About Blue Knight
A game of seduction where a mistake means death.
Held hostage by the insurrectos for weeks and forgotten by the world, Olivia has watched Daniel bed every women but her, who he can’t see. Daniel lives dangerously and is forced to use her window one night to avoid the guards. Naked and faced with a long-legged woman who doesn’t want him, his curiousity is piqued.
Under the hostile, suspicious gazes of the guards they begin a game of heated seduction where the stakes are so high, no one, not even their fellow hostages, must suspect there is a connection between them. As Daniel teaches her how to defy the guards the tension between them, both sexual and personal, spirals until it threatens to shatter.
Olivia learns that Daniel is not quite who she thought he was. Now she is fighting for Daniel’s life, too, for if the insurrectos find out who he really is, then the man she has come to love will be instantly executed….
WARNING: This erotic romantic suspense contains frequent, explicit and frank sex scenes and sexual language. Don't proceed beyond this point if hot love scenes offend you.
No Vistarian Loyalists came to harm during the making of this book.
This book is part of The Vistaria Affair Series
Book 1: Red Leopard
Book 2: Black Heart
Book 3: Blue Knight
Book 4: White Dawn (coming soon!)
Praise for Blue Knight
Daniel is seriously smoking hot. An entertaining story with spicy and tender love scenes, a well matched hero and heroine and plenty of action and suspense. Leslie`s Psyche.
This is a very tense and meaty novel–made very intense because of the context of the novel and the danger in which these lovers constantly find themselves…every bit as compelling as any by Robert Ludlum or James Patterson. Book Binge
I love it when novels start with a bang, and Blue Knight took off with full force from the first words and refused to slow down. This was a powerful read. Happy Ever After Reviews
Contents
About Blue Knight
Praise for Blue Knight
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
More in The Vistarian Affair Series
Dedication
Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey
About the Author
Copyright Information
Chapter One
Olivia was not a heavy sleeper and the tension of the last four weeks had left her even less inclined to slumber. So at two a.m., when the window of her hotel room softly rattled and began to rise, she woke instantly.
Her heart hammered as she watched from under her half-lowered eyelids the double-hung window lift. She reasoned it out. It simply wasn’t possible for anyone other than a guest of the Royal White Sands hotel to be inside the compound after curfew—not with all the armed guards constantly circling the grounds. That meant whoever was outside her window had to be one of the other guests. They were being stealthy because they didn’t want the guards to know they were there. Ibarra, the officer who controlled the insurrectos running the White Sands had made it clear they would punish a guest for breaking curfew. This person was clearly doing that.
As the insurrectos had not charmed their way into Olivia’s heart over the last few weeks, she wasn’t in a hurry to turn the guest over to Ibarra by squealing about breaking and entering. Instead, she sat up, bringing the blankets with her, and waited.
The window lifted enough to admit a full-grown human and a body slithered through. A naked body. Olivia caught her breath, containing her shock with well-trained discipline.
He stood and looked straight at her, his eyes hidden in dark shadows cast by the illumination spilling through the windows from the floodlights the insurrectos kept running all night. She recognized him as the British man who had arrived in the same group as she had, six weeks before. He was a fine specimen of a man, too. Young, possibly early to mid-thirties, which put him at a little younger than her, or maybe her age and just not showing it. Physically, he was clearly strong and fit. There was plenty of muscle—not gym rat excessive, but enough to show he worked out. He was lean and, from what she could see from the light in the room, tanned, which was unusual for an Englishman and a businessman, to boot.
Hard, lean hips and strong thighs. As he turned to listen for a moment, to check if his entry into her room had been observed, she saw his backside outlined in the light and mentally sighed. High and firm, with tight cheeks.
When he swiveled back, she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze dropped to his penis. It was flaccid right now, but even so, it seemed suitably sized to her. She snapped her gaze back up to his face, glad of the semi-darkness of the room.
She wasn’t entirely sure what his name was. They had never spoken directly to each other, of course.
He lifted a long finger to his lips for silence, and then padded to her bathroom. He didn’t switch on the light. Moving with confidence, he picked up a glass, poured a small amount of water into it and brought it back to her bedside. He bent over, lifted up the sheets and blankets and the box spring cover and carefully poured a teaspoonful of water over a small black lead. Then he placed the glass under the mattress and lowered the head of the lead into the glass so that it was submerged. He dropped the covers back over it again and stood up.
“In the morning, before you leave your room, don’t forget to put the glass back in the bathroom and bend the microphone back up the way it was. The insurrectos are unimaginative, but they’re bloody good at following routine and they check the microphones every day when you leave your room.” He paused. “You did know they were bugging you, didn’t you?”
“I thought they might be.” She bit her lip.
“You destroyed all your identity papers, anything they might use to nut out who you are?” he asked. He didn’t seem in the slightest bit concerned about being totally naked. He might as well have been fully clothed.
