Page 14 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Ryan

My heart is aflutter as I watch Matt cross the vast foyer, his gait all loose-limbed confidence and ease. Yet the look in his eyes speaks of intensity.

“I thought you’d forgotten me.”

“As if that were even possible.” He draws me to him as though this is an exchange we’ve had a hundred times. A hundred hellos and a hundred goodbyes. “They were out,” he whispers in my ear.

“Out?” I pull back a little. A bathroom out of condoms?

“I had to try a couple of floors before I found a machine not empty.”

“Really?” Pretty sure my eyes bug.

“Weddings.” He shrugs, staring down at me half amused, half in lust. “They give everyone the horn.”

“The what?” I ask with a chuckle.

“Everyone’s up for it. Weddings are notorious places for people hooking up. Stands to reason, I suppose. People dressed to impress, free-flowing alcohol, and pheromones in the air. And that is a very lovely dress,” he says as his eyes slide over me, all but taking it off.

“I like nice clothes.” My words come out shaky as anticipation tumbles hotly through me.

I treat myself to quality in all forms. It’s one of the perks of no longer being poor.

“Oh, it shows.” He pulls me close again, and my eyes flutter shut at the caress of his breath against my neck.

“I’ve been thinking about peeling you out of this dress, while trying to talk myself out of it,” he adds with a dark chuckle, “since the minute you took my hand and demanded I come with you.”

A thrill zips down my spine. “I’m not sure that’s exactly how things went.”

“Liar.” He presses a heavenly kiss to my neck, his tongue a deft flick over my thudding pulse.

“Sounds like you’re accusing me of being bossy,” I say as he pulls back again.

“I’m saying I’m pretty sure you can do anything you put your mind to.”

You. I want to do you.

“Also, I have an idea.” There’s that spark in his gaze again, a little bit of wrong wrapped up in all that nice.

The fun kind of wrong. So this time, it doesn’t catch me by surprise as he takes my hand.

He takes two backward steps, and I see the flash of a grin as he turns.

He strides in the direction of the check-in desk, pulling me along for the ride.

“I’d like to book a room.”

“I’m so sorry, sir, we’re fully booked,” answers the first available desk clerk.

“A hotel this size?”

“We have several functions this evening,” she offers apologetically.

This is New York in October. The hotel is likely overbooked rather than just booked. But then I notice the way her gaze flicks over him.

“However, we do have several suites available.”

Obviously, I wasn’t as astute in my observations as she was.

Though it’s not like the expensive cut of his tux would’ve marked him out as an escort.

My God, an escort. A thrill courses through me with the thought.

Maybe I’ll get a taste for it. And maybe one day I’ll be wealthy enough to be a sugar mama in my own right.

“That’s fine.”

Shit! I yank my head out of the clouds. A suite in the Pierre? That’s gotta be like a down payment on an apartment.

“No, honey. There’s no need,” I put in, using the smile I perfected early in my adult life. The one that accompanies the lie This refusal comes as a choice, not a lack of one as I tug on Matt’s hand. “We just need a room. We can—”

“A suite is fine,” he says, half amused, half bemused, and already reaching for his wallet. “A bed’s a bed. Darlin’,” he adds, with a little bit of the devil again.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I whisper hotly.

But then he puts down a credit card, and I do a double take. It’s dark, sleek, and exclusive looking.

“Matt,” I whisper harshly, tugging on his hand.

“Excuse us for a moment.” He glances the desk clerk’s way before allowing me to move us away.

“Are you crazy? A suite is way too expensive,” I say before he can speak. What kind of an escort has a black Amex anyway? One on a retainer? One with an expense account?

I feel like I’m missing something, and I don’t like it. Should I really want a part in this?

I want part of him, I think. Which is a lie, because I want every part of him. Every part of him over every part of me.

“Would it help if I said it’s tax deductible?” His lips twitch with amusement.

You pay tax on horizontal earnings? In case that falls out, I bite my bottom lip. Until I find his thumb pressed there. My breath gives a tiny catch.

“How is it possible to be jealous of your teeth,” he whispers, gently prying my lip loose.

How is it possible I’m about to swoon?

“I think there’s a kind of symmetry in this. You. Me. This wedding. This hotel.”

I feel my expression flicker. “I don’t ...”

“That might’ve been you.” He tips his head, though barely. “The girl in the white dress, the one that should be pitied for tying herself to a fucknut like him.”

White dress makes me sad, while fucknut gives me pause.

