One More Knight

after runnin’ a car into a tree, instead of, say, in a hospital.” Now his smile was friendly, designed to disarm.

She resisted it with every ounce of her strength, and offered a stony, unforgiving stare. “Yeah, that’s what the cops thought, too. You’re probably not going to believe me, either, but the last drop of alcohol I had was in a strawberry margarita at Acapulco’s in Brentwood, California. That was…Tuesday. The blood test they gave me at the hospital confirmed it-you can read the arrest report if you don’t believe me.”

“Hell, I believe you.” He said it in that same annoyingly easygoing way, but his eyes remained intent and thanks to those damn lashes, impossible to read.

He really did have beautiful eyes.

The beat of the music was faster now, a rockabilly tune popular with the younger crowd. Charly listened with her eyes half-closed, letting her body move to it. Shutting out the eyes. Closing off thought.

“So, what did they arrest you for?”

Unfortunately Lori the waitress arrived with their drinks just in time to catch that. She gave Charly a nervous look as she set two sweating long-necks on the tabletop, accepted the bills Troy gave her without dallying, for once, and hurriedly scooted away.

Charly waited until she was out of earshot, then lifted her bottle, tilted it toward his in a mock toast and recited with lip-smacking relish, “Reckless driving, operating a motor vehicle without a license and open-container violation.”

He paused in the process of tucking his wallet away to give a low whistle. “All that without even bein’ drunk?”

“That’s right.”

He was shaking his head as he picked up his beer. “Sounds like you might be needin’ a lawyer.”

“I am a lawyer.”

The bottle halted just short of his lips, and his eyes leaped to hers. “No kiddin’?”

She couldn’t seem to shift her gaze away from his mouth. Hers had gone dry as dust. She drank some beer and licked her lips. “It’s the truth.”

There was a long pause, and then they were both laughing-real laughter, husky and mellow. Troy didn’t know which felt better in his belly, that or the beer.

“You feel like telling me what did happen?”

“It’s a long story.” Her eyes stared straight into his, a dark, lost look he took as a personal challenge.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured. And knew right then and there that he wouldn’t be. For better or worse, he was committed to this mission.

Granted, his life had been pretty tame lately, but right now he was feeling more keyed up and alive than he had in months. This woman was turning out to be a real surprise, as full of tension and secrets as a Baghdad bazaar. Intriguing and tantalizing as a pair of beautiful eyes beckoning above a veil. He was developing a real curiosity about her, a growing itch to know. He wanted to see what was behind that damn veil.

But it was obvious she wasn’t going to show him, not yet. She frowned, suddenly edgy as a caged wolf, and said, “Hey, you don’t happen to have a cigarette on you, do you?”

“Hell, no.” He said it in surprise; he hadn’t pegged her as a smoker. “Those things’ll kill you.”

She was out of her chair before he’d finished it, heading for the bar. He didn’t try to stop her, just picked up his beer and lazily drank while he watched her edge her way in between a couple of guys who were sitting there nursing their Bud Lights and puffing away like chimneys. He could feel his jaw muscles tense as he watched her: the supple bend and sway of her body as she spoke to the two men; the way her hair brushed her neck when she tilted her head and smiled; the way her head fell back and her breasts pushed forward when she laughed.

He watched her take a cigarette from a proffered pack, tap it once on the bar and then put it between her lips, watched a flame sprout and her head dip close to a masculine hand. She lifted her head, her lips pouting around the cigarette as she shook back her hair. Her hand touched a masculine shirtsleeve.

He had to remind himself to breathe as his gaze followed the slender line of her hand and wrist, down her forearm, past the bend of her elbow and upward to the gentle curve of her biceps. He had a sudden, vivid image of Officer Baylor’s thick fingers wrapped around that smooth, naked arm.

His mouth had gone bone-dry. His eyes burned in their sockets. He shook himself and drank, but the beer tasted like ground glass going down.

“Ah, that’s better,” Charly said with a breathless laugh as she dropped into the chair across from him. She picked up her beer and took a swig, then a quick drag from the cigarette. And erupted in a fit of coughing.

Troy watched her struggle for a while, then silently reached over and took the cigarette from her fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

She glared at him in outrage. “What’d you do that for?”

“Come on, you don’t want to be doin’ that.”

For a moment or two he could see she was thinking about arguing the point. Then she propped an elbow on the tabletop, rubbed wearily at her forehead and closed her eyes. “I haven’t smoked in years,” she said in a soft, tense voice. “It’s this damn town. Look at me-I’m here what, six hours? Seven? And it’s like I’ve lost twenty years of my life. I might as well be sixteen again.”

Troy got to his feet and kicked back his chair. Her eyes and mouth opened simultaneously, but before she could ask the questions he could see forming in her eyes, he reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. He’d prepared himself in advance for the jolt, but there was still a growl in his voice when he said, “Come on, let’s you and me dance.”

It was a reckless thing to do, and he knew it. And he had an idea, from the way she was looking at him, that she knew it, too. Her eyes locked on to his, darkened and held as she lifted her head in full acceptance of the challenge he’d thrown at her. Then she rose without a word. The muscles in her arm quivered and pulsed beneath his fingers as he guided her around the table. And beneath his belt buckle, his belly did likewise.

Their bodies brushed and bumped together as they wove their way through the tables to the crowded dance floor. To Charly it seemed like part of the dance…his hand on her waist, her shoulder against his chest, his body heat merging with hers. She could feel his breath in her hair, feel her own pulse beat in her throat and belly and wherever he touched her. And then they were on the dance floor, surrounded by music and moving bodies and gentle darkness, and with one slow turn, he gathered her into his arms.

Gathered her in. Yes, that was what it felt.like. So gentle and sure. She felt enfolded, surrounded, cocooned and protected; never had she felt so utterly and completely possessed. She wondered why such a notion didn’t terrify her, why instead she should feel a sense of safety and happiness like nothing she had ever known. As if she belonged here. Right here, in this stranger’s arms, on this murky little dance floor, in this noisy bar that reeked of cigarettes and stale beer and sweat and sawdust. She never wanted to leave.

She couldn’t feel her feet. Didn’t know any longer what song was playing, what the beat was, what steps they were using. And didn’t care. He filled her senses-all of them-with his body, his hands, his heat, his smell. When she swallowed, she could taste him. With her eyes closed she could see the smooth flesh beneath her fingers. Her skin tingled, prickled and caught fire, as if with a raging fever. And yet she shivered.

He murmured something she couldn’t hear as his arms shifted subtly, further enfolding her. Everywhere they touched, she could feel his heat flowing into her…and hers into him. It’s only dancing, she thought. But her heart hammered, drowning thought. Her throat moved convulsively. She felt parched…famished. The warm, moist hollow at the base of his throat tasted like manna from heaven; the tapping of his pulse against her lips was like the patter of raindrops on her thirsty soul…

Troy felt her lips move on his throat, and his stomach clenched. The muscles in his back tightened as he arched, drawing her body into his. She lifted her arms and slid her hands upward to meet behind his neck, kneading and stroking the taut cords, inviting them subtly to relax…let go. He could feel her breasts pillow against his chest, feel the pebbly brush of the nipples as if there were nothing but sweat between them. His thoughts began to flicker like a malfunctioning fuse.

With one of the last flares of lucidity before reason deserted him completely, he realized that his fingers were tugging at the silky knit fabric of her top, unconsciously seeking a way to the greater softness that lay beneath. His hands tightened, then grew still. He thought, What am I doing? What in the hell am I doing?

The inside of his chest felt as if an avalanche were taking place there. He cleared his throat and rumbled,