Pride & Pleasure (The KNIGHT Brothers Book 1)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  “Those are all physical traits. Any thoughts personality wise?”

  Dawn chuckled. “Personality? Who cares? You’ve seen the picture on the internet where he was playing tennis with Selena Banks, the French model. I could bounce a coin off his tight ass.”

  Avary felt her cheeks flame. “My thoughts haven’t even crossed that path. I’ve only read that he hasn’t given an interview in years and has shut down the vineyard from tourists.” She still couldn’t believe that she’d said yes to traveling two hundred miles to the Knight Estate for a weekend. She didn’t want to admit it openly, but she’d done her research on the enigmatic Mr. Victor Truman Knight, and she was impressed. He was born thirty-three years ago, attended Wharton where he graduated top of his class, and when his father died unexpectedly, Victor took over as CEO of the family vineyard and winery which was the finest vineyard along the coast. He was known for being an exceptional entrepreneur who’d almost tripled the Knight wealth in a short period of time. Avary had also dipped into the juicy details of his personal life, only because she needed to know a little about the stranger who invited her to his mansion. He’d never been married. Had no kids. Yet, there were plenty of pictures floating around of him with beautiful, sexy women, especially with the French model Dawn had mentioned. He was a playboy. The very idea made her stomach turn. Just what the world needed. “I’ve also read that he’s a multi-millionaire.”

  “You say that with disgust.” Dawn clicked her tongue. “Nothing wrong with a man who has money.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  “Avary, remember, you need this job. Certainly Victor Knight’s bank account isn’t suffering, but yours is. Not to mention, you play the cello like an angel. It’s time to show the world that you’re better than ever. This is the first step back into the career you’ve longed for.”

  “I’ve tried…and I still am.” Her gaze automatically fell to her wounded hand. “You know this wasn’t my choice.” Avary’s throat ached.

  “Doc said the scarring will continue to get better with time. Look how much the skin has healed so far. And I did pack the ointment so don’t forget to rub it on nightly to keep the skin moist.”

  Avary followed the deep red line from the inside of her middle finger, along her palm until it disappeared into the sleeve. Her mind traveled back to that evening when she’d walked out of the theater. It had been late and everyone had left. She didn’t have any clue that one moment in time would change her life. As she made her way to her car, the rain had sounded loud pelting the rooftops and cement. The masked man came out of the shadows, wielding a knife with a shaking hand, demanding she give him everything. She’d handed over her purse, expecting him to leave her alone, but then he’d reached for her cello case. Without thought, she’d put up a struggle, ending with him slicing her right hand and she’d had no choice but to let go of the case. He’d run away, leaving her in a puddle of blood until her screams were overheard by the theater janitor who called for an ambulance.

  Two days later, the attacker was caught after he took her cello to a pawn shop.

  Months had passed and she’d slipped deeper into depression. The thought of never picking up a bow again had left her devastated. Eventually, she’d started physical therapy, long hours of painful rehabilitation, until she was finally able to gain use of her hand again.

  Dr. Darringer had slowly helped her out of her mental desolation, along with musical coaches and teachers who wouldn’t allow her to use the pain in her hand as an excuse to not continue what she loved. Recovery had drained her savings account, the CD’s she’d recorded were no longer selling as well, and now it was time to earn an income again.

  It wasn’t that simple for her.

  Although she’d overcome so much physically, nothing seemed to ease the fear lingering within her. Nighttime was the hardest, especially when she was alone. She would turn on music to drown out any other noise and keep on all of the lights until she finally fell asleep.

  She’d recently received several invitations to play with the orchestra in local theater shows, but she declined. She needed more time to work through the fear.

  Creases of concern surfaced at the corners of Dawn’s eyes. “Sweetheart, I know it was unfair what happened, but there comes a point when you can’t allow some thief in an alley ruin your life—ruin you. Haven’t you allowed him to destroy enough of who you are?”

