Hard Day's Knight (28 page)

“Welcome to the party.” I sighed, lunging my hips upward to capture him. He sank into me with a groan that I felt all the way to my bones, the hot steel of him piercing my burning flesh, firing me to greater heights than I thought possible. “Do you have any idea what it feels like when you do that?”

“Probably it’s similar to the effect you have on me,” he groaned into my ear, our bodies making all sorts of wet, slicky noises that just made me wilder.

“Tell me.” I gasped, pulling my knees up higher around his waist. “I know you like to be on top, which is just fine by me, because I like the way you squish me, but tell me what else you like.”

“I like the way your body welcomes me,” he said as he thrust his hips forward. “It feels like I’m diving in pool of fire, sweet fire, fire that burns under my skin.”

I locked my ankles around his back and nibbled on his neck and jaw, my body moving in time to his, our pace quickening as our breath grew shorter, the sweat on his chest mingling with mine, our joining more than just physical. I bit his lower lip until he opened for me. “More,” I whispered.

He levered himself up on his hands, my legs still locked around his hips, changing the angle of his entry. I moaned and ground my hips against his, too overwhelmed with the tension he was building with every touch of his flesh to mine to manage words.

“You fit me perfectly, every curve meant for me, every soft part of you a pleasure to touch.” His head dipped and he took my nipple in his mouth, his teeth scraping along its tautness as his body thrust into mine, his strokes growing shorter, stronger, quicker.

“Oh, god, yes,” I moaned, arching my back and clutching desperately at his shoulders. The tension inside me was so tight I knew it was going to explode at any second. With the tiny fraction of my mind that was still rational, I slid my hands down his back, digging my fingers deep into his gluteus muscles as I pulled him even tighter, needing to feel him as deep in me as possible, so deep that no matter how much physical space there would be between us, we’d never really be parted again.

“You’re heat and warmth, like a sun burning only for me.” The last words were spoken on a growl that turned into a shout of triumph as his back arched, his face locked in an expression of purest joy.

“Yes,” I whispered as my body spasmed around him, my soul crying with happiness even as the tears snaked down the sides of my face. “Only for you, Walker. Only for you.”

The first day of the actual jousting competition (as opposed to just qualifying rounds) dawned, I was told, as bright and brilliant as it had the last few weeks. I didn’t know, having spent the morning lying smooshed up against Walker’s side, wonderfully at peace and happy as his breath ruffled my hair in regular, even breathing tinged with the slightest hint of snoring.

“What do you think, should I keep him?” I asked Moth, who lay in meat-loaf mode on Walker’s belly, reaching out a paw occasionally to bat at my fingers as I drew lazy circles on Walker’s chest. “He’s bound to be trouble, what with that whole obstinate male thing going on.”

Moth’s whiskers twitched.

“No, I’m not saying he’s not worth the trouble, it’s just that I had this idea of everything working out easily, and look at him! He’s everything I don’t like in a man—stubborn and pigheaded, way too handsome, and blind about so many things that should be obvious to him.”

Moth yawned.

“Well, that is true; he does have many fine qualities.” I scratched Moth behind his ear, making the big cat’s eyes close in pleasure. “He’s brave, honest, generous, and caring, and he has a lovely soft heart under that misanthropic exterior. I just wonder if I’ll ever see the real Walker, the one he was before the accident, or if that dashing, carefree, adventurous man is gone forever?”

“I hope to God he is; he was a right pain in the arse,” Walker’s chest rumbled pleasantly beneath my ear. “Talking to the cat, are you?”

I kissed the nipple that rose so pertly next to my face. “Only because you were snoring the morning away.”

“I never snore!” he said, outrage dripping from his voice. “And for someone who says she dislikes animals, I certainly do find you around them a great deal.”

I made a face at Moth, who was now drooling on Walker’s adorable belly as I scratched under his collar. “I’ve told you, I’m stuck with him. It’s not a matter of my choice at all.”

“Why didn’t you become a vet?” Walker asked suddenly.

I looked up at his face for a second, then pulled my body away from his. “Breakfast first, or shall we fight our way through the hordes to the showers? I say showers first. I’m a bit sticky from last night.”

He wrapped his long fingers around my arm as I tried to scoot out from under the sheet that served as a blanket. “Why didn’t you become a vet? CJ said you were well into the program when you quit. Is it because you don’t like animals?”

I pulled my arm away, tugging the sheet until it was wrapped around me in toga fashion. “Come on, don’t be such a lazybones. If we don’t hurry we won’t get any hot water. Those Norwegians are such shower hogs.”

“Pepper,” he said, sitting up after carefully removing Moth from his stomach. “Why won’t you answer my question?”

“Why do you care? Is it so important a question that I have to answer it?” I shrugged into a pair of jeans and grabbed a T-shirt.

“I didn’t think so, at least not until you avoided answering it. If it wasn’t the animals, why didn’t you become a vet? You certainly had the family background for it.”

“Oh, yes, I had the background,” I said, mentally wincing at the bitterness in my voice. “There’ve been vets in my mother’s family for almost ninety years, going all the way back to my great-grandfather, who was one of the first vets in Scotland. Veterinarians we have aplenty in our family. Software engineers, however, are notably scarce. There’s just me, you see.”

“So you quit vet school because your heart wasn’t in it? You preferred computers to animals?” Walker probed, pulling on his tights and tunic.

“Let me just add ‘tenacious’ to your list of qualities,” I grumbled, sticking my feet into my sandals and grabbing my bag of shower things. I tossed Walker a towel, taking another one for myself. “So! What are you going to do about finding out who vandalized—no pun intended—Bos’s lance and Marley’s leg?”

