Wicked Knight Page 3

  Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she smiled. As much as she wanted to spar with him, she really must get out of the kitchen. “Out of my way, Doctor Hot Crotcher.” Julie tipped her head up and imitated his stance, hoping she looked intimidating enough for him to let her pass.

  Tristan stepped on the lever of the plastic garbage can beside him and tossed his empty can in. “You can't leave. You and the brat are hiding something. Tell me who called, why, and what you said.”

  “I didn't say anything, except hello and goodbye. Jeez, what's the big deal?”

  Tristan reached to pull a lock of hair that escaped her bun. “You expect me to believe you? After what you've done in the past, I have every reason to believe you can't be trusted. I. Don't. Trust. You, Julie Strawberry.”

  Julie narrowed her eyes. “Do not call me Strawberry.”

  “What's wrong with calling you Strawberry? It suits you. You have red hair and freckles, exactly like the seeds on a strawberry.”

  “Eeww! You just made it sound like I have blackheads all over my face. That's downright awful. Mean! I should squash you like a strawberry.” Yeah right. Squashing him would require a stone grinder.

  Tristan's face, split into a wide grin, disarmed Julie of her spunk, replaced by an urge to mewl like a cat with its tail up. “Bring it on, Julie Strawberry. I'm waiting.”

  “Ugh! Arrogant. You think because you have Tarzan's chest that I couldn't?”

  “Really? I have Tarzan's chest?” Tristan sucked in his breath and looked down. “Wow, I didn't know that.”

  “It's not a compliment. Have you seen Tarzan? He's got a flabby, sagging old chest, rubbed with Vicks to make it shine on television. He's gross, living in the jungle without plumbing and running water to wash his hands. Now, you better move. Last chance before I plow you down.”

  Drat the man. Dollar to Oreo cookies, pushing him would be like pushing a Waste Management truck. She saw the way he blocked his brothers playing football. It took two Knights to take him down, still, she really must get out. Last time she pulled the same trick on him, he dumped a pitcher of cold water inside her shirt. It would have been fine, except her white shirt was see-through when wet. Who knew what he'd do this time.

  Julie glanced at her friend. Kirsten was punching Bors's arm. Dear Kirsten was supposed to distract the brothers from asking about the caller and help get them out of the kitchen, but by the looks of it, her friend forgot all about it. All right, she'd just leave and wait outside. Julie squeezed herself between the doorjamb and Tristan, but he refused to budge. She decided to pinch him.

  “Oww! Darn it, woman. That hurt.”

  “Well, move then.”

  “Come on, Julie. You answered the phone, which means you pulled another one. Was the call for me? Did you spread lies about me again?”

  “Doctor Knight, I didn't. Let me—Oomph!”

  Like her favorite Oreo cookie, Julie found herself flattened in the middle. She was the cream, Kirsten on her back and Tristan on the front were the cookies. Kirsten finally decided to leave the kitchen, but chose the wrong time. Warm hands gripped her hips while her arms wrapped around his waist for support—or maybe not, Julie thought.

  Giggling, Kirsten disentangled herself, mumbled an apology that sounded between a snort and a sorry. She pushed Tristan so she could get out the door. Tristan moved to let her pass, but he took her with him. Percival and Bors followed.

  “Yeah, run, you little bug. When I catch you and your peanut boyfriend, I will squash you both,” Bors yelled, following his sister outside.

  Julie, like a fly caught in a spider's web, couldn't move. She found herself looking into a pair of sleepy eyes that haunted her almost every night. She should move and get out, but her body refused to cooperate. Tristan's arms felt strong and hot around her. And his chest, that damn chest—firm and all muscles pressed against hers—caused sinful thoughts that brought a hot flush to her cheeks. Julie had wondered about this, how it would feel to be held by him. Now she knew—amazingly wicked.

  For sure, his girlfriends felt the same way, too. Maybe most of the patients’ moms took their babies to his clinic just so they could be near him. She would. Who wouldn't want to be in the same room with hunky, sexy Doctor Knight? Julie smiled.

  “Tell me what made you smile,” he said in a soft voice that caressed her skin.

