Knox KOBO

by Christie Ridgway

  “Maybe so, darlin’, because we sure have some chemistry.”

  She blinked, unsure. “Is that…is that…”

  “It’s a classic pick-up line.” He patted the empty stool beside his. “Get comfortable, darlin’, and we can have a conversation about it.”

  The brunette beauty sort of collapsed onto the seat next to Knox. “This is so embarrassing,” she said, putting a slender hand over her eyes and shaking her head so that her sleek hair swirled around her shoulders. “I didn’t know that was a pick-up line.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve heard much worse. I’ve probably used much worse.”

  “But I didn’t mean for it to sound that way,” she insisted.

  “Uh-huh.” He was regretting the impulse to invite her to sit down. It was something the old Knox would do automatically, but even a couple hundred miles on the Indian hadn’t distanced him from the Knox of the low mood. That guy had merely climbed on the back of the bike to ride tandem, damn it all.

  “I wasn’t trying to pick you up, honest. Just chat you up.” She groaned. “That doesn’t sound any better, does it?”

  “Don’t give it another thought.” Instead of looking at her, he focused on his beer. He’d planned a quick break and then back onto the bike to find a place to stop for the night up the coast. He’d have to remember, though, that he couldn’t be too choosy. There was some empty road ahead.

  Maybe he could ask the brunette for a suggestion—but no. No reason to prolong the encounter. He wasn’t good company at the moment.

  “It’s the pregnancy,” she suddenly said.

  He shot her a quick glance. “You have a baby on the way?”

  “Oh, not me.” She put her hand over her flat belly, and he noted her skirt had hiked up above her knees to reveal inches of smooth thigh. She crossed one toned leg over the other. “One of my best friends. She’s turned into a crier.”

  Looking away again, he brought his beer to his mouth. Politeness suggested he should offer to buy her a drink, but thank God that became a moot point when the bartender paused to take her order, and she said two margaritas and that shot of tequila she’d downed were enough—even on her birthday.

  A tipsy birthday girl, Knox realized. Huh. There were country songs written about just this. Rom-com screenplays.

  Hell, limericks on bathroom walls. The old Knox wouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation, but he wouldn’t have hesitated to flirt a little either. This Knox just wanted to be by himself.

  “Your lips look lonely,” he heard himself say anyway, and supposed some habits were so ingrained nothing could suppress them. “Would they like to meet mine?”

  A quick laugh burst from the brunette. “What?”

  “Another classic opener.”

  “Oh.”

  He glanced over, noting the curve of her full mouth. “Should I call you Google? Because you have every single thing I’m looking for.”

  “Hah.” She laughed again. “A modern classic.”

  “As well as an in-the-moment question. What’s your name?” Instinct was taking over again. Of course you always introduced yourself to a pretty girl. “I’m Knox Brannigan.”

  “I…” She hesitated, then shifted to face him as she held out her hand. “I’m Erin Cassidy.”

  “An Irish lass,” he murmured in a terrible brogue. Then he shifted too, for the first time fully facing her as he clasped her fingers in his.

  Starlight, he thought, dazzled, as he looked into the pale silver of her irises. And heat. So much heat. It shot up his wrist to his bicep to cuddle in his armpit before arrowing down his belly where it shocked his cock into sudden alertness. He grabbed for the bar with his free hand as the legs of his stool seemed strangely unsteady.

  In his ears, he heard his quick indrawn breath and saw her do the same as the magnificent eyes staring into his widened.

  What the hell is this?

  But before he could decide, she backed off, her fingers sliding against his to free herself of his hold.

  “Okay,” she said, her expression confused. She called down the bar to the man behind it. “Hey, Adam. Another margarita after all, okay?”

  Yeah. Knox needed to cool down as well. Raising a finger, he signaled for another round for himself. “Put hers on my tab,” he murmured when the bartender came back with the drinks.

  “Oh, no—” Erin began.

