Knight and Day (The Knight Erotic Trilogy, book 3 of 3) (10 page)

A couple of hours later, and Dylan was too busy and too fascinated to give any more thought to his problems. The club was full to capacity, the opening night guests were spending freely on cocktails and champagne, and the steady, sexy beat of the music provided a perfect backdrop to the scene unfolding in front of him.

He knew clubs like the back of his hand, but not this one.

He knew clubbers like the back of his hand, but not these people.

They had the same exterior gloss as conventional clubbers, more so, actually. They were exquisitely groomed and dressed to impress, albeit in flesh-revealing outfits and in some cases, lingerie. He’d ducked into the boutique earlier and found it full of interested customers, with Kara in her element as she helped someone choose between two different vibrators. He laughed softly as he moved back towards the bar, remembering back to the first time he’d met her, brandishing a vibrator at him like a gun. She sure was a woman of many facets. Unflinchingly honest, sexy beyond words, and sweet as spun sugar on the inside and out.

Around him, people drank and danced, warming up for the night ahead. There was a sense of expectation in the air, an alive, sexual pulse that throbbed through the entire place. He was finally experiencing the difference between this club and any other he’d managed. Here there was a sense of freedom and of daring, of anything being possible for those brave enough to grasp the opportunity.

Lucien appeared as he moved around the bar and checked in with the staff.

“Walk with me.”

His low tone brooked no argument, not that Dylan would have shied away in any case. He needed to clear things up with Lucien, to show him that the trust he’d placed in him was not misdirected. Satisfied that all was well behind the bar, he caught up alongside his boss as he began to weave through the throng. Together they worked their way around the periphery of the club.

“What do you think?” Lucien asked. Dylan heard in the question confidence and pride but also a desire for reassurance. He knew how much this mattered to Lucien.

Dylan took a few seconds, drinking in the images around him. Dancers. Couples entwined around each other. Groups of revellers in the booths, a few celebrity faces among them. Their clothes would stay firmly on, but their status would be enhanced by gossip column inches and pictures the next day. Dylan knew that most of them were there at the behest of their PRs and advisors, targeted carefully by a comprehensive Gateway publicity campaign.

Champagne corks were flying. Nearby, a woman naked from the waist up ground slowly against the guy behind her, her eyes closed as his hands moved over her breasts.

A regular club with added erotic extras.

“I think it’s fucking amazing,” he said truthfully.

Lucien nodded, leading the way through to the spa area. Things had certainly kicked up a gear since Dylan had last been in there an hour back. Several people lounged naked in the jacuzzi, talking, flirting, and as he watched, one woman turned to another beside her and kissed her lingeringly, their bared breasts pressed together as their arms moved around each other. It wasn’t so much exhibitionism as uninhibited freedom, a distinction Dylan hadn’t fully appreciated until then. When a third woman joined them, he glanced away, back to Lucien’s knowing eyes. It was a hard line to walk, being here in a professional capacity rather than as a pleasure seeker. He supposed it was like being on the set of a classy porn movie and having to keep your jeans on.

“It’s natural to be turned on by it. It’s the best fucking job in the world,” Lucien said, interpreting Dylan’s thoughts without difficulty. “It gets easier to detach in one way, but the day you stop wanting to strip off and fuck someone is the day to walk away. You need a healthy appreciation for sex to do this job justice.”

A healthy appreciation for sex was one way to put it. A burning desire to hunt Kara down and screw her hard against the wall in the next five minutes was another.

Lucien headed up the nearby staircase at a jog, a man at ease in his environment. Dylan followed, knowing that if what he’d seen downstairs was any kind of yardstick, then upstairs was going to blister his eyeballs.

“This is how it’ll be here, night in, night out. People come to drink and to fuck, simple as that. No drugs, no fighting, just fucking.”

“As someone who has managed some rough clubs over the years, that is music to my ears, man,” Dylan said, peering into one of the playrooms as they passed the open doorway. Seven or eight naked clubbers writhed on the oversized bed, a nest of nude bodies, their mouths feasting on each other. Painted lips sliding over rigid cocks. Tongues lapping between spread legs. Hips banging hips, mouths sucking nipples. It was a veritable sex carnival, the players utterly lost in the acts of giving and receiving pleasure.

“There’s an absolution and purity to fucking that strips people back to their primal core,” Lucien said, and his eyes moved from the playroom to Dylan. “Life is filled with double meanings and hidden secrets. There’s no hiding here.”