“I’ve told you, I’m looking into both. Is the reason you quit vet school because your heart wasn’t in it?” he asked again, ignoring my blatant attempt to distract him.

“Looking into how? Are you grilling people? Asking questions? Hiring a private detective? I can help, you know, I’ve read lots of detective stories. I cut my literary teeth on Agatha Christie. My family used to call me Pepper Poirot. I want to detect with you.”

“Pepper . . .” His thinned lips told me he wasn’t going to let go of his infuriating curiosity about something that had no relevance.

My teeth ground for a moment, keeping back the reply that wanted to burst out, but after a couple of seconds’ thought, I decided, What the hell. He’d find out sooner or later. “No, it’s not the reason. I quit vet school because there was no use in continuing, okay? Happy now? Good. I’d like to find a shower and wash off the proof of our activities, if you’re done with the third degree. Moth, you move one paw from this tent and I swear I’ll be wearing a cat-shaped hat before the day is out.”

I unzipped the door to the tent and strode out into the still-cool morning air, ignoring Walker until he caught up to me, stopping me with one big hand on my arm.

“What is this about?” he asked, turning me so I was facing him. Around us, the Faire was coming to life, people milling around the tent city, going to or from the bank of showers and toilets, feeding horses and themselves, talking, chattering, laughing—everyone happy to be alive on such a glorious, promising morning.

Everyone except me.

“This is about nothing, all right? Nothing—which pretty much sums up my career had I stayed in vet school. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get cleaned up.” I turned and marched off to the low building that housed the showers and toilets.

“Why would you think your career would have been nothing? If your whole family are vets—”

I stopped and put my hands on my hips as best I could while holding the shower things. “What did your father do? Was he a farrier?”

Walker shook his head. “No, he sells insurance. What does my dad have to do with this?”

“Pretend for a minute he is a farrier. Not just any farrier, though—a world-class farrier, one who works for zoos and international wildlife organizations. Imagine he’s the sort of guy who gets asked to international conferences to speak on . . . oh, I don’t know, hoof welfare.”

“Pepper—”

I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not finished. Now stretch your mind a little and imagine that your grandfather was also a farrier, but he, too, was a one-of-a-kind farrier, a man who came up with unique ways of shoeing horses, a man who embraced every aspect of horse care, a man who not only rode in the Olympics, but who pioneered a method of treating injuries in racehorses’ feet.”

“I see,” Walker said, his eyes steady on me. I had the oddest sense that he did see, that he was looking deep into my soul, seeking to bare all my secrets. It was an extremely unwelcome sensation.

“Do you? There’s more. Let’s take this make-believe scenario a little further—imagine that your great-grandfather was a man who was a world-renowned researcher at a time when there was no research being done into animal welfare. Imagine that he was one of the creators of a drug that revolutionized hoof care. Imagine all that, and ask yourself if you still would want to be a farrier. I think your answer will help you understand why I didn’t become a vet.”

I left him standing there as I walked toward the showers, my gut roiling at my having to admit something so painful.

His voice was positively icy. “So you quit because you felt like you weren’t good enough? That’s rather hypocritical of you, don’t you think?”

I stopped at his words. I didn’t want to—I didn’t want to talk to him about such an insignificant bit of history anymore—but there was enough anger in his voice that it fired up my own ire. I turned to look back at where he was still standing. “Hypocritical? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Slowly he approached me, his eyes mirroring the scorn in his voice. “You lectured me for the last two days about this very same thing.”

“No, it isn’t the same thing—”

“Yes, it is. You said I didn’t have the confidence in myself to succeed. You rubbed my nose in my own insecurities, and I let you because I believed you were superior, and now I find you’re doing the exact same thing I’m accused of doing—namely, of being a coward.”

Now
that
stung. I lifted my chin and glared at him, mindless of the people strolling past and around us, calling greetings to us that weren’t answered. “I might be a lot of things, Walker, but knowing that I could never be as good as my mother or grandfather or great-grandfather does not mean I’m a coward. It just means that I know my own limitations.”

“That’s what you tell yourself, is it?” His jaw was tight, but he didn’t frighten me. “That’s what you say to get through the periods of self-loathing and misery, isn’t it? Don’t forget, according to you, I’m a coward, too. I know what I’m talking about.”

“You don’t know squat about me,” I answered, furious but unwilling to admit why.

His beautiful silver eyes narrowed. “Answer me this, Pepper—do you want to be a vet? In an ideal world where nothing but you matters, do you really want to be a vet?”

“There is no ideal world,” I said, refusing to take his bait.

He grabbed my arm and hauled me up close, not in an embrace, but so he could glare down at me in an attempt to intimidate. “That’s not an answer. Do you, in your heart, want to be a vet?”

I gritted my teeth and refused to answer.

He let my arm go and stepped away, as if he were disgusted by my nearness. I didn’t blame him. At that moment I disgusted myself. “What a fine pair we are. You too frightened of failure to even try to get what you want in life, and me all too aware of my failures to risk trying again. Do you know what the difference is between us?”

“No,” I answered, my throat tight with unshed tears. “What is the difference?”

“Nothing,” he said, turning on his heel and marching off toward his tent.

“There you are!” CJ called, waving me up to sit next to her on the section of the bleachers she had claimed with several red-and-gold blankets embroidered with the Three Dog Knights emblem. The arena was packed, this being the first official day of competition, probably a good 70 percent of the audience in garb, with another 20 percent families making an attempt to get into the spirit of the thing by donning bits and pieces of rented garb for the day. Women in T-shirts and shorts wore padded head rolls and veils, small children in expensive tennis shoes ran wild with plastic swords and Robin Hood hats, and guys of every shape and size wandered around in leather jerkins and gauntlets. “We saved you a spot. You haven’t missed much, just a couple Americans taking headers.”