.
The same dark hardwood theme carried into the kitchen with deep cherry cabinetry that stood out against the white backsplash, but the marble countertops with veins of gray pulled it all together. No doubt about it, Sutton had an eye for interior decorating.
The house wasn’t small, but it wasn’t huge either. What it was was a home. The whole place invited you to come in, kick off your shoes, relax back with a beer, and make yourself comfortable. It had the very same feeling of the house he grew up in, the same feeling he’d struggled to find while looking for a place of his own.
“Ready.”
Her voice pulled Camden from his exploration, and when he looked back at her he was hit all over again, like a sledgehammer to the chest. Just looking at her made his skin itch, his cock hard, and his brain glitch. The last being the only reason he could think of for what he said next.
“What the hell’d you do to yourself?”
She jerked to a stop and rocked back on those shit-hot shoes of hers. “I….” Lifting a hand, she patted at her hair. “You don’t like it?”
Fuck. He was a goddamn idiot.
“No. Hell no. You kiddin’? You look fuckin’ phenomenal. I’m just surprised is all. I never expected….”
Her made-up eyes cast down as shyness spread over her features, and Christ, it was cute as hell. “I just thought… I mean, I didn’t… I figured I’d need to change my look if I was gonna make this work.”
