Wicked Knight Read online

  Dang! Hold your panties, Julie. The man sees you as a sparring partner, a friend. That's all.

  Still... There was nothing wrong with daydreaming about him. She would be nuts to drool over someone else when there was not a much better package than Tristan's. Those he dated—including Pamela, the woman she heard he was seeing right now—and would be dating, were lucky. When she and Kirsten bumped into Tristan's office manager at the local market one time, the woman shared gossip that stayed in her head. Single and married women talk about Tristan all the time when they brought their kids to the clinic. They said he treated women in bed the way he always treated his patients—special, precious, and beautiful. And the conversations never ended without the phrase, “...and he always leaves his girlfriend satisfied."

  Man, she'd be satisfied just to have a sample of his taste. The way he looked and treated her though, she doubted even a sampling of his kiss would ever happen. To Tristan, she was just someone he and his brothers could tease.

  No more, no less.

  Kirsten nodded her head toward her brothers and dad. “Neat, Dad's going to play. Who do you think is going to win?”

  “Huh? Oh, hard to tell. Especially now that Arthur is playing for you.”

  “I know.” Kirsten pumped her fists up in the air. “Go get them, Dad! Yeah, touchdown! Eat your shorts, Bors. Dad kicked your butt!” To Julie, she said, “Isn't Dad awesome?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Except for signs of grey hair, Arthur could be mistaken for one of his sons. At the age of sixty-two, although his shoulders stooped a bit, he still looked powerful. He was six foot two, fit for his age, with thick hair, and possessed a killer smile that made his wife, Katherine, sigh each time he smiled at her. Kind of like when she received a smile from Tristan, but with a big difference. Katherine went to bed every night with Arthur beside her, while Julie hugged her pillow and dreamed it was Tristan.

  Everyone knew Arthur Knight, especially the news media. He was the smartest, toughest judge and could wield power. And as far as Julie knew, Arthur prided himself as being one. Known to be a fair judge who always played by the rules, Arthur gained respect, inside and outside the courtroom. Even inside his home. Darn tooting bad that one couldn't pick one's parents. She would have picked Arthur for a father.

  Julie spotted Tristan in possession of the football. He faked a throw. Bors jumped, falling for the ruse, leaving Tristan open for the pass. With Bors out of his way, Tristan took advantage and stepped forward. He made a perfect pass to Percival. As soon as Percival took off, none of the men could catch him.

  Kirsten and Tristan's team let out a loud whoop the same time the phone rang. Julie pushed off against the doorjamb and walked toward the phone sitting on the kitchen counter, debating whether to answer it or just let the machine pick up.

  The phone rang again. Kirsten had told her that when someone called on the landline, most likely the caller was a woman calling for one of her brothers. Or it could be their eighty-one year old grandma who lived in a retirement home looking for her cat again.

  Kirsten joined her in the kitchen when the phone rang for the third time. Julie raised her brow.

  Reading her mind, Kirsten smiled. “I'll go get the cordless.”

  Kirsten was back before the fourth ring ended. With a nod, Julie picked up the phone hooked on the wall and answered, “Knight's residence.”

  “Oh, hi.” A sultry sweet voice came from the other end of the line.

  “Hello.” Julie returned Kirsten's mischievous grin, placed a finger over her lips to signal her to be quiet. Kirsten answered by pinching her lips together.

  “This is Pamela. May I speak with Doctor Tristan Knight?”

  Julie met Kirsten's eyes. When Kirsten nodded, her heart thumped excitedly. Oh baby. The game is on. Telling the caller—especially if it was a woman—false stories about the brothers had been her and Kirsten's game since Bors leaked the reason why the women would call using their parents’ landline—the woman wasn't hot enough. For Julie though, making jokes about Tristan was the best. She and Tristan had been trying to up one another since she made a joke about him liking to touch asses, hence his choice of profession, and he replied that he knew why she spent too much time in the bathroom—green apples.

  Today would be her chance to get back at him.

  “Pamela, hi. I'm so sorry, but Tristan can't come to the phone right now.” She said the words in a sad tone, then followed them up with a fake sob.