  Julie wanted to curl and slither around him. “I'm just thinking about your...patients. How they must look tiny when you're holding them.”

  “Definitely tinier than you are, and softer...but they smell like milk and burps. Sometimes dirty diapers. I like your smell better, like sweet apples. I'm surprised you don't smell like strawberries.”

  “I like apples, especially the Granny Smith ones.”

  “I know.”

  Sweat dripped down his temple and Julie reached up to wipe it off with her fingers. She realized what she had done, but too late to retract it. Drat, she really must do something about this crazy infatuation.

  Tristan simply stared at her with his somber eyes. On the outside, he seemed controlled. Julie knew better. With his thighs pressed tight against her abdomen, she knew their embrace had the same effect on him. If his hard erection wasn't the telltale sign, she didn't know what was.

  She had read many romance books about how one felt when one was in a situation like this, now she knew. Erotic.

  Still, her body yearned for more—of his touch and the pressure of his body against hers. She wanted to know more. And there was only one way to find out.

  Julie raised her height a bit by tipping her toes. Her pubic bone pressed against his cock. The simple movement caused little shooting sparks of thrill to creep slowly from her breasts down to where she ached to be touched, between her thighs. She should be embarrassed for her boldness, but wasn't. Instead, she felt reckless and loved it.

  Tristan tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her against him. His thigh, unintentional or not, wedged between Julie's legs.

  She nearly mewled from the sweetness of it. Her pussy throbbed and her clit tingled when he lifted his thigh a bit to rub it against her. Julie trembled when the smile in Tristan's eyes showed banked sensuous flames.

  His finger traced little circles on her exposed skin where her Levi's and green sleeveless blouse barely met. She should stop, but the pleasure of having her body glued to his was a temptation she couldn't resist. Desire coursed through her whole body. The combination of the faint scent of beer on his breath, manly scent, and his touch made her senses spin.

  As if her fingers had a mind of their own, they crept slowly up his nape to brush the hair flattened by his sweat. Julie watched his hungry eyes turn deep blue. His breathing, she noticed, turned shallow and faster.

  Tristan's splayed fingers slowly moved up and down on her skin.

  “Tristan.”

  “Julie.”

  His head inched down a little closer while his thumb went up to caress the sides of her breast.

  “Oh, God.” She shivered from pure delight.

  “Julie, you have no idea—”

  “Just kiss her, man.”

  Julie squeaked in surprise. As if a bolt of thunder had struck them, they both took a step back. She looked at Gawain chewing on a chicken breast. How could she forget they weren't alone in the kitchen? What if she had started thrusting her hips on Tristan's thigh? Or worse, Tristan cupped her breasts? Oh God! What would Gawain think of her now?

  “I've been nibbling this chicken for five minutes and you haven't kissed her. Damn, you're slow, bro. See? I told you. If you get into a profession that requires wearing gloves, you become meticulous and move like a sloth. Strike at the opportunity, man—such as kissing a girl.”

  “You're an ass, Gawain,” snarled Tristan.

  “Me? What did I do? The chicken and I were just minding our own business when you two started making out.”

  “We didn't,” Julie and Tristan said at the same time.

  “Oh, yeah. Right. Y
ou didn't. You were just ogling each other. For a moment there, I thought I was looking at the cover of a Hallmark Valentine card. So sweet.”

  “Oh, God. Uhm, excuse me. I need, want...fresh air.” Julie went past Tristan. Gawain's laughter followed her.

  Stupid. Stupid. You really are an embarrassment to your family, Julie Parrish. What a dummy.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  * * * *

  Out in the backyard, Katherine gave her the job of preparing Caesars and pea salad, while Kirsten got the easy job of dumping chips in bowls. She thought it unfair she had to cut and mix vegetables while her friend just hugged the bags of chips. She understood though. If she was addicted to green apples, the brothers were crazy about chips. She'd seen the men fight for a bag of Fritos like starving warriors gone from years of battle.

  As soon as Kirsten popped the Doritos bag, the men started reaching in the bag, grabbing handfuls of chips. Kirsten—she bet from years of practice—could block her brothers’ long arms using her body. At one point, she even kicked her legs to keep her brothers from getting closer.