  “Please.” Then he ordered a few items from the appetizer menu. It wouldn’t do to get drunk, not when he already had experienced that weird moment of vertigo. So weird, he ensured his arm stayed clear of hers as he passed her some of the stack of napkins Adam set before him.

  She had her neck craned over her shoulder.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked, glancing in that direction.

  “My nutty friends. The ones who put me up to the bad pick-up line.”

  “‘I seem to have lost my phone number, can I have yours?’ is a bad pick-up line.” He watched a platter of bruschetta and another of fried calamari slide between them and rubbed at the residual burn on his arm, still prickling after their brief contact. “And I thought you weren’t trying to come on to me.”

  “They’re both flashing me a thumbs-up sign,” she said, and groaned. “Can I turn in friends of almost twenty years for a different pair?”

  When he looked this time, he identified her buddies by their avid scrutiny. Two pretty women, one obviously pregnant. “Wow. I hope you have the hospital on speed-dial for the mom-to-be in the blue dress.”

  “She has weeks to go yet. But that whole pregnant thing is the cause of our meeting like this. Marissa—the almost mom—feels the need for a distraction, and she and Deanne decided me inspecting the café for fresh meat would do the trick.”

  “Fresh meat.” He kept his face straight. “It all sounds very romantic.”

  “They didn’t use those words,” she confessed. “It’s only how I felt when I was instructed to approach. But she was tearing up, and there was something about maybe giving her baby my name in the middle which I really didn’t buy, but what if they truly are considering it? Shouldn’t I then try to give my best friend a pick-me-up by...”

  “Picking me up?” he offered.

  “Oh, God.” She pressed her face into her hand for a silent moment. “I just replayed all that in my head. I can’t imagine what you’re thinking of me.”

  “You’re a good friend. This is all no big deal.” Except for that burst of heat when they touched. Those silver eyes, the color of the ocean right before dawn.

  Letting her hand drop, she glanced over at him, her expression guilty. “For all I know you’re married. I could have been trying to flirt with some other woman’s husband.”

  “Not married. Don’t imagine I ever will be—at least I have no interest in the institution.”

  “Okay.” She released a sigh. “Thank you for not being weirded out by this. Oh, and for not being a creeper.”

  “I try to keep that aspect of my character hidden until the second date.”

  A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You’re funny. And easy to talk to.”

  “Occupational hazard. Part-time bartender, so I spend a lot of hours speaking with people I don’t know.”

  “What do you do with the rest of your time? When you’re not making drinks and chatting with strangers?”

  “This and that.” Hardly anyone knew all the pies he put his fingers in. He’d not wanted to hear his father’s judgment of his choices. “What about yourself?”

  “Yoga instructor. I own a studio a few miles north of here. Well, it’s actually my house, too, but I have a separate entrance and conduct classes on the bottom floor—” She broke off. “What? What’s that look on your face mean? Why are you holding up your hand like a police officer halting traffic?”

  “Yoga instructor,” he said, sighing. “I need you to stop a second.”

  Her brows came together. “What? Why?”

  “Give me just a minute.”
He closed his eyes. “I’m banishing all puerile and lascivious fantasies those two words bring to mind.” Then his eyes popped back open. “Okay. I’m back. All clear.”

  She stared at him. “Um…have you ever taken a class?”

  “No. And please don’t bring up private lessons. I’d have to go to a room by myself and think of goat shearing for an hour or two to tranquilize my overactive imagination.”

  “Goat shearing? That’s a little creepy.”

  “Good to know.” He nudged the bruschetta in her direction. “Hungry? I can’t eat all this by myself.”

  When she hesitated, he smiled at her. “Hey, if I went too far with that shearing thing, you won’t hurt my feelings if you head back to your friends.” Maybe that would be for the best.

  Instead of glancing their way, she delicately selected one of the bread rounds and slid it onto the small plate Adam had given her. “It’s possible I’m having more fun with you. I know they’ll be thrilled that I’m exchanging words with a man that are more than ‘Salutation to the Sun’ and ‘Downward-Facing Dog.’”