“You had a lucky escape, while he’s already regretting his choices.”

“You don’t know that.” You don’t know him like I do.

“I saw it on his face. Saw it in the way he watched the places I touched you. Like he thought I overstepped. So here’s what I propose. Suggest,” he amends, his mouth curling at that irony. “You let me book the room—”

I open my mouth to protest again. To no avail.

“Then you let me take you upstairs and do what I’ve been dreaming of all evening.

” The intensity of his words and the look on his face—it’s like my dress has already disintegrated.

“Let’s make the walls of this old hotel shake with your pleasure.

I promise I’ll fuck you so well the whole place will hear my name.

But we don’t need the whole hotel to know, do we?

” His touch is a fleeting brush to my chin.

“Just one man. One man who deserves to know for good what he’s lost.”

“I don’t . . .”

“It’s a poetic kind of justice, don’t you think? Sung from the top of your lungs.”

“Maybe you should’ve been a lawyer, because that’s quite an argument you make.”

“Oration isn’t really my thing. Oral, however ...” And there is that wickedness again.

Nerves and anticipation occupy my thoughts as he slides his arm around me, and we move back to the desk.

The key slides over the counter. “Can I get you some help with your bags?”

I don’t think she’s being facetious, but I almost die on the spot anyway. Nothing says one-night stand like a couple without bags.

“That won’t be necessary.” Matt is much cooler in his response—all suave insouciance. In other words, he has zero fucks to give.

I expect he’s had more practice at this than me.

We make our way to the elevator, and moments later, the doors glide closed.

I’m doing this. Really doing this!

I’m going to spend the night with a modern-day courtesan, a man who pleasures women for money.

I bite the inside of my lip, giddy suddenly with the notion, because there’s no way Matt is a hired suit, a date to accompany you to a wedding or a business dinner.

He’s too accomplished, too sensual, too plain hot for that.

He’s definitely a full-service kind of escort, because what woman could keep her hands to herself?

I tense a little when his arm slides behind me, his hand cupping my hip. “You okay?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“See that handrail?” he whispers, pressing his mouth to my ear. “It’s just the right height, don’t you think?”

“Hush,” I hiss, even as my attention slides to the brass rail running around the elevator car, when what I want to ask is The right height for what? A barre class? Something to hold on to while the man rocks my world?

I don’t, obviously. We’re not alone in this tiny space, thanks to a uniformed attendant just a step or two away.

The hotel is old-world fancy, and fancy people must not know how to use their fingers.

Something tells me Matt knows how to use his fingers as they tighten on my hip with a squeeze.

Then slide around to cup the round of my ass cheek.

“To alleviate the height difference, darlin’,” he adds, all feigned innocence and familiarity, as though we’re an old married couple instead of a pair that just checked in without luggage.

“Kissing you is always a delight, teacup. Sitting you on the rail would just give the old neck muscles a rest.”

The elevator attendant, a lady of a certain age, glances briefly our way before smothering a soft, endeared smile. Of course, she’s completely unaware of Matt inching the fabric of my dress higher from behind.

Teacup? I mouth, unimpressed. “Because I’m small and dainty?” I say, leaving off fragile .

“Of course.” He leans closer, his next words a lower, hotter whisper. “And something I want to put my lips to.”

I swallow a gasp as his fingers slide between my legs.

“Right. Here.” His words are all hot breath against my neck as he curls his fingers in a torturous tease.

I close my eyes against the onslaught of images. His hands on my thighs, pushing them wide, the brush of his stubble, his tongue and his lips teasing, working me until I can barely breathe.

A ding sounds, and the attendant announces the floor number. “Have a good evening,” she says as we step out.

“Thanks. Me too,” I reply, turning beet red immediately. “You too, I mean,” I add, ignoring Matt’s chuckle.

“I thought you said you had nice manners.” I point an accusing finger at him as the doors glide closed again.

“I thought you said I was nice.” He wraps his hand around mine, my index finger still pointing. Everything south of my waist tightens as he closes his teeth over the knuckle. “I’m really not.”

“It’s all an act, huh?” My question sounds husky as his lips fold over my finger, and he gives a rumbling noise of assent.

He watches me, his eyes playful, but there’s an intensity there too.

The kind that makes my heart thump and my body tingle.

I feel like I’m burning, but for the cool, damp tip of one finger as he pulls back.

“I’m not nice at all,” he murmurs.

“Are you trying to disappoint me?”