  “Has something happened?”

  “Yes. Oh, God! The cops took him away.”

  “Oh. You mean the cops came, put him in the cop car, and drove away?”

  “Yes. They dragged him in handcuffs.”

  “But why?”

  “Because, because he beat me up...” She sniffed for effect “...when I told him I didn't want to sleep with him until his—I shouldn't say this—”

  “His what?”

  Julie smiled when Pamela mumbled something about a pig and a bastard. “I'm sorry, Pamela. I can't say more. I shouldn't have said anything.”

  “My God. He beat you up. I can't believe this. He's such a sweet, gentle doctor.”

  “I know. That's what everyone is saying. But he has a bad temper.”

  “He has a bad temper?”

  “Uh-huh. And his temper flared when I refused to...have sex with him.”

  “You refused to have sex with him?” Pamela was beginning to sound like an annoying echo.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would he want to have sex with you?”

  “Well, he's my husband. But you see I can't put our baby at risk because of his...his—”

  “Husband? Baby? His what? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I just told you. Tristan and I are married and expecting our first child.” Julie's laughter bubbled deep down in her throat at the sound of dread in Pamela's tone. “Listen, Pamela, I will only tell you this to spare you, but please don't tell Tristan it's me who told you.” Julie continued with her pretend sobbing.

  “I won't.”

  “Tristan suffers from acute gonorrhea!”

  Silence.

  Julie motioned for Kirsten to stay quiet. “Hello, Pamela. Are you still there?”

  “Gonorrhea, the disease?” Pamela asked.

  “Yes. He tried to deny it, but I saw the prescription. See, he's not only mad he contracted the disease from visiting Triple X nude bars, but he also didn't like the news that I am carrying his child. And my refusal to have sex with him finally blew his top off. So he started beating me up.”

  Kirsten grabbed the dishtowel to cover her mouth, her eyes watery from laughing.

  “God! I knew he was too good to be true. A handsome doctor... Damn it!”

  “I'm sorry for my husband's behavior. He may be a doctor, but he's a pig. Now, what did you say your message was?”

  “He asked me for a date and you're telling me you're his wife.”

  “You're his date? Did you...sleep with him? Omigod, you'd better see a doctor. That scum! He's a warthog and...” Sniff. Sniff. “A disease spreader!” Julie wailed.

  “If I get a hold of his balls, I'll squeeze them hard until he passes out!”

  “Yes, you do that. Hello? Hello?”

  Julie replaced the receiver back on the cradle and laughed so hard, she felt a pinch on her side. Kirsten was in no better shape. She practically rolled on the kitchen floor.

  “Oh my goodness, Kirsten,” she said, gasping for air. “Pamela is gonna squeeze your brother's balls.”

  “I know.”

  “We're bad.”

  Julie forced herself to look semi-sane when Tristan, Percival, and Bors walked in the kitchen. Except for Bors, who went straight to the refrigerator, the two stopped and watched them as if they were escapees from an asylum.

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” asked Percival. He looked first at Kirsten, then at Julie.

  “Nothing's wrong.” Julie swallowed and forced her
self to calm down, but lost it when she glanced at Kirsten, whose face contorted from keeping a straight face.

  “Really,” he drawled. “Who called?” Percival watched them with his analytical gaze.

  “Don't...know. Julie...answered the phone,” Kirsten wiped her eyes with a dishrag.

  “Julie answered the phone? Uh-oh.”

  “Yes I did, but I didn't catch the caller's name. It was a telemarketer.” Judging how Percival's lips twisted wryly, Julie could tell he didn't believe her.

  “Now, girls, we don't want to start a lying game, do we? Who was the call for? Not for me, I hope.”

  Julie shot Kirsten a look that meant, do something. They needed a reason to get out of there quick. Kirsten picked up the message clearly.

  “Will you stop calling us girls, Percy? In case you haven't noticed, we're both grown women. Unlike your cold unfeeling computer chips, we are hot. And guess what, brother dear, we've had our shares of dates. Hot dates.”