They moved along from room to room, scene after scene of sex, from vanilla through to deepest darkest kink, the kind of stuff Dylan had barely even considered let alone taken part in. And he was no prude. But Lucien’s words sat heavier on his mind than the scenes unfolding before him. No hiding.

Was he hiding? And what kind of a man did that make him?

“Lucien, I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me.”

Dylan watched the man he’d come to think of as a friend lift one shoulder, the other leaning on the doorframe of a room set out for people who liked a little pain along with their pleasure. Cages. Shackles. Whips. And suddenly Kara was foremost in his mind once again, her promise of being a very bad girl suddenly more real as he watched a blonde gasp with pleasure as a riding crop left red welts across her exposed ass.

“Trust is a strange thing. Sometimes we give it even though it hasn’t been earned, because something in our gut tells us to,” Lucien said, as the man swung the crop down on the woman’s cheeks again. “She’s putting her trust him, even though she probably doesn’t even know his name.” He went on, “And I’m trusting you with my club and my friend, even though I’m well aware that I don’t even know your name.”

Dylan nodded. That didn’t surprise him. Lucien was way too acute not to have looked into Dylan Day’s background. He’d have done the same himself in the other man’s shoes.

“And I don’t need to know it,” Lucien said, turning abruptly from the door and walking towards the stairs at the far end of the corridor. “But whatever trouble you’re in obviously has you running scared. I’ve been that man, Dylan. It’s tiring, isn’t it?”

Dylan leaned his back against the wall at the top of the quiet stairwell.

“Fucking exhausting.”

Lucien looked away for a few seconds and shook his head, then looked back again. “Can I help?”

Dylan huffed softly. “I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know, man, but no. No one can.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “And just so you know, my troubles are my own, and hand on heart, they will not and cannot follow me here. Your trust is not misplaced.”

He stood with his hand outspread on his chest, feeling his heart beating too fast for comfort. He wouldn’t lie, but the truth wouldn’t come out either. It had no place here, and Lucien’s opinion of him would inevitably change. Right now it meant a lot to count him as a friend.

They both turned at the sound of footsteps and found Kara coming up the staircase.

“Hey Sailor. I’m on break. Keep me company?”

Lucien placed his hand on Dylan’s shoulder for the briefest of seconds, then left him to Kara’s ministrations.

“What was that all about?” Kara asked, gazing after Lucien.

“Boy stuff.”

Kara arched her eyebrows with a grin. “Boy stuff, huh? Dylan and Lucien, sitting in a tree...”

Dylan dropped his hands to Kara’s waist. “The way you look in this outfit?” He ran his palms appreciatively over her velvet-clad hips and pulled her against him. “Not a chance.”

Kara wound her arms around his neck. “I’ve got ten minutes,” she murmured, kissing the golden hollow at the base of his neck and sliding her hand down over his crotch. “Take me somewhere private and find out what’s underneath this dress?”

Dylan didn’t need any further encouragement. He felt in his back pocket for his keys as he tugged her down the stairs. “In here.” He flicked through the keys to the right one and slid it into the lock, not easy with Kara already wrapped around him, sliding her hands inside his shirt.

In the darkness, he reached for her.

“Tell me this isn’t the broom cupboard,” she whispered, her nimble fingers already unbuckling his belt.

“It’s the broom cupboard.” Dylan rucked Kara’s dress up her thighs, running his hands over her stocking tops.

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

“You betcha,” he muttered. “I wish I could see you. Stockings make me horny.”

Kara freed his cock into her waiting hands. “I can tell.”

“Fuck… English,” he groaned. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“I know.”

Dylan pulled Kara’s lace knickers to the side and backed her against the wall. It was her turn to groan. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“I know,” he said, exploring inside her. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.” He lifted her and pinned her against the wall with his body. “Thinking about fucking you.”

“So do me.”

“Do me?” Dylan reached into his back pocket for a condom and sheathed himself. “You sound like a teenager,” he murmured, thrusting his cock deep into her, making her cry out.

“It was your idea to screw in a cupboard,” she panted, dragging his mouth onto hers.

“It was a good idea,” he said, fucking her hard, loving the sounds she made and the way she wrapped her leg around his ass to clamp him close.

“The best,” she said, her voice trembling when he reached down and fingered her slick clitoris. She was going to come, he knew it and she knew it, and he put his hand over her mouth to muffle her yells. He held her up with the weight of his body, his hips pumping hard as he let go of his control.

“The best,” he repeated, lowering her slowly back down to her feet. He kissed her slowly, smoothing her dress back into place regretfully as she stroked his hair. “The best, English.”

“I’m bushed.” Kara fished around in her bag for the keys to the Mustang as she walked back to the car with Dylan at the end of the night.

