Page 65 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

I bet he’s a really good kisser ...

Of course he’s a good kisser. With a mouth like that, how could he be anything else? Not that I’ve had that pleasure, and not that I think a kiss is the reason he’s brought me into this room.

I wish I had lips like his, full and soft looking. I imagine kissing him would be just like kissing a girl. Better even, because that one time I kissed Jenny Sullivan at camp didn’t exactly rock my world.

“I tried to explain, Lavender, but it’s like he wasn’t listening.”

I sway a little to the muted sound of the music playing in the other room.

I ordinarily hate house parties, but this house is in Chelsea, and they’re serving champagne, not warm beer in disposable cups.

The guests are dressed like it’s a debutante ball, in fancy frocks and evening suits.

And the party pills on offer are being passed around on silver trays. Not that party pills are my thing.

Anyway, Tod asked me to come with him tonight, and he’s pretty good at talking me into things I don’t want to do. But if nothing else, it’s a networking experience. Rich people enjoy investing in art, and I enjoy selling it to them.

“Then he said it wasn’t his problem,” he continues, throwing up his hands in a gesture of futility.

“Really?” I tilt my head as though engrossed.

I suppose I am, but more with the shapes his mouth makes than the sounds.

His voice can be a bit whiny. He makes shapes with his hands as he talks too.

I’ve never found a man’s fingers so intriguing.

They’re kind of stubby, I suppose, but those calloused tips make me shiver with the slightest brush.

Or they would if he ever touched me.

I don’t even mind the paint that collects under his fingernails. Much. And dirty fingernails usually give me the biggest ick.

“Please tell me you understand.” He makes puppy dog eyes at me, which is annoying, given he’s not a Labrador. “There wasn’t anything else I could do.”

One of these days, I’m going to get that mouth to kiss me and those hands to touch me, and then—

“Say something. Please.”

“Of course.” I place my champagne flute back on the table, my spiked heels echoing as I take a couple of hip-swaying steps closer. “Of course I understand.”

One day, he’ll notice the silken swish of my dress and the toned length of my thigh through the long slit.

“ Oh, thank God. ” The words rush out, and when he smiles, it warms my insides like a mouthful of good booze. “You’re just the best, Ned.”

I almost grimace. It’s not the cutest of pet names, but I suppose it’s cuter than Lav. I hate it when my brothers call me that. It’s so undignified being referred to as a toilet.

“So you’ll go speak with him?”

“Absolutely.” I dust my hands across Tod’s shoulders, and when he lifts his chin, I adjust the angle of his dickey bow.

“I don’t mind telling you, I’ve never met anyone as frightening as him. Well,” he adds as his eyes dart down, “apart from you.”

“I’m not frightening,” I murmur.

“Lavender, you’re my best friend, but you’re fucking terrifying. Or at least, I used to think so.”

“Silly.” His boyish smile curves into my palm as I cup his cheek.

Friends. Ours will be a love born of this friendship.

I just know that Tod will one day glance across the breakfast table, and like a bolt of lightning, he’ll realize I’m the only woman he needs in his life.

Then we’ll sail off into the sunset, like some real-life Barbie and her Ken.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

I make a noise. Such high praise.

“But you’ll need to be scary because I told him you were good for it.”

“Oh, I’m up for it. I mean, good for it.”

“Great!” He claps one hand on my shoulder, as though the solid action might fortify me. Meanwhile, I get a little lost staring into his lovely eyes. “Ned?”

No, I do not like being referred to as one-half of a pantomime donkey.

“Are you listening?”

“Sorry.” I give myself an internal shake. “Who do I need to frighten again?”

“Deveraux.” His expression falters. “Raif Deveraux?”

The corners of my mouth twitch. “Sounds like something out of a movie. The name’s Deveraux. Raif Deveraux,” I intone deeply, borrowing from the 007 movies. “That’s not a real name.”

“That really is his name.”

“Yeah, and mine’s Felicity Tugwell,” I splutter, coming up with my Bond girl alter ego on the fly. God, I crack myself up sometimes.

“You mean you’ve never heard of him?”

“Should I have?” I eye Tod critically. “Have you been helping yourself to the party pills?”

He makes an exasperated noise. “Everyone knows about Deveraux. He owns most of the clubs in London, plus a bunch of hotels. And remember when I went to Ibiza last year and told you about that club with the two-thousand-euro table service? Well, that club is his. He owns half the island, people say. And a chunk of Marbella!”

I shrug. How would I know any of that, let alone be interested? My party days are well behind me.

“I thought everyone knew about him.”

“Obviously not.”

“The man is as rich as Midas and has more intrigue than ... Machiavelli!”

“Then he has a very unfortunate name. It doesn’t sound the least bit threatening.”