  Julie groaned. They needed a diversion, but this wasn't what she had in mind.

  “Hmm. I thought you liked to date men with brains only, regardless of what they look like.” Bors tossed each of his brothers a can of cold Coors. Tristan and Percival caught the cans in midair. Just by looking at him, Julie knew Kirsten had his attention. A deep scowl crimped his handsome face.

  Oh dear. Here comes the sibling squabble. Julie waited for Kirsten's retort. Her friend hated it when teased about her preference in men.

  “Excuse me, Bors...but men with brains, in my opinion, are hotter than brawny men. Right, Julie?”

  Of course not. “Right.” But brain and brawn put together would be fantastic.

  “I suppose Bucky could pass for a hot dude, despite his acne and bad allergies.” Percival pointed two fingers at his nostrils, then moved them down. He repeated the action, showing the sign for a dripping nose.

  “I remember him,” butted in Bors. “His snot dripped like water from a leaky faucet and he walked around school with his zipper down all the time.”

  Here we go. The subject definitely veered in a different direction. Julie angled her head to look outside, but Tristan's body blocked her view. And what a nice view it was. In a self-confident air, he cocked his dark head to one side and stared at her. He was studying her.

  Julie was saved from turning into a puddle of nerves on the floor when Kirsten raised her voice.

  “Bors, you're a dickhead.” Kirsten reached out and took an ineffectual swat at her muscle-bound brother.

  “Look, Percival, Einstein is blushing.” Bors tapped his finger at Kirsten's head two times.

  Julie looked down at her feet to hide her grin. This, she told herself, was what she'd been missing in her life. Brothers to tease and brothers to punch, brothers to carry her like a sack of potatoes, brothers to protect her like a priceless gem.

  Kirsten threw another punch on Bors’ chest, but the big lug didn't budge or show a reaction that he felt the blow. He only smirked and flexed his muscles. “Eww! Stop that. It's freaky.”

  “Check out mine.” Percival pulled his sleeve way up to his shoulder, then showed his muscles, too.

  Julie waited for Tristan to join the muscle-bragging scene, but he remained standing by the door, drinking his Coors, watching her.

  Gee-willykers, she wanted his gaze on her, but not like this. He was looking at her as if he could see through her shirt, jeans, underwear... Oh God.

  Gawain came in, ignored his brothers, went straight to the fridge, and opened it right away. “Want something to drink, Julie?”

  “No, thank you.” Julie decided to pay attention to the younger Knight.

  With his arm resting on top, Gawain leaned down to peer inside. He moved things around until Julie heard a loud, yes. He turned around and showed her the huge breast of Rotisserie chicken. He gave her a wink, then started attacking the meat without mercy.

  Julie watched. The man could probably finish a whole chicken in record time. Taking her gaze off Gawain, she took a quick assessment of all of the men.

  With arms glistening from a sheen of perspiration, soaking wet shirts plastered to their muscled torsos and wet hair clinging to their necks and foreheads, the brothers looked primal and without a doubt, hot male species.

  “Muscles are muscles. They all look the same,” Kirsten poked her brother's bulging arms.

  “No, brat. There is a certain muscle that can satisfy a woman by touching, looking, and feeling it in between—”

  “Bors!” Kirsten squealed.

  “Oh dear,” Julie mumbled, but Tristan heard. He scoffed. Julie looked at him and met his piercing blue eyes.

  Up close, Tristan seemed even bigger. He towered over six feet, had his father's dark hair and blue eyes, and possessed a nice but not freakishly muscled body. And when it came to oozing sex appeal, Tristan won top honors.

  Kirsten told her that even in elementary grade, the Knight Brothers were popular among girls. How could they not be? They were all successful. And to an undeniable degree, all of them were gifted with features only the gods in Olympus should possess.

  Among the brothers though, it was Tristan who never failed to make Julie's stomach twist into knots. Something set the man apart from the herd. There was something about his stance, movements, and smile that never failed to captivate her. With one look from Tristan, her breath would come in a whoosh, liquefying her bones like ice cream on a hot sunny day. He'd be too big to lick all at once, but it would be damn fun to try.