  Avary’s chest tightened. Once upon time she had everything she’d ever wanted. She had an amazing career. Played solo on stages all over Virginia, all over the country. She had articles written about her, and her face was on the cover of newspapers and magazines. Little did she know that her wonderful life would only last for such a short time, or that her hand would never be the same. She’d always have the reminder of what the mugger took away from her… more than her purse with her driver’s license, fifty dollars and a few coins—or even the cello that was returned to her two weeks later. It’d taken her months of physical therapy and hours of agony just to get to the point where she could hold the bow without pain. Another six months until she could play again. She’d worked hard, hiring the best teachers who could help her get back to where she was—but she’d surpassed her expectations. She was better than before. Yet, each time she thought about venturing back into the world, into public, she was struck with fear. She’d tried, but the attacker had taken away her sanctuary. It went far beyond the deep scar on her hand.

  “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like to talk about it.” Dawn placed the iron back on the vanity top. “Look how pretty your hair is.” She smoothed her hands down the soft waves.

  Avary smiled, not seeing the curls, but only her sister. “Thank you for giving me the confidence to do this. You’re right. I need the money and the exposure.”

  Dawn hunkered down beside her. “And just think. He’s giving you enough that you can purchase a new cello, the one I’ve noticed you’ve been eyeing for months now.”

  It was true, Avary had been driveling over a Ren Wei Shi and imagining how beautifully she could play if she owned one. But maybe it was only a dream. Unless she was able to go out in public without having a panic attack, how would she ever play again for an audience? She didn’t have an attack every time she went out, but she never knew when the moment would strike her. A certain scent of cologne. A particular sound. She was never sure what would set off her anxiety, which made it harder to control.

  Going to the Knight Estate would be the baby step that she needed. She not only wanted the money, but she needed the opportunity to spread her wings. “If this works out, maybe I can get out of your hair and find my own place.”

  “Stop. You know you’re welcome to live here for as long as you need to.”

  “I’m in the way. I have a feeling that Doug would like to stay here permanently.”

  Dawn laughed. “We’ve only been dating six months. Don’t rush things because I’m not.”

  “But when it’s right it’s right.”

  “You really think Doug and I are right for one another?” Dawn asked.

  “I think he makes you happy, and that makes me happy.”

  “Come on. I have something for you.” Dawn stepped toward the hall, motioning for Avary to follow. Inside of her sister’s bedroom, she found her holding the beautiful red designer dress she’d bought to wear for the special upcoming weekend with Doug. “Since we’re the same size, you can wear this.”

  Avary’s mouth fell open. “No way, I can’t wear that. You bought it to wear for Doug.”

  Dawn shrugged. “For what this cost, it deserves to be worn more than once. And besides, I think it’ll look better on you anyway.”

  “Nope. Not happening.” Avary shoved the dress back toward her sister.

  “I insist. Remember we were talking about what you’ll wear to dinner at the Knight Estate? Well, you can’t wear just any ol’ everyday outfit. You’ll want to look your best. Show people that you’re coming back to the world, bigger an
d better than ever. Let people know you were hurt, but you’re recovering. This is the dress to do that in.”

  Reluctantly, Avary took the dress and held it up against her body. “I-I would need a wrap, something to go over my shoulders.”

  “I’ve got that covered. I packed one for you.”

  “So, you planned this all along?” Avary asked.

  “No, actually I didn’t. But seeing how lovely your hair looks, I just know this dress will look beautiful on you.”

  “I won’t ruin it. I promise. This means a lot to me.” Tears blurred her vision.

  “Don’t you dare cry. Your eyes will get all red and you’ll look stoned. That’s not the first impression you want to give to Victor Knight. And, last but not least, take my car.” She pulled the keys from her front pocket and held them out.

  “I have to draw the line at this. You need the car to get back and forth to work.”

  “I’ve already discussed this with Doug and we both decided your car wasn’t safe to drive down the road, let alone out of the city. If you don’t take it, I’ll worry myself sick about you every single minute. Now, how fair would that be?” Dawn frowned dramatically.

  “Fine, but you’re being too nice. It’s not like I’m already keeping you from following your dreams.”

  “Dreams? What dreams?” Dawn sighed.