“As soon as they confined us to the hotel,” she confirmed. “We all did.” She cleared her throat. “You are going to explain why you broke into my room, aren’t you?”
He glanced at the open window. “Sorry about that.” He went to the window, slid the pane back down again and clipped the window shut. The rounded caps of his shoulders gleamed in the light as he moved. “I was next door with…a friend.”
“I see,” Olivia replied diplomatically. The room next door was occupied by the pretty brunette girl that Olivia thought was called Theresa. She had travelled with the main party as a diplomatic aide to one of the UN representatives, as she spoke fluent Spanish. This man would have gravitated to her because she was young and buxom and just his type.
“The insurrectos called on her for questioning, so I had to leave in a hurry,” the man added.
Olivia barely held back her little moan. Since the insurrectos had shut down the hotel and refused to let the diplomatic party leave, unscheduled middle-of-the-night interviews had become frequent. She had suffered through one herself. “Why do they do that?” she whispered.
“Because in the small hours of the night, your resistance is weakest and your mind is sluggish. It’s the best time to question a subject,” the man said. He seemed indifferent.
Olivia was appalled. “I knew that,” she said. “I mean, I
do know that but I never applied it to us here. We’re hostages, aren’t we?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Yes, we are,” he agreed softly. “You’ve only just figured that out?”
She spread the blanket at her feet compulsively. “I think I’ve known all along. I just didn’t want to deal with it. It’s so extreme. So bizarre. No one has ever used the word aloud to make it real.”
He pointed out the window. “The guns and soldiers make it real enough. Try strolling out of the compound. A hundred seven-point-six-two millimeter cartridges from those HK21 machine guns ripping out your stomach will feel very real.”
She wrapped her arms around her knees. “Will she be all right, your friend?”
He nodded. “Serrano is paranoid, but he’s not stupid. He knows better than to harm diplomats.”
Olivia gave a hollow laugh. “If he isn’t stupid, then he wouldn’t have taken us hostage in the first place. I won’t rely on your assurance, thank you, Mr.—?”
“Daniel.” He sat on the bed, still completely at ease despite his lack of clothing. It bothered Olivia that he seemed unmoved by her presence, when she could barely take her eyes away from his chest and shoulders, from his abdomen, hips…pelvis…the thigh resting so casually across her counterpane.
“So now what, Daniel?”
“I’m going to have to stay here until morning,” he said simply. “Then I’ll go next door to retrieve my clothes and bother you no longer.”
“Stay? Stay where?”
He patted the bed.
“Like hell!”
“You don’t have a sofa.”
“I have a floor.”
“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he promised.
That irked her more than she really cared to admit even to herself. She pushed the covers aside and stalked to the bathroom, with no clear idea why she was heading there, except that she’d figure it out once she was there. She just had to get away from him for a moment so that she could draw breath and regulate her thoughts.
But she was only halfway across the floor when she heard him draw a sharp breath. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
She whirled. “What?” she demanded, the ragged ends of her temper simmering.
He was sitting up, his back straight, staring at her. Abruptly, she was aware of what she was wearing.
Or rather, what she wasn’t wearing.
As a member of the diplomatic corps she mostly wore trouser suits. True, in this climate, they were lightweight and the tops she wore under the jackets were the lightest she could get away with, but as a diplomat, a suit was de rigueur. It was all she had packed for day wear and therefore all that Daniel had seen her wear around the hotel. In truth, it was all she comfortable wearing these days. It was the role she was used to.
But in bed she let her hair down. Literally. She pulled down the French twist and slipped into the blue and very short silk and lace halter-top bed gown that dipped down at the back to just below her waist, leaving her skin either bare and cool, or just kissed by the featherweight touch of luxury silk. The lace was the same color as her hair, a blonde that her ex had once called “mocha foam.” He had tried to make it sound derisive. But he’d liked platinum blondes, preferably with an IQ in the mid-double digits. At least, that had been what he’d ended up with.
It was after the platinum blonde had stolen Olivia’s husband, faith in men, loyalty, inheritance and self-pride all in one day that Olivia had started this little routine of dressing for herself at night. Screw everyone else, especially men. She had chosen the most luxurious fabric that felt the nicest against her skin and picked a garment in a color that she liked, in a style that she wanted to wear, that made her feel pretty, happy and good.
It hadn’t taken long for her to extend that contented, happy feeling over to other areas in her life. She’d just taken it underground, away from prying public eyes.
Now this Daniel was sitting up and looking at her in her blue silk nightgown. A deep sense of awkward awareness settled into her bones, like she had not felt since she was a teenager. “What?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.
“You have the most stunning legs,” he declared, his voice mellow and smooth. “You could win beauty pageants with those legs. They go on for miles and miles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen legs quite so amazing as yours before.”
