Wicked Knight (3 page)

Oh dear. Here comes the sibling squabble.
Julie waited for Kirsten's retort. Her friend hated it when teased about her preference in men.

“Excuse me, Bors...but men with brains, in my opinion, are hotter than brawny men. Right, Julie?”

Of course not.
“Right.”
But brain and brawn put together would be fantastic.

“I suppose Bucky could pass for a
hot dude
, despite his acne and bad allergies.” Percival pointed two fingers at his nostrils, then moved them down. He repeated the action, showing the sign for a dripping nose.

“I remember him,” butted in Bors. “His snot dripped like water from a leaky faucet and he walked around school with his zipper down all the time.”

Here we go.
The subject definitely veered in a different direction. Julie angled her head to look outside, but Tristan's body blocked her view.
And what a nice view it was
. In a self-confident air, he cocked his dark head to one side and stared at her. He was studying her.

Julie was saved from turning into a puddle of nerves on the floor when Kirsten raised her voice.

“Bors, you're a dickhead.” Kirsten reached out and took an ineffectual swat at her muscle-bound brother.

“Look, Percival, Einstein is blushing.” Bors tapped his finger at Kirsten's head two times.

Julie looked down at her feet to hide her grin. This, she told herself, was what she'd been missing in her life. Brothers to tease and brothers to punch, brothers to carry her like a sack of potatoes, brothers to protect her like a priceless gem.

Kirsten threw another punch on Bors’ chest, but the big lug didn't budge or show a reaction that he felt the blow. He only smirked and flexed his muscles. “Eww! Stop that. It's freaky.”

“Check out mine.” Percival pulled his sleeve way up to his shoulder, then showed his muscles, too.

Julie waited for Tristan to join the muscle-bragging scene, but he remained standing by the door, drinking his Coors, watching her.

Gee-willykers, she wanted his gaze on her, but not like this. He was looking at her as if he could see through her shirt, jeans, underwear...
Oh God.

Gawain came in, ignored his brothers, went straight to the fridge, and opened it right away. “Want something to drink, Julie?”

“No, thank you.” Julie decided to pay attention to the younger Knight.

With his arm resting on top, Gawain leaned down to peer inside. He moved things around until Julie heard a loud,
yes
. He turned around and showed her the huge breast of Rotisserie chicken. He gave her a wink, then started attacking the meat without mercy.

Julie watched. The man could probably finish a whole chicken in record time. Taking her gaze off Gawain, she took a quick assessment of all of the men.

With arms glistening from a sheen of perspiration, soaking wet shirts plastered to their muscled torsos and wet hair clinging to their necks and foreheads, the brothers looked primal and without a doubt, hot male species.

“Muscles are muscles. They all look the same,” Kirsten poked her brother's bulging arms.

“No, brat. There is a certain muscle that can satisfy a woman by touching, looking, and feeling it in between—”

“Bors!” Kirsten squealed.

“Oh dear,” Julie mumbled, but Tristan heard. He scoffed. Julie looked at him and met his piercing blue eyes.

Up close, Tristan seemed even bigger. He towered over six feet, had his father's dark hair and blue eyes, and possessed a nice but not freakishly muscled body. And when it came to oozing sex appeal, Tristan won top honors.

Kirsten told her that even in elementary grade, the Knight Brothers were popular among girls. How could they not be? They were all successful. And to an undeniable degree, all of them were gifted with features only the gods in Olympus should possess.

Among the brothers though, it was Tristan who never failed to make Julie's stomach twist into knots. Something set the man apart from the herd. There was something about his stance, movements, and smile that never failed to captivate her. With one look from Tristan, her breath would come in a whoosh, liquefying her bones like ice cream on a hot sunny day. He'd be too big to lick all at once, but it would be damn fun to try.

Tristan was the only man who could make her body turn into a singing nightingale.

Okay, time to stop ogling the view.
Stomach twisting, she moved toward the door, but Tristan shifted his weight and blocked her exit. “Please move.”

“Why?” Tristan, with his arms akimbo, raised a brow at her.

“Because.”

“Because what?” Tristan pried.