  Tristan was the only man who could make her body turn into a singing nightingale.

  Okay, time to stop ogling the view. Stomach twisting, she moved toward the door, but Tristan shifted his weight and blocked her exit. “Please move.”

  “Why?” Tristan, with his arms akimbo, raised a brow at her.

  “Because.”

  “Because what?” Tristan pried.

  “Because...” A bead of sweat running down from Tristan's temple to his neck grabbed her attention. She wondered how far it would go. Another one followed. That was all it took for her attention to wander. Mesmerized, Julie imagined her fingers running down his arms instead.

  “Take a picture, Julie, it would last longer. Or you could wipe them for me.” Dimples showed on Tristan's cheeks as he watched her above the rim of his can with his stunning blue eyes. He was laughing at her.

  Julie's cheeks grew warm. How dare he suggest such a thing? She may be infatuated with him, but not crazy enough to wipe his sweat. Scrunching her nose, she lifted her chin a bit, then raised her own brow. “They're not worth a single shot.”

  “Really,” he drawled. “So why are you drooling?”

  “Drooling? I don't drool.”

  “So what's this?” Tristan touched the side of her mouth with the pad of his thumb before it settled on her lower lip.

  Oh God. Heart beating fast, Julie looked above his shoulder to avoid the effect of his touch on her nerves, but it was as impossible as flying without wings. With him standing in front of her, covered with sweat, dusty, his unfashionable long hair—at least for a Pediatrician—hanging down his forehead, he indeed looked like a knight without his armor after fighting in a battle. So freaking gorgeous.

  Tristan was a man who never failed to remind her she was a woman.

  Among the siblings, Tristan had the most striking cerulean eyes and he was the only one born with dimples just like his mother. As far as Julie was concerned, he was the only doctor that made Patrick Dempsey look average. He could wear anything and still look sinfully sexy.

  Finally recovered from her embarrassment for staring, she let her gaze roam Tristan's handsome face. When she had her fill, she lowered her eyes to look at his cut-off sweatpants, molded to his finely toned thighs. Focusing her gaze just below his torso, she smiled, remembering how shocked Pamela sounded on the phone.

  “What's so funny?” Tristan looked down his front.

  The way his frown got deeper, Julie could tell she made him feel uncomfortab
le. Good. Now, we're even

  Last time she came for a visit, Tristan had stood outside the bathroom door while she was getting ready to shower and asked if the spider was still on the ceiling. The simple question scared her right out of the bathroom wearing just a black lace bra and matching panties. Outside the door, he stood armed with a Polaroid camera. He took her picture, then walked away whistling.

  “What is so damn funny?” Tristan repeated.

  “You know, I've seen a lot of men jogging at Greenlake, wearing those cut-off pants. Some prefer super tight shorts with padding on the crotch, which I am sure for the purpose of showing off what Bors called peepers.” Julie gestured toward Tristan's front. “I call them crotcher.”

  “Crotcher?”

  “Yeah, Crotch Flasher. You know, I noticed most of those men are on the feminine side.”

  “What are you saying?” His question sounded like a snarl.

  “Am I upsetting you? Did I hit a sore spot?”

  “Fu—no!”

  “Not the feminine side?”

  “No!” he snapped.

  “Oh, the crotcher part then.” Tristan's scowl could send anyone running, but not Julie. She knew he, like his brothers, were all bluster.

  “I am not a crotcher.”

  “Well, your shorts are kind of tight. Were they the wrong size? They're too small, don't you think? Or did you purposely wear tight cut-offs to show your—”

  “No. I cut them off on purpose.”

  “With your teeth?” Julie couldn't contain her laughter any longer. She laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach.

  Tristan's stormy expression only made her laugh harder, until she began coughing. “Are you quite finished, or would you like me to begin CPR?”

  She calmed a bit at the implied threat. Sweet revenge on Sir Tristan, she thought. Since the time she squirted ketchup on his brand new Lacoste shirt—swearing up and down it was just an accident—they'd been sparring, trying to get even with one another.