Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (106 page)

Whatever happens, I only have about twelve hours to
complete the first half of my paid assignment from Shen Fu. The
other half involves some rather complex political maneuverings with
the East Kingdom, the King of Aethelmarc, and the Tuchux at the
upcoming Pennsic War—three things I know almost nothing about. If I
don’t manage to convince Syr Phillip to keep his crown, then Shen
Fu will release me from the second half of my assignment. Of
course, then not only will I not get paid the four thousand, I
won’t have the love of my life back, either.

Therefore, I’m leaving nothing to chance. Not only
am I going to play super hard-to-get with Syr Phillip, I am going
to play super hard-to-get in the sexiest, flashiest, most low-cut
outfit I own—a little spandex cocktail number I ordered from the
Victoria’s Secret catalog last year, and have yet had occasion to
wear. I suppose this occasion is as good as any.

As I pass the second-to-last suburban exit before
crossing into Columbus city limits, my hands grip the steering
wheel tighter and tighter in anticipation of the meeting to
come.

I follow the directions on the map Shen Fu sketched
for me to Syr Phillip’s condo in the posh Columbus suburb of
Westerville. I shudder when I realize that even after dating Syr
Phillip for over a month, I’ve never once set foot in his home.
Even when we were practically joined at the hip at SCA events and
engaging in plenty of hot-and-heavy lovemaking, I never learned
much, if anything, about Syr Phillip’s daily life and habits—his
job, his likes and dislikes, or much of anything about his life
outside the SCA. I realize as I pull my battered old Ford Escort
into his condominium complex that our relationship, as brief as it
was, consisted mostly of me soaking up the overly romanticized,
archaic wooings of a make-believe knight in shining, prefabricated
armor. A fairy tale, really—a fairy tale that ended badly.

Hopefully tonight I’ll be able to find that fairy
tale’s happy ending.

I park the car, take a deep breath, and approach
Unit 4-W. My hand pauses just before my finger reaches the buzzer
as I feel the familiar surge of electricity that Syr Phillip’s
presence always seems to trigger up and down my spine.

I go to press the buzzer, but before I do, the front
door opens. Syr Phillip is behind it, dressed only in rumpled
pajama bottoms. He is unshaven and his unwashed hair looks like it
just got run through a Cuisinart.

“Hello, Lisa,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “I
uhhhh, I saw you drive up.”

“Hi,” I say, trying to avoid his eyes. The
all-too-familiar heat starts to rise in the lower half of my body.
I take another deep breath and resolve to ignore it. “I’m here on
official SCA business of the Great Dark Horde,” I say
matter-of-factly.

Syr Phillip runs a hand through his tangled locks
and smiles. “Either you’re here on SCA business, or you’re here on
Horde business. Which is it? The two things are pretty much
mutually exclusive.”

This catches me off guard. “Uhhhh—that is, I—“ I
stammer. Before I get a chance to collect my thoughts, Syr Phillip
grabs me and plants a passionate kiss on my still-open mouth.

With tongue. Lots and
lots
of tongue. And I
can tell that he hasn’t brushed his teeth in a while. And even if
Syr Phillip’s three days’ worth of whisker stubble is scratching
the top layer of my face off and his mouth tastes vaguely of dirty
socks, I can’t help but kiss him back.

Just a little.

Then I remember why I’m here. I am here to conduct
important Horde business, and I am also here to play super
hard-to-get. Stepping right into my playacting role, I push my most
favored knight away with both hands. “Just a minute, mister. I am
here on official Horde business. And furthermore,
you
are
still on my shit list over what happened on Saturday. So no kissing
allowed, okay?”

Syr Phillip looks sheepish. “All right, fine. I
apologize. I just couldn’t control myself is all.”

I raise a neatly plucked eyebrow at him. “And what
exactly is that supposed to mean, Phil?”

“It means that the sight of you is so arousing that
I can’t be held responsible for my actions when I’m in your
presence. Good God, Lisa, that is the most incredible outfit I’ve
ever seen. On anyone.”

I stamp my foot. I’m really enjoying this whole
hard-to-get thing. “Look, Phil,” I growl. “You’ve got a lot of
explaining to do before you can even
think
of being aroused
in my presence. You got that?”

Syr Phillip gives me a mock salute. “Yes,
ma’am.”