  He winced. “Erin…”

  She batted innocent eyes. “Sorry, were those terms imagination-stimuli? Completely unintentional, I promise you.”

  “You’re getting good at poking the fresh meat.”

  She laughed.

  Then they both did as they ate and drank and swapped small talk, and Knox told himself that the warmth in his belly was beer and food and nothing more. He’d been half-buzzed in the company of an attractive woman many times, and this wasn’t a new feeling. Right? But then her friends left and she didn’t go with them because he was in the middle of telling her about his road trip. Not the nitty gritty, just that he’d obtained a new-to-him bike and decided to take some time off to drive up the coastal highway.

  “Erin,” he started. “You can leave—”

  “It’s fine.” She put her hand over his where it rested on the bar. “Finish what you were saying.”

  He stared at their stacked fingers, every thought evaporating as her touch once again undid him—heating his skin, hardening every muscle, making his cock jump to attention once more. Without thinking, he turned his hand so they were palm-to-palm.

  Damn.

  Forcing his gaze up, he noted her eyes were fixed on the sight. Then she looked up, too.

  “Hey,” he said, softly, as a non-threatening acknowledgement of this potent force between them.

  She swallowed, then replied in the same tone. “Hey.”

  But the shadow of worry in her eyes had his common sense reasserting itself, and he casually slipped his hand free to reach for his beer. This wasn’t the time or place to start something, no matter how enticing the woman. “You know any bar tricks?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her posture relax. “No, but something tells me you do.”

  “I’m all about fun and games.”

  Then he showed off a few of his pub cheats—the Snifter and the Cherry, the Toothpicks into Star, the Dime and Bottle. That one required a playing card that he pulled from the set stuffed into the pocket of his jacket. After he’d impressed her with the stunt, she snatched up the thin rectangle of plastic-coated cardboard.

  “What’s this?” she asked, inspecting the bright artwork.

  “It comes from a strategy game some friends of mine developed. It took off Christmas before last and continues to prove popular. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Greetings from an Admirer.”

  “I have! The goal is to deduce who your admirer is, right? But I’ve never played.”

  He put the entire pack in her hands. “Now you can.”

  “Right now?”

  “Well, I do have one more trick to share.”

  “Show me.”

  Knox grinned at her eagerness. “You’re storing up knowledge for the next time you’re picking up fresh meat in a bar.”

  She made a face. “Just get on with it.”

  It didn’t take long to explain how to get a dime out of an empty shot glass without touching it.

  After going over the steps, he said, “You try it,” and pushed the glass with the coin at the bottom in her direction.

  Bending toward it, she hesitated. “Like this?” Her silver eyes slid to him.

  “Yeah.” His scalp began tingling as his attention shifted to her mouth. “You know. It’s simple. Put your lips together and…blow.”

  She stilled for a moment, but then she puffed, the dime popped out, and he thought he might just lose his mind when she straightened, her face flushed in triumph, her lips still in kiss-position.

  Their gazes met, and then her hands began fanning her cheeks. “Kind of hot in here.”

  “Yeah.” He hauled in a breath. “Kind of hot. Maybe we should go outside. Get some air.”

  She swallowed. “Actually, I should probably head home. The café closes at nine, and…”

  “Yeah.” He glanced around, noticing the tables had mostly cleared out and only a couple of the staff remained. So their interlude was over. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  The outside air was chilled and smelled of saltwater and stars. The beach was a half-block away, and he could hear the surf and the click of Erin’s heels on the blacktop. She rubbed her bare arms as they walked and he immediately shrugged out of his jacket to drape it over her shoulders.

  “It’s only a few feet,” she said.

  He shushed her protest, then stood while she dug through her purse for the key fob to her boxy little car. “Cute,” he commented lightly. “Like you.”

  Her head lifted as she drew out the small device. “Well, Knox Brannigan, I guess this is goodbye.” She moved to pull off the coat, but he stopped her by gripping a zippered edge in each hand.

  “Not quite yet,” he murmured, and used his hold to draw her closer.