It took a breath and several heartbeats for Olivia’s mind to catch up with what he had said. Her legs. He was admiring her legs. It wasn’t just the last thing she had expected him to say, it hadn’t even been on the list. Winded and completely at a loss for a response, she turned and walked into the bathroom. She hated that she had lost all sense of grace and dignity. She was horribly aware of her legs, her hips and her ass as she moved. She shut the door with deep relief and sank down onto the closed toilet lid, her head in her hands.
“Good grief, get a grip, Olivia!” she murmured to herself, squeezing her temples. “You’re supposed to be a diplomat! You’re supposed to be able to handle any situation!”
She rested her hand against the beautiful tiles that covered the counter. They were cold under her fingers, telling her just how flushed she was. She drew a breath. Another one, controlling each inhale and drawing them deep down into her stomach and exhaling carefully. It calmed her a little, enough to let her feel her heart thundering along inside her ribs.
Now she was calmer, she realized ruefully exactly why she had flounced into the bathroom like a high school princess with her mad on.
This Daniel, this prime specimen of a naked male, hadn’t been even a tiny bit disturbed by her presence. She hadn’t even registered on his radar. Theresa, next door, Theresa, the twenty-something with the large breasts and giggle and flawless skin of the very young…Theresa, he noticed. But not Olivia.
Even when Olivia had slid out of the bed, what he had focused on was her legs.
Olivia looked down at her bare knees, glowing ghostly pale in the light filtering through the small window high above her. She should be grateful, she supposed, that he had noticed that much. But gratitude seemed too much to ask for. In the last few weeks she’d had guns pointed at her, she’d been dragged out of her bed and questioned through the night. She had been a prisoner of the pseudo-government of Vistaria—the insurrectos—who she would right now take delight in making sure were never formally acknowledged as the rightful leaders of what used to be one of the most delightful countries in North America.
Enough was enough. She was Olivia Davenport, a force to be reckoned with in diplomatic circles. On her good days, anyway.
Olivia stood up, straightened her shoulders and marched back out into the bedroom.
Daniel was still sitting on the bed where she had left him. She was surprised at that. He struck her as the sort of man who would have just climbed into the bed she’d left empty, helping himself to the pillows and leaving her to find a space next to him when she emerged. That he had not made her stride falter. She approached the bed, slowing.
“I suppose, under the circumstances, I cannot kick you out,” she conceded.
“I’ll sleep on the floor if it makes you that uncomfortable.”
“No,” she replied. “It’s a big enough bed. That would just make me feel guilty.”
His teeth showed white for a moment as he smiled. “Conscience before morals. How interesting.” He lifted a hand toward the pillows. “After you.”
“It’s nothing to do with either,” she said as she slid under the covers. “I simply don’t want to have to deal with fallout over your presence in the morning.” She propped her head onto one hand to watch him.
He circled the bed and reached for the untouched covers on the other side and hesitated.
“What?” she said.
His face was fully illuminated by the lights now and she could see his eyes. They really were blue. The blue of a summer day. He was looking at her with a touch of dry amusement. “I don’t know your name.”
He sounded apologetic.
She reached over and held out her hand. “Olivia Da—” She bit off the end of it. “Olivia,” she repeated, with a grimace.
His amusement evolved into an ironic smile as he shook her hand. “You’re a diplomat,” he confirmed.
“You’re not,” she said stiffly, taking back her hand.
“Hell, no,” he said fervently and slid under the covers. “I don’t have the patience. I got invited on this junket because I have business interests in the area. I have contacts out here and know Spanish.”
“In other words, you have money and influence.”
He paused from flattening a pillow to look at her. “That’s pretty cynical for a diplomat.”
“I’m only a junior diplomat and I’m entitled to call a spade a spade when you’re sitting in my bed naked and we’re both hostages at the disposal of the interim government of Vistaria.”
He lifted a brow. “You said ‘hostage’ out loud. You’ve done it now.”
She lifted her shoulder. “Oops.”
He settled back on the pillows. Already, she could feel the heat emanating from his side of the bed.
“May I ask a question or two before you start to snore, Daniel?”
“I never sleep soundly enough with another person in the bed to get to the point of snoring.” He rolled his head to look at her and his brow lifted. “Ask.”
“You break the curfew a lot, don’t you?”
His answer was a long time coming. “I usually manage to keep my clothes on me while I’m doing it. But yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He rolled over on his side and propped himself up like she was, his head on his hand. “Why do you want to know? Feeling prurient, Olivia? Because the TV is over there, if you are.”
The one cable station the insurrectos had allowed the hotel to pipe in to them was a twenty-four hour porn station. All other stations had been cut off. No news had reached them in weeks.
Olivia shook her head. “No, that’s not why I’m asking.” She mentally groped for the reason herself. “I watched you sliding through the window a while ago. You’re practiced at it. I know you’ve done it a lot yet you haven’t been caught. It’s like…defiance.”
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