He held out his hand. “Let me drive.”

She handed them over willingly and flopped into the passenger seat.

“Remember to drive on the right.”

“We drive on the right in the States,” he said. “It’s only you guys who do it the wrong way.”

“The right way,” she objected automatically, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation of being taken care of.

Dylan threw his arm over the back of her seat and glanced over his shoulder as he reversed. “You have good taste in cars.”

“Mmm. I seem to have a thing for all things American at the moment.”

“You have a thing for me, English?” Delicious, sexy humour threaded its way through his drawl.

“Hmm,” Kara said. “You. Mustangs.” She yawned. “You.”

“You said me already.”

“Like New York,” she muttered, half asleep. “So good I said you twice.”

When she opened her eyes again, she was in Dylan’s arms being carried along the pathway at the edge of the beach.

“I did not go to sleep,” she said, nuzzling her face into his neck to get closer to the scent of him.

“Of course not,” he said. Then added, deadpan, “But you were snoring.”

She opened her eyes wide. “I so was not.”

“You’ve turned into that teenager again,” he said, kissing her softly as they approached the boat. He set her on her feet and held her hand as she stepped aboard.

“Coffee?” she asked as he unlocked the door.

Dylan moved in close behind her in the small kitchen and kissed her shoulder.

“You sure you don’t want to go straight to bed?”

“You’ve woken me up now. Let’s have coffee first,” she said, flicking the gas on beneath the kettle. He shrugged assent and turned on the radio, the station playing slow, chill-out tracks designed to lull the island’s clubbers to sleep.

Dylan carried their mugs down into the living area a couple of minutes later and sat down on the lurid couch that ran around the edge. Kara dropped next to him, her head on his shoulder and her feet propped on his knees.

“So. First night done,” she said, accepting her mug from Dylan.

He settled back, his own mug in his hand. “It sure had some highlights.”

Kara touched her mug against his with a lazy smile. “To Gateway Ibiza, and all who screw in her broom cupboard.”

They fell silent, both tired and still coming down from the high of the successful launch. Dylan looked out over the dark, star-studded skies. Dawn was still a couple of hours away.

I love this time of morning," he said quietly, his eyes on a lone fisherman in the distance loading nets into his vessel. "My brother Billy used to night fish."

Kara stilled, surprised by his words. It was the first time he’d volunteered any personal information.

“Are you close?”

“We were.” Dylan drank deeply from his mug, letting the coffee scald his throat for a pain he could concentrate on. “He died a few of years back.”

“Shit.” Kara placed her mug down and sat up, her arm along the cushion behind him. “I’m sorry, darlin’.” She stroked the warm skin at the back of his neck, waiting to see if he wanted to say more. She hoped he would.

“It was a rough time.” Dylan swallowed hard. “Still is. My mom struggles.”

Kara blew out slowly, thankful that she was unable to comprehend the level of grief.

“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

Dylan’s breath left his body in a long sigh. “One other brother. Justin.” A different bleakness lined his face. “We’re not so close.”

There was obviously much that he wasn’t saying, but she was delicate enough not to push him.

“I have twin brothers,” she said instead. “They’re seven years younger than me and drive me crazy most of the time.”

Dylan laughed softly. “I bet their friends have crushes on you.”

“What can I say?” she grinned. “I’m irresistible.”

Dylan stroked her thigh. “You are.”

Kara’s stomach flipped at his serious reaction to her flippant remark.

“You are completely and utterly fucking irresistible,” he said. “So how the hell are you still single?”

“Am I?” she said.

“You know what I mean, English,” he chided.

Kara’s grip tightened around her coffee mug. She knew what he meant.

“You really want to know?” she asked, not sure that she really wanted to tell him.

He nodded, his perceptive eyes searching.

“I was with the same guy for five years. He asked me to marry him and then forgot to turn up.”

“No fucking way,” Dylan said. He was genuinely astonished. Kara, jilted? He couldn’t imagine anyone daring.

“Yes fucking way. Turned out he
forgot
quite a lot of things. Like to tell me about his other women, or the fact that one of them had threatened to gatecrash the wedding if he went through with it.”

“He sounds like a piece of work.”

Kara shook her head. “You don’t know the half of it. He lied, and he lied, and he lied. I hate liars.” She didn’t look up to see Dylan’s expression. Now that she’d started to talk the words were tumbling out, unchecked. “And the best of it is that you’d think I’d have been able to spot a liar, because my dad was the king of them all.”