“Not threaten—were you even listening to me?”

“Of course I was. I’m just saying his name is more suited to a hero in a historical romance. He doesn’t sound like someone you should be terrified of.”

“Well, I am.” With a groan, Tod swings away and rakes his hands through his hair, dramatic soul that he is. I take myself back to the champagne and tip a little more from the bottle into my glass.

“Come on, Tod. You know what I mean. Some luscious-locked dark-haired Fabio type, all rippling muscles and loincloth.” I take a quick sip, warming to my theme. “Or even better, buckskins and shiny leather hessian boots.”

This is the perfect intro for Tod to tease me about my reading choices. But he doesn’t. Instead, when I turn around, he seems to be genuinely distressed.

“He’s going to kill me. He’ll probably use my head to serve overpriced cocktails in.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ned, I owe him big.”

“Big what?”

His shoulders slump. “Money. I owe him money. While you were networking, I got into a game of poker.”

“But you don’t gamble.”

“I know!”

“More to the point, you don’t have any money to gamble.”

He pulls a face as though I’ve rubbed a sore point. Poker? I thought he’d left me to schmooze while he’d snuck off to fumble in a dark corner with some silly girl.

“Start from the beginning.” My tone sounds weary as I perch my bum on the edge of a leather Chesterfield sofa.

“When I left you talking to that finance bro, I wandered into a back room where a game was going on. Deveraux was there, and I found myself staring at him because, well, because I’ve never seen him in real life. And never without a gorgeous girl hanging off his arm.”

I fake gag. “Another Eurotrash playboy. Just what the world needs.”

“I don’t know where he’s from. He’s got a weird accent. Anyway, he asked if I wanted to buy in, and because I didn’t want to look like a total weirdo, standing there staring at him, I said yes.”

“You’ve only been gone an hour. How bad can it be?”

“Very bad.” His lids flutter, and he swallows audibly. “I bet everything.”

I resist the urge to shrug. Everything when you have nothing probably seems like a lot.

Tod currently lives with me—he’s a roommate who doesn’t pay rent, rather than the one you split your utilities with.

He uses my hot water, eats my fridge contents, and drinks my wine, and has done little else since he wandered into Whit & With, my art gallery, and charmed me into showing some of his work.

I’m always loaning him money, which he says he’ll pay back with his next commission, though he never does.

He thinks he’s doing me a huge favor by doing a few shifts as a gallery assistant each week rather than the other way around, because I do actually pay him.

I ignore the unhappy poking sensation at my temple. If the gallery doesn’t break even soon, I think my brother Leif might cut his losses. Leif, or Whit, as he prefers, is my not-so-silent partner. Without him, I wouldn’t have a business. But he’s a banker, not a charity.

Maybe I should’ve asked Whit to give Tod money lessons, because he’s hopeless with the stuff.

He’s also hopeless with appointments. And the passing of time.

The unloading of the dishwasher and adulting in general.

It’s his artistic temperament, I suppose.

When his muse strikes him, everything else in his life seems to gray out.

“I suppose I can loan you what you need,” I say, sighing resignedly.

“No, you can’t.”

“It’s not like it would be the first time.” Ignoring his frown, I carry on. “Come on. How much are we talking about? A few hundred?” Tod says nothing. “A thousand. A few thousand?” I suppose I can manage that much. If I pull out my emergency credit card.

But Tod shakes his head.

“More?” Damn. I’ll need to ask one of my brothers. Obviously not Whit. My eldest brother has more money than God, but he’s not one to part with it willy-nilly. Not that I blame him, I suppose.

“Worse than that,” Tod says, morose. Jesus, is he about to cry?

“Not more than five figures. Tod?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I didn’t think I’d gotten in so deep. I almost passed out when I realized I had, but then, I had this amazing hand—a winning hand. The only problem was, I had nothing left to play with. But then I told him about you. And I said ...”

“You said what?” I demand.

“That you were good for it.”

“I hope you didn’t say it that way.” My words take on a warning tone.

“What? Oh. No.”

“Because that would be less than flattering,” I add, not ready to release my frown. “And while I know nothing about poker, I do know we wouldn’t be having this conversation if your hand was that amazing.”

“I had four of a kind, but Raif—”

“So you lost.”

“Had a straight flush ...” he finishes, his voice small. “I’ve got to pay up. I told him I’d come and find you. And he said, ‘Good.’”

“Good?”

“Because I thought I would find you, and we could leave before he realized.”

“You thought we could leave because you can’t pay him?”

“Yes. Sort of. But he sent his thugs with me and they’re standing outside the door.”

“Tod, is this some kind of joke?”

“It’s bad. Really bad—”

“You’re telling me!”

“—because he doesn’t want your money. He wants you.”