I fold my arms and cock my head at the forlorn,
sleep-disheveled knight, who’s still blocking the front door.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Syr Phillip steps aside and motions for me to enter.
I stomp into his lavish condo, which has a dramatic two-story
entrance with a vaulted ceiling and a large crystal chandelier.
Expensive-looking designer furniture fills the open living room.
Reproduction medieval tapestries and original oil paintings line
the walls. A delicate marble table sits in the entrance hallway,
cradling a pile of Syr Phillip’s mail. The place looks more like a
four-star hotel suite than a bachelor pad.

“Sorry the place is such a mess,” he says as he
sweeps the pile of mail into a drawer.

Some mess. I don’t see a speck of dust or the
slightest bit of clutter anywhere. “No——it’s lovely,” I say. “Is it
ummm—professionally decorated?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—“ Syr Phillip bites his lip
and starts tapping his foot nervously.

“Go on.”

Syr Phillip bites his lip some more, then sighs. “An
old girlfriend of mine decorated it for me. She’s a professional
interior designer, but she did it for free. As a favor.”
“Uh huh,” I say, nonplused. “And I suppose you’ve had a lot of
different girlfriends do you a lot of different favors over the
years, huh?”

Syr Phillip leans against the spotless white wall
and stares at the floor, obviously embarrassed. “Yes, you could say
that. Lisa, can I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks,” I hiss. “I don’t want to risk you
slipping me a mickey or something. I have to be back at work
tomorrow.”

“Fine. Then why don’t you just say whatever Shen Fu
hired you to say to me, and then get the hell out of here?”

I’m taken aback; I never expected Syr Phillip to be
so abrupt with me, especially after hearing he was so upset about
our breakup. But I manage to keep a straight face and stick to
business, even as my own flaming heat of arousal starts to creep up
my legs and settle around my waistline. “Um, well, Shen Fu wants
you to stay on as Crown Prince of the Midrealm. He says it’s
really, really important for the Dark Horde’s plans that you stay
on the throne. But to be honest, I don’t much understand all the
reasons for that. King Fallon wants you to stay on as well.” I take
a deep breath, feeling all my hard-to-get strategies giving way to
the irresistible fires beginning to surge throughout my body.
“And—and so do I.”

Syr Phillip’s expression softens. “You do?”

“Yes. I think that you should finish what you
started.”

“Really.” Syr Phillip comes to sit beside me on the
Italian leather sofa. I inch away from him, afraid of the very
strong reaction my body makes the closer he gets to me. With his
shirt off, I can almost trace the paths my fingers took over the
skin that stretches so tightly across his pectoral muscles the last
time we made love. . .

Okay, that’s it. I jerk myself off the couch, send a
mental message to my quickly dampening crotch to chill out, and
cross to the far side of the room. I need to stick to the matter at
hand. “Yes, that’s right, Phillip,” I finally say. “I want you to
finish. . .your task of being Crown Prince and then King of the
Midrealm. And I’m happy to be at your side at SCA events as your
Consort. But that’s all. The relationship will end there. Strictly
platonic, strictly business. Appearances only, and nothing more.”
It’s all I can do to keep a straight face as I say this—of
course
I want our relationship to be a hell of a lot more
than just strictly platonic or strictly business. But I can’t let
him know that. Not just yet.

Syr Phillip stretches out full-length on the sofa
and clasps his hands behind his head, accentuating his steel-cut
biceps. He’s bare-chested, chiseled, and ridiculously sexy.
“Strictly business, eh? You know, you keep talking about that, and
yet I’m willing to bet you haven’t got the foggiest idea what
exactly that business is. What did Shen Fu put you up to, exactly?
And what’s he paying you?”

“Uhhh, that’s classified,” I retort, feeling more
and more like an idiot-spy.

Syr Phillip laughs. “Let me guess. A gold bracelet,
a toilet-shaped pin, and a certificate for mental health therapy.
And—four thousand chocolate chip cookies, payable in two
installments. Am I right?”

My jaw drops.

Four thousand chocolate-chip
cookies?

What?

I knew Syr Phillip helped pay for the gifts, but
four thousand
cookies?
The “four thousand” Shen Fu spoke of
was in fattening sweet treats, and not dollars?