  “Come on, you guys! We have to wait for the hotdogs.” Kirsten tried to sound upset, but ended up laughing.

  “Just a handful of Fritos, Kirstie. And I'll leave you alone.”

  “No, Bors. Mom!”

  “Boys, help your father move the tables,” Katherine ordered.

  The huge brothers stopped reaching for the chips at once. It never ceased to amaze Julie how the men, without delay, obeyed their mother as if she was a goddess they must follow. Katherine didn't have to raise her voice. The men, and even Kirsten, respected and heeded her calls as if they were God's own commands.

  Julie was never an obedient child.

  The men—except for Tristan and Gawain, who were still inside the house—put two picnic tables together to accommodate the big family. She stood beside Kirsten, holding two salad bowls. She watched the whole process of moving the tables, but her mind wandered back in the house. Tristan would most likely grill her again about the caller when he came out. Or maybe he'd let the topic go. Julie tapped her finger on the rim of the bowl. The little encounter in the kitchen had left her insides trembling spasmodically. And Gawain—she bet he'd never leave her alone after what he witnessed. Lordy, he'd most likely tell the others about the way she plastered her body against Tristan's. If he did, her secret infatuation with Tristan would be out in the open.

  Chips of all kinds, hotdogs, fried chicken wings, sausages, buns, a variety of salads, drinks, and condiments covered the long picnic table. One would think a big party was about to take place. However, since she'd known the family for over six months, she knew better. The men could eat!

  She had already found a cozy spot, sandwiched between Percival and Bors when Tristan emerged from the kitchen.

  “Hey, Doc!” called Bors. “Cook the Polish sausage. Julie won't eat the ‘ole traditional wieners. She wants a big one.” Bors’ double entendre earned him loud responses from his family.

  Everyone was busy eating and laughing, no one noticed, at least Julie thought no one did, that she only ate her salad and pushed the tiny tomatoes around with her fork. She hated tomatoes, but she forced a couple of the red pulpy vegetables down her throat. What she wanted was the juicy Polish sausages Tristan was barbecuing.

  Hearing the sizzling sound the sausages made, Julie's stomach rumbled loud enough for Percival and Bors to hear. They laughed again. This time Percival yelled at Tristan.

  “Hurry up there, Doc. Julie's stomach is rumbling so loud I can't even hear myself talk.”

  “Give her more salad,” Tristan yelled back, casting a glance at Julie.

  Crud, can they tell I have the hots for Tristan? Is that why they tease me so much? No. Of course not. Paranoia could make one think stupid things. Yup, she was paranoid. That was all.

  Down to her last tomato, thank God, Gawain appeared at the kitchen doorway. When he smiled at Julie, her heart dropped to her stomach. She didn't trust that smile at all. The hunk was up to no good.

  “Someone called for you, Doc.” Gawain grinned at everyone.

  “Are you going to tell him who called, son, or does he have to guess?” Arthur asked, while serving his wife potato salad.

  Julie couldn't imagine how the mild mannered man was able to produce four such rowdy boys. As much a gentleman as his legendary namesake, he treated his wife as fragilely as a porcelain doll. Julie's father, Paul, had ignored her mother and flaunted his young girlfriends around, even when Laura was still alive. He'd been on his third wife, Marla, since her mother died. The man was a total ass.

  “Who called, Gawain?” Tristan shot his brother a don't-piss-me-off-or-I'll-pound-you-to-the-ground look, then turned his attention back to the red-hot sausages. Grease-scented smoke billowed around him.

  “In a bad mood, are we? Is it because I interrupted—”

  “Darn it, Gawain!” shouted Tristan, before he cast Julie a look. His mouth set in a thin line, obviously annoyed with his brother.

  Julie's stomach knotted. She covered her mouth with a fist and pretended to clear her throat.

  “No need to shout, man. I think you need to get laid, bro. You're easily irritated, like an old—”

  “Shut your mouth, Gawain. Or should I shut it for you?”

  “Son, don't irritate your brother. Just tell him who called. Come sit down and eat with us,” Katherine patted a space beside her.

  “It was Pamela.”