  “Getting married. Having children. How can you when you’ve become a surrogate mom to your younger sister.” This had made her feel horrible. She’d become a weight on her sister’s shoulders. How had she gotten so far down? She’d make this work, no matter how hard it was or how much she had to force herself through each step. She’d do this for her sister.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Avary switched on the turn signal and eased into the right lane, setting cruise control on the smooth-riding Civic at seventy-five mph as she headed toward her destination. She turned up the volume to an AC/DC song and thrummed her fingers to the tune that instantly made her heart beat faster. She was a lover of 2Cellos and Zuill Bailey, but when the need arose, she pulled out the hard rock to get her blood pumping. The song ended and a commercial came on. She stabbed the off button.

  I can do this. I can do this. I’m going to do this. She repeated the words like a mantra. She still couldn’t believe she was going through with this, but she would.

  The roads weren’t busy for a normal late afternoon on a Friday in Richmond. Mr. Knight expected her at seven and she shouldn’t have any trouble making it on time, especially in Dawn’s new car that drove like a dream down the Interstate, unlike her old, worn out metal dinosaur. She loved her car, but knew it was just a matter of time before it bit the dust. It’d served its purpose. It’d gotten her from rehearsal to rehearsal, theater to theater, one stepping stone to another.

  An hour later, she turned onto a road edging the water and listened to the GPS announce that she’d arrived. A swinging metal sign with the name ‘Knight Vineyard and Winery’ hung at the entrance. Once she stopped at the gate and was given entrance onto the private property, she followed the tree-lined lane until she came to the palatial stone house with white columns and large windows. She parked next to a sleek, black Mercedes and a candy-apple red Jaguar.

  She’d seen pictures of the Knight Estate, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing it in person. The sprawling three-hundred-acre property was hidden among the lovely Virginia countryside and near enough to the water’s edge that she could see boats sailing. The mansion rested along ancient majestic oaks, and the lush rows of the vineyard seemed to continue on as far as the eye could see.

  Her hands trembled as she gathered her things from the backseat, dragging the strap of her cello case further up on her shoulder and clutching the handle of her suitcase tightly. Taking a deep breath of courage, she followed the herringbone brick sidewalk surrounded by a colorful array of flowers and fragrant bushes. The landscaping could have been presented on the front page of any home and garden magazine. Considering she could kill a rubber plant if she got within five feet, she admired the talent.

  Standing at the massive red door, she knocked and it swept open. Standing on the other side was a tall, studious man wearing the sharpest black suit she’d ever seen. If she hadn’t seen pictures of Victor in magazines, she would have certainly believed this to be him. The man offered her a semi-smile. “Can I help you, madam?”

  “I’m Avary Pine, here to see Mr. Knight.”

  “Step in, please.” He took a pace back, allowing her room to enter. “Can I take those for you?” He reached for her suitcase. She hesitated with handing over the cello. “I promise not to damage anything.” His smile grew wider. He had nice, kind eyes.

  “Okay.” She passed over her belongings to him.

  “Please wait here a moment and I’ll let Mr. Knight know that you have arrived.”

  She stood in the center of the foyer and patted her hands down her clothes, hoping she hadn’t accumulated too many wrinkles. Suddenly, she was very glad she’d allowed Dawn to fix her hair, but it was too late to worry about her clothing. If the elegance of the foyer with the crystal chandelier and the handcrafted tiled floors were any indication of the rest of the house, Avary would be afraid to touch anything. She knew she wouldn’t fit in. Not that she did in most circumstances anyway. She’d always been the quiet, shy kid who apologized after every sentence. That’s why at ten her parents had bought her a cello, put her into lessons, and had hoped she’d blossom. Blossom she did. Without the cello she was a wall flower. Behind the cello, she became a rose.