“Well?” Syr Phillip is grinning ear to ear. “You
look surprised.”

I stare at the floor. “I thought Shen Fu meant
dollars when he said
four thousand
, that’s all.”

Syr Phillip cracks up. “I’m sure Shen Fu probably
assumed that you already knew the official currency of the Great
Dark Horde is chocolate-chip cookies. Or if no cookies are
available, they’ll also trade in Pringles. The Dark Horde isn’t the
Mafia, Lisa. It’s just a bunch of kooky SCA folks who like to have
good clean fun by making innocent trouble and playing practical
jokes. That’s all.” Syr Phillip gets up from the couch and comes to
stand in front of me. He reaches out to take both my hands, but I
pull away. I’ve obviously been tricked by this man and his weird
Dark Horde cohorts yet again. I feel my face go hot with shame at
my sheer gullibility.

“Lisa, let’s start over. Have a seat on the couch.
I’ll fix you a cup of coffee—no mickeys or funny business, I
promise. I’ll be a perfect gentleman and I swear I won’t do or say
anything to embarrass you or trick you. Just let me give you my
side of the story, okay? Please?”

“Your side of
which
story?” I ask. “There
seem to be a lot of different stories going around about you these
days, and frankly, I don’t know which one to believe.”

“The story of my life for the past twenty years,”
Syr Phillip says, softly. “And just how you fit into all of it.
That’s the story I’m going to tell. Are you ready to hear it?”

“How long will it take?” I ask, never taking my eyes
off Syr Phillip’s spotless white Berber carpet.

“Couple of hours, maybe more. I promise I’ll be done
in time for you to get back to work tomorrow.”

Chapter
27

I’m sipping a cup of Syr Phillip’s
expensive-smelling hazelnut-mocha coffee when he begins to tell his
side of the story. At my insistence, he’s showered and shaved now,
but he’s still only wearing pajama bottoms. So in addition to being
bare-chested, chiseled, and ridiculously sexy, now he’s
bare-chested, chiseled, ridiculously sexy, and
clean
. I can
smell the musky, minty fragrance of his Ralph Lauren soap-on-a-rope
all the way across the room. It takes all the willpower I have not
to grab him and start caressing those beautiful pecs and licking
those hard nipples of his. . .

Syr Phillip paces the room, occasionally taking a
sip from the longneck bottle of Miller Genuine Draft he’s pulled
from his Subzero fridge. He’s more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.
“Lisa, I’ll try to be as quick about this as I can, but it’s kind
of a long story. What time do you need to be at work tomorrow
again?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“Can you be late?”

“No,” I say, my voice clipped. “I’ve already missed
three days from being so depressed about
you
that I couldn’t
get out of bed. I don’t have any more days off left. If I miss
another day I’ll probably get fired.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Syr Phillip takes another long
sip of his beer. “I work on commission, so I never have to punch a
clock. Sometimes I forget how regular jobs can be a pain in the
ass.”

I roll my eyes. “You aren’t exactly endearing
yourself to me right now, you know.” A lie, actually. Watching Syr
Phillip walk around barechested and shower-fresh is probably enough
to make him endearing to anyone, regardless of what else he might
do or say. I cross my legs daintily and send another nasty “chill
out” message to my nether parts.

Syr Phillip sets his beer down on one of his chrome
side tables and sighs. “Sorry, Lisa. I’m just—I’m just not good at
talking about certain aspects of my past. But no matter how it
makes me feel, I guess I can’t avoid it with you any more, so here
goes.

“I joined SCA when I was still in high school. My
mom and dad got involved first. I forget why. But after they’d gone
to a few events on their own, they started dragging all us kids
along. I was fourteen or fifteen at the time. My older sister Holly
was barely a year older than I was—we were what you call Irish
twins. And Steve—well, you’ve met Steve, unfortunately—he was the
baby of the family. Spoiled brat most of the time. He was always
Dad’s favorite. Anyway, I think he was around eight or nine when we
all started going to events. Dad got into the SCA fighting almost
right away. He was an ex-Marine and he loved anything to do with
martial arts. It was a lot easier to get authorized as a fighter
back then—I think he got his authorization card at his second or
third event. We didn’t have a lot of money to spend on armor and
things back then, so Dad’s first set of armor was made out of
carpet.”