An unexpected lump rose in her throat.
Why the fuck was she telling him all of this?
But his hand was still warm and comforting on her leg. She wanted to get it out now. She wanted him to know all about her. To understand.

“He lied about pretty much everything, to all of us. To me, to my brothers, and to my mum. I haven’t seen him since I was twelve years old.”

Dylan sighed, and Kara looked up with a small smile. “So there you have it. I’m single because I’m the idiot who was stood up at the altar.”

“You were definitely not the idiot in that story,” Dylan said, drawing her against him and kissing her hair.

“It doesn’t bother me any more. It did, but now it doesn’t. It seems that you’ve cured me.”

Dylan’s mouth moved over her face, kissing her damp lashes.

“Promise me you’ll never lie to me?” she said when he finally reached her lips.

“Kara…” he murmured, and then he kissed her until she had forgotten she’d even asked a question, let alone noticed that he hadn’t answered.

The boat rocked in gentle motion to the slow beat of the music as Dylan’s tongue slid between Kara’s lips, exploring the sweetness of her mouth, trying to forget the things she’d said. Her father was a liar. Her ex was a liar.
He was a liar.

Her fingers picked open the buttons of his shirt and smoothed it from his shoulders.

“You know, it’s a crime to have that thing in here and not dance,” she whispered, standing up, still holding his hand. He flicked his eyes to where she was looking, at the outlandish glitter ball slowly rotating above the lounge, and then shrugged with a half smile and stood up.

They smooched slowly, two late night lovers moving to lovers’ music on a dance floor made just for them, arms wrapped around each other, their mouths grazing each other’s shoulders. Dylan unpicked the laces of Kara’s corset, making his fingers work patiently but so badly wanting her skin against his, her heat to warm him, her body to hold him. 

Her dress slid off in his hands, leaving her beautiful in lacy lingerie and stockings. She was tired in his arms, pliant, yet still her nipples beaded against the lace and her hips undulated into his when he held her close. Her skin was silk against his, warm and vital, and the need to stay there in her arms blindsided him.

“The most perfect girl in the world,” he said, his mouth against her ear, only half aware that the words had come out loud.

She pulled him closer until they pressed against each other from shoulder to hip, and a sigh of pleasure left her lips when he stroked her back. Dylan buried his face in her hair, loving her some, despising himself more. He understood her so much better after what she’d told him tonight, and he hated the knowledge that he was the next liar in her life.

Over at the villa, Lucien finally got to unfasten the laces on the back of a similar dress and make love to the woman he adored. He needed Sophie as he needed oxygen. She was the reason he could sleep at night and the reason he got up in the morning. He buried his cock deep inside her in the centre of their big bed, and he knew with complete certainty that he wanted to screw only this woman for the rest of his life. Married. He felt the passion in the idea growing, captivating him.

My Sophie. Soon to be my wife.

Dylan woke to the sounds of Kara moving around overhead. His watch told him that he’d slept in late: he could hear the whistle of the kettle and the sound of Kara singing along to the radio. Stumbling as he pulled on his jeans, he made his way up the ladder.

“Morning sleepyhead,” she smiled, a vision in his shirt as she poured water into the coffee cups. “I made breakfast.”

She held up a brown paper bag and he caught a waft of cinnamon. An image of her going to the bakery dressed in his shirt filled his head, pleasingly.

“You really should think about bringing a few things down here. Clothes… that kind of stuff…” he trailed off, aware of the significance of the suggestion.

She laughed, making the most of the moment.

“You asking me to move in with you, Sailor?”

He rolled his eyes, carrying their coffee up onto the roof terrace as Kara followed him with the pastries. They sat at the small rickety table, the sun already hot on their exposed skin. Kara dropped her sunglasses down over her eyes, messy-haired and looking deliciously like a woman who’d spent the night not sleeping a whole lot in a lover’s bed. Which she had, of course.
His bed
. An unexpected wave of possessiveness swept over him from nowhere. He wanted to be the only man who got to spend the night with her.

She opened the bag and handed him a pastry.

“You’re a fabulous cook,” he said, biting into it.

“You did say
cook
?” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively as she smoothed the bag out over her knees to serve as a plate. The double whammy of sugar and strong coffee seeped into their bloodstreams and worked its magic, revving them up for the new long day and night that lay ahead.

“I’ll bring some clothes by later,” she said, and, as simple as that, they agreed to spend the next couple of months together on the Love Tug.

“And about what I said last night…” she said conversationally, ripping the warm pastry apart with her fingers. “ I meant every word of it, Dylan Day. Lie to me and I’ll cut your cock off and pickle it.”