  Angling his head, he brushed her mouth with his. She quivered within the leather of his coat, but her mouth was warm, and she didn’t protest or pull away.

  “Yeah, darlin’,” he murmured against her lips and then pressed harder so that she opened and his tongue could take a foray inside.

  Heat. Wet. Sweet.

  He fisted the leather to stop his greedy hands from running over her body, but the taste of her kiss tempted him, goaded him, shoved him toward something he’d never known before.

  Her tongue slid along his, and his belly tightened. His hips jerked and his cock pressed against her belly. Erin gasped and stepped back.

  Idiot, he told himself. Retreating too, Knox lifted his hands. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  “No. It was me too. I also got carried away.” She slid his jacket from her shoulders and held it out. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Your friendliness, the bar tricks, the card game.”

  With a nod, he watched her get into the car. Slipping his arms through the sleeves of his jacket he detected a lingering trace of her perfume.

  Her car door shut, he heard the click of the locks, then the engine turned over. As she began to reverse, her window rolled down. She smiled at him, like she had when she first sat down, a little shy. Very, very sweet.

  “And thanks for the kiss,” she said, and motored away.

  As he watched her tail lights recede, Knox couldn’t shake the unwelcome feeling that in a season of loss, he’d just suffered another.

  Chapter 3

  Morning was pitch-black when Erin’s alarm went off, set so she’d get up in time to lead her Sunrise Seniors class. She went through her usual motions—made the bed, showered, brewed a pot of green tea, letting it steep as she dressed. All the while she refused to dwell on the events of the night before.

  And her companion.

  It was much more sensible to forget the shape of Knox’s face, his muscled height, the brightness of his smile. His easy manner—forget it. Everything about him, she told herself, was too easy.

  Too experienced, too smooth. Like Teflon, he was the kind of man who wouldn’t stick.

  Didn’t she know tha
t type?

  She’d sworn off them six years before, sitting in a crappy motel room with an empty wallet and an equally empty tank of gas.

  “Don’t think about that either,” she muttered to herself as she opened drawers.

  She dug two layers down to find her favorite yoga outfit. Blue cropped leggings with mesh panels up the the side; a blue-black-and-white strappy bra over which she wore an open-back tank that knotted at the small of her back. She slipped on the matching hoodie as she returned to her tiled kitchen to pour tea into the mug sitting on the counter by her phone.

  Which showed the recent arrival of a text. From Marissa. Call me.

  Erin didn’t hesitate. “What’s the matter? Are you feeling okay?” she asked when her friend picked up. “Why are you awake so early?”

  “Because baby is up and kicking and my bladder is the size of a walnut. I wanted to catch you before your first class.”

  “Oh. Well.” Her concern vanquished, Erin sipped from her mug. “Thanks again for yesterday evening.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Marissa’s voice rose two octaves. “Does that mean what I think it means? You took him home? Is he there now? Was it the best night ever?”

  Erin rolled her eyes. Her pregnant friend often saw life as a series of schmaltzy cable movies. Likely she was envisioning that Erin had experienced a romantic adventure that could be titled along the lines of “Romancing the Margarita.”

  “Well?” Marissa prompted.

  “He’s not here now.”

  “Oh.” Marissa sighed. “Then at least tell me about the sex. Give me all the details because you know these days I can only live vicariously when it comes to that.”

  “I didn’t even bring him home.” Erin shook her head. “Really, Rissa. Your imagination is working overtime.”

  Her friend’s mood seemed to deflate on another sigh. “This could be true.”

  “Though I have it on good authority that contemplating goat shearing can help control that,” she added, and felt herself smile.

  “Huh?”

  Erin quickly wiped it away. “Never mind.”

  “So nothing happened? Really?”

  “Before the café even closed we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Nothing happened.” Just electric touches that had made her hyper-aware of every cell and every sensation. Yoga practice encouraged being mindful of one’s body, and she’d never been so mindful as when she was seated beside Knox. She’d been aware of the blood wooshing through her veins, the shallow breaths that couldn’t seem to find the bottom of her lungs, the tight stretch of every nerve.