“Because...” A bead of sweat running down from Tristan's temple to his neck grabbed her attention. She wondered how far it would go. Another one followed. That was all it took for her attention to wander. Mesmerized, Julie imagined her fingers running down his arms instead.

“Take a picture, Julie, it would last longer. Or you could wipe them for me.” Dimples showed on Tristan's cheeks as he watched her above the rim of his can with his stunning blue eyes. He was laughing at her.

Julie's cheeks grew warm.
How dare he suggest such a thing?
She may be infatuated with him, but not crazy enough to wipe his sweat. Scrunching her nose, she lifted her chin a bit, then raised her own brow. “They're not worth a single shot.”

“Really,” he drawled. “So why are you drooling?”

“Drooling? I don't drool.”

“So what's this?” Tristan touched the side of her mouth with the pad of his thumb before it settled on her lower lip.

Oh God.
Heart beating fast, Julie looked above his shoulder to avoid the effect of his touch on her nerves, but it was as impossible as flying without wings. With him standing in front of her, covered with sweat, dusty, his unfashionable long hair—at least for a Pediatrician—hanging down his forehead, he indeed looked like a knight without his armor after fighting in a battle.
So freaking gorgeous
.

Tristan was a man who never failed to remind her she was a woman.

Among the siblings, Tristan had the most striking cerulean eyes and he was the only one born with dimples just like his mother. As far as Julie was concerned, he was the only doctor that made Patrick Dempsey look average. He could wear anything and still look sinfully sexy.

Finally recovered from her embarrassment for staring, she let her gaze roam Tristan's handsome face. When she had her fill, she lowered her eyes to look at his cut-off sweatpants, molded to his finely toned thighs. Focusing her gaze just below his torso, she smiled, remembering how shocked Pamela sounded on the phone.

“What's so funny?” Tristan looked down his front.

The way his frown got deeper, Julie could tell she made him feel uncomfortable.
Good. Now, we're even

Last time she came for a visit, Tristan had stood outside the bathroom door while she was getting ready to shower and asked if the spider was still on the ceiling. The simple question scared her right out of the bathroom wearing just a black lace bra and matching panties. Outside the door, he stood armed with a Polaroid camera. He took her picture, then walked away whistling.

“What is so damn funny?” Tristan repeated.

“You know, I've seen a lot of men jogging at Greenlake, wearing those cut-off pants. Some prefer super tight shorts with padding on the crotch, which I am sure for the purpose of showing off what Bors called peepers.” Julie gestured toward Tristan's front. “I call them crotcher.”

“Crotcher?”

“Yeah, Crotch Flasher. You know, I noticed most of those men are on the feminine side.”

“What are you saying?” His question sounded like a snarl.

“Am I upsetting you? Did I hit a sore spot?”

“Fu—no!”

“Not the feminine side?”

“No!” he snapped.

“Oh, the crotcher part then.” Tristan's scowl could send anyone running, but not Julie. She knew he, like his brothers, were all bluster.

“I am not a crotcher.”

“Well, your shorts are kind of tight. Were they the wrong size? They're too small, don't you think? Or did you purposely wear tight cut-offs to show your—”

“No. I cut them off on purpose.”

“With your teeth?” Julie couldn't contain her laughter any longer. She laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach.

Tristan's stormy expression only made her laugh harder, until she began coughing. “Are you quite finished, or would you like me to begin CPR?”

She calmed a bit at the implied threat. Sweet revenge on Sir Tristan, she thought. Since the time she squirted ketchup on his brand new Lacoste shirt—swearing up and down it was just an accident—they'd been sparring, trying to get even with one another.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she smiled. As much as she wanted to spar with him, she really must get out of the kitchen. “Out of my way, Doctor Hot Crotcher.” Julie tipped her head up and imitated his stance, hoping she looked intimidating enough for him to let her pass.

Tristan stepped on the lever of the plastic garbage can beside him and tossed his empty can in. “You can't leave. You and the brat are hiding something. Tell me who called, why, and what you said.”

“I didn't say anything, except hello and goodbye. Jeez, what's the big deal?”

Tristan reached to pull a lock of hair that escaped her bun. “You expect me to believe you? After what you've done in the past, I have every reason to believe you can't be trusted. I. Don't. Trust. You, Julie Strawberry.”