  A tendril of hair escaped her waves and she tugged it back into place, concentrating on breathing, in and out. In and out. Mr. Knight was only a man. So what that he had more money than he knew what to do with and lived in a house that most people only dreamed of living in. She would handle herself with dignity and grace. No reason for anyone, especially Mr. Knight, to realize how nervous she was. She’d view this as a performance. Before any stage presentation, she would be overcome with a case of the nerves. However, once she sat down with her cello, the butterflies disappeared. She’d feel fine once she sat down with Mr. Knight and realized he was of flesh and blood, not an Adonis like the media portrayed him. She certainly wouldn’t look at his ass to see if it was tight enough to bounce a coin off. Darn Dawn for putting that thought in my mind.

  “Mr. Knight will see you now, Miss Pine,” the finely dressed gentleman said. She hadn’t even heard him return. Her belongings were missing. As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “I had the housekeeper take your things up to your room.”

  He led her down a wide hallway with the same tiled flooring and sanitary white walls. This wasn’t a home. It was a museum. There was no evidence that humans lived here, no personal effects or specks of dirt. She scanned the walls for cameras, feeling as if she were being watched by a security guard wearing a cap and carrying a stick, ready to toss her out on her ear if she crossed the line. She half expected to find parts of the house roped off with signs reading, ‘Don’t touch’.

  “Here we are, madam.” The man stopped and pointed to a closed door on his right. “You can go in when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, resisting the urge to ask questions about Mr. Knight. What had come over her? She’d never cared what others thought of her, not when it came to her appearance or character. With one last deep breath, she opened the heavy oak door and stepped through.

  She was immediately met with a strong scent of leather, spice, and tobacco. She was reminded of the one time she was called into the principal’s office at her private school. She had been shaking in her shoes to find out her punishment for kicking Bobby Wheeler in the privates. He’d tugged her pony tail so hard that she’d heard roots pop. Even today she didn’t think she deserved losing recess for a week, yet what Principal Jones didn’t realize was that she hated recess. She preferred reading a book. Bobby never bothered her again so it had all worked out in the end.

  Mr. Knight’s office was l
arge and immaculately decorated with wood paneled walls polished to a high-sheen, oversized furniture covered in beige material and matching pillows. Gold frames held art work from world maps to ocean tides. Two floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with antique books. A mini bar held bottles of scotch and sleek glasses that were lined up neatly. Six narrow windows allowed natural light to flow in, and without looking, she guessed they faced the water’s view. The room left her momentarily stunned, but a clearing of throat brought her attention to the massive desk.

  “Miss Pine.” The deep masculine voice came from the man standing up from his chair.

  This was Mr. Victor Knight.

  Her breath stilled because, just like the décor, he was regal, authoritative, and needed a ‘don’t touch’ sign. He was much better looking in person and she didn’t doubt for a second that he’d pass the ‘coin test’. Dressed in a sharp gray suit and red tie, the cut and style fit him perfectly and accentuated his wide shoulders. Had she expected any less from a millionaire? He probably had a closet full of tailored designer clothes. There wasn’t one wrinkle or piece of lint on his clothing. Although she knew he was only in his thirties, there was something about him that made him appear older and more distinguished than what would be expected from a young man. Maybe the way he stared at her or how his eyes crinkled at the corners which made him appear smarter, more confident. He was very tall, and his simple buzzed hair contradicted his otherwise fashionable appearance. His penetrating eyes remained on her, caging her, probing. Did he not approve of her attire? Or her hair? Not that it mattered. Or maybe it did. She refused to cross her arms over her waist like a child.

  Avary stood there, waiting for him to say something as the awkwardness grew to an unbearable level and humiliation licked at the inside of her stomach. He finally stuck out his hand. She stared, counted to three, then stuck her hand in his, quickly aware that he had long, thick fingers and surprisingly, he had calluses on his palms. Now where does a man who wears Armani suits and lives in a mansion get a working man’s hands? She cleared her throat and pulled her thoughts back onto safer ground. She started to pull away, but shockingly, he didn’t release her hand. It wasn’t a tight grip, but a light clutch that told her he wanted to prolong the touch. Maybe to make her more uncomfortable because she was certain her skin had flushed under his scrutiny. Her nipples also beaded. Her heart fluttered. Wow…this was all new—sensationally new.