  Julie choked on a Dorito she was munching, but Bors saved her when he whacked her back. The chip, thankfully, didn't fly out of her mouth. She murmured a thank you and looked at Kirsten, who wriggled her brows, smiling from ear to ear. Pamela? She called back?

  Gawain glanced at Julie. A flash of humor twinkled in his eyes and then he winked. “I told her I'd get you, but she said no. She sounded surprised to hear you're around. My ear still hurts from her screaming. She's mighty mad, bro.”

  Bors leaned in to whisper in Julie's ear. “Remember what I told you? If a woman called using the landline, that means she's not hot enough to make it on Tristan's cell phone list of fave fives. I'm not, although I'm hot.”

  Julie giggled, stealing a look at Tristan. She was nervous and at the same time, anxious to see how he would react to her latest prank. Pretending to be his wife on the phone was a riot and she enjoyed it a lot. She enjoyed irritating him, period. And she'd bet her green apples the feeling was mutual.

  “What's the message, Gawain?” asked Kirsten, obvious eagerness in her tone.

  “Pamela said...” Gawain continued, “tell your brother he's an asshole—excuse the language, Mom. I don't owe the curse jar money because I am just relaying the message here.”

  “I know, Gawain. Is that all?”

  “No. Pamela also said Tristan deserves to be jailed—”

  “What?” Tristan and his parents echoed the question.

  “Yeah, she said you deserved to go to jail.”

  “For what?” Tristan gripped the tongs so hard Julie could see his knuckles turning white.

  “For beating your pregnant wife.” Gawain punctuated the last two words and ignored the questions erupting around the table.

  “My pregnant wife?”

  “Yeah. Your pregnant wife told her on the phone...” He smiled at Julie. “That you beat her up.”

  “And this wife of mine, did she say why I beat her up?” The tone of Tristan's voice sounded like rumbling thunder ready to explode.

  “Yes. Because she refused to have sex with you.”

  “Really.”

  Julie's uneasiness increased under the laughing eyes of the Knights. Suddenly, she felt so hungry for tomatoes.

  “I can't imagine why I would say no to sex with my wife. She's mighty attractive. A goddess on earth.”

  “Well, she told Pamela you are suffering from...”

  “From what?”

  Julie looked at Tristan and
guessed his face wasn't red from the smoke. Oh, dear.

  “Gonorrhea.”

  Bouts of laughter exploded from the table. Soda pop burst from Kirsten's mouth. Gawain bent over, smacking his thigh with his hand. Percival and Bors both shoved Julie that she felt like a smashed pancake in the middle. For the second time, Bors smacked her back none too gently. Her salad fork nearly went all the way down her throat.

  “Good one, Julie.”

  “Congratulations, Julie, you scored,” said Percival, his shoulders shaking from laughing.

  All stares directed at Julie. They knew she did it. “Guilty,” she mumbled, then shrugged. She looked at Tristan and saw his annoyed look break into a wicked smile. Julie bristled. Lord, she could almost read his mind. He was thinking about retaliation.

  “Gonorrhea! Hey, Doc. No wonder you look flushed and are sporting an unsightly bulge down there. Nuts swollen?” Bors continued to laugh.

  Tristan replied with a fisted hand behind his back, the middle finger up in the air.

  Julie shook her head. Doctor Knight had a bad side to him.

  It took a while before the hysteria about her prank died down. Julie was having a great time exchanging jokes with Bors when she saw, through her peripheral view, Tristan coming toward her.

  She looked up in time to see Tristan's heart-stopping, jaw-dropping, sexy strut. He was staring at her with a tight grin, holding a plate.

  Her heart felt like a pair of wings flapping in her chest. The look he gave her would make any woman want to take her top off and rub herself all over him.

  Suddenly the air grew thick. She couldn't breathe.

  Bors stood up and left his spot. She didn't want him to leave. If she remained in between brothers, she'd be safe from Tristan and his retaliation. She tried to stop him, but by bad luck, her tongue seemed to double its size. She couldn't say anything.

  With Tristan's eyes fixed on hers, he sat in the vacated spot, then leaned forward until their noses touched. Julie stopped breathing altogether.