Julie narrowed her eyes. “Do not call me Strawberry.”

“What's wrong with calling you Strawberry? It suits you. You have red hair and freckles, exactly like the seeds on a strawberry.”

“Eeww! You just made it sound like I have blackheads all over my face. That's downright awful. Mean! I should squash you
like
a strawberry.”
Yeah right. Squashing him would require a stone grinder.

Tristan's face, split into a wide grin, disarmed Julie of her spunk, replaced by an urge to mewl like a cat with its tail up. “Bring it on, Julie Strawberry. I'm waiting.”

“Ugh! Arrogant. You think because you have Tarzan's chest that I couldn't?”

“Really? I have Tarzan's chest?” Tristan sucked in his breath and looked down. “Wow, I didn't know that.”

“It's not a compliment. Have you seen Tarzan? He's got a flabby, sagging old chest, rubbed with Vicks to make it shine on television. He's gross, living in the jungle without plumbing and running water to wash his hands. Now, you better move. Last chance before I plow you down.”

Drat the man
. Dollar to Oreo cookies, pushing him would be like pushing a
Waste Management
truck. She saw the way he blocked his brothers playing football. It took two Knights to take him down, still, she really must get out. Last time she pulled the same trick on him, he dumped a pitcher of cold water inside her shirt. It would have been fine, except her white shirt was see-through when wet. Who knew what he'd do this time.

Julie glanced at her friend. Kirsten was punching Bors's arm. Dear Kirsten was supposed to distract the brothers from asking about the caller and help get them out of the kitchen, but by the looks of it, her friend forgot all about it. All right, she'd just leave and wait outside. Julie squeezed herself between the doorjamb and Tristan, but he refused to budge. She decided to pinch him.

“Oww! Darn it, woman. That hurt.”

“Well, move then.”

“Come on, Julie. You answered the phone, which means you pulled another one. Was the call for me? Did you spread lies about me again?”

“Doctor Knight, I didn't. Let me—Oomph!”

Like her favorite Oreo cookie, Julie found herself flattened in the middle. She was the cream, Kirsten on her back and Tristan on the front were the cookies. Kirsten finally decided to leave the kitchen, but chose the wrong time. Warm hands gripped her hips while her arms wrapped around his waist for support—or maybe not, Julie thought.

Giggling, Kirsten disentangled herself, mumbled an apology that sounded between a snort and a
sorry
. She pushed Tristan so she could get out the door. Tristan moved to let her pass, but he took her with him. Percival and Bors followed.

“Yeah, run, you little bug. When I catch you and your peanut boyfriend, I will squash you both,” Bors yelled, following his sister outside.

Julie, like a fly caught in a spider's web, couldn't move. She found herself looking into a pair of sleepy eyes that haunted her almost every night. She should move and get out, but her body refused to cooperate. Tristan's arms felt strong and hot around her. And his chest, that damn chest—firm and all muscles pressed against hers—caused sinful thoughts that brought a hot flush to her cheeks. Julie had wondered about this, how it would feel to be held by him. Now she knew—amazingly wicked.

For sure, his girlfriends felt the same way, too. Maybe most of the patients’ moms took their babies to his clinic just so they could be near him. She would. Who wouldn't want to be in the same room with hunky, sexy Doctor Knight? Julie smiled.

“Tell me what made you smile,” he said in a soft voice that caressed her skin.

Julie wanted to curl and slither around him. “I'm just thinking about your...patients. How they must look tiny when you're holding them.”

“Definitely tinier than you are, and softer...but they smell like milk and burps. Sometimes dirty diapers. I like your smell better, like sweet apples. I'm surprised you don't smell like strawberries.”

“I like apples, especially the Granny Smith ones.”

“I know.”

Sweat dripped down his temple and Julie reached up to wipe it off with her fingers. She realized what she had done, but too late to retract it. Drat, she really must do something about this crazy infatuation.

Tristan simply stared at her with his somber eyes. On the outside, he seemed controlled. Julie knew better. With his thighs pressed tight against her abdomen, she knew their embrace had the same effect on him. If his hard erection wasn't the telltale sign, she didn't know what was.