Chapter 9
Black Knights Inc.
Fisher called himself ten kinds of fool for making Eliza cry again. And he wished there was something more he could do for her than simply hold her close and whisper reassuring words in her ear.
Every ragged sigh broke something inside him. Every soft whimper made him want to find that gunman and kill the bastard all over again for what he’d put her through. Every tear that dampened her pillow made him wish for powers of resurrection. He’d use them to give her back the man she loved.
“I didn’t say yes.” Her voice slipped to him through the darkness, low and soggy-sounding.
“Didn’t say yes to what?” With his face nestled into the back of her head, the sweet, clean scent of her shampoo slid inside his nose.
“To Charlie.”
He pushed up on his elbow to stare down at her. He could barely see the outline of her profile in the darkness. Then lightning flashed—the storm was fully upon them now—and he noted the wet tracks her tears had left on her cheek.
With a gentle thumb, he brushed the salty impressions away and marveled at the softness of the skin beneath. For such a lanky woman, she was soft in all the right spots. Her breasts were well-formed and heavy. Her ass was plump and peach-shaped. And she had the most delicious little curve in her lower belly. The perfect place to fit the palm of a man’s hand.
It’d certainly been the perfect perch for his palm as he’d spooned her. And with his dick snuggled up tight against her ass, it’d taken herculean effort to keep the sorry sonofabitch from giving her a full salute.
He probably wouldn’t have managed it had it not been for her tears. Her sorrow had been just enough to take the edge off and convince him that even though he was a horny asshole, at least he wasn’t that much of a horny asshole.
“I’m sorry,” he said now with a confused frown. “I’m still not followin’.”
“When he asked me to marry him, I didn’t say yes.” She turned onto her back just as another lightning bolt hit the top of a nearby building. Its electric flash strobed into the room, momentarily highlighting the misery in her eyes.
Something stilled inside him. He thought maybe it was his heart.
With a gentle finger, he brushed some hair back from her brow. He made sure to keep his voice softly supportive even though his curiosity was a rabid dog eating at him. “Why? I thought y’all were a match made in heaven.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. After taking a deep breath, she admitted in an anguished tone, “I didn’t love him. I should have loved him. He was smart, sweet, and funny. He was handsome, generous, and…most importantly…kind.”
The prickly legged thing that lived in Fisher lifted its head and snarled as she listed McClean’s redeeming qualities. He imagined stomping on it with the hard heel of his biker boot until it was nothing more than a shiny, black oil slick.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t stay dead for long.
No matter how many times he’d vanquished the vile creature, it always returned.
I mean, who in their right mind is jealous of a dead man?
Oh, right. Me. Nash Wakefield’s son.
“And on paper we were a match made in heaven,” she continued. “We both came from political families. We both chose jobs we hoped would help make the world a better place, a safer place. We had similar tastes in music and literature and—” She stopped and shook her head. “But I didn’t love him.”
Her confession sounded like music to Fisher’s ears. Which annoyed him further. He shouldn’t care one way or another because all he could ever offer her was a brief physical fling and the things she was talking about were far broader and deeper than that.
He shouldn’t care. And yet…he did.
Why?
If he’d been anyone else, anyone besides Nash Wakefield’s son, he might’ve thought he’d fallen in love. But because he was Nash Wakefield’s son, because he’d seen firsthand what obsession and jealousy looked like, he knew the score.
He couldn’t have Eliza, but he didn’t want anyone else to have her either.
How sick and twisted is that?
An anguished little moan slipped out of her, and he couldn’t stand not being able to see her face. Even though Eliza wasn’t terribly emotive—a trick she’d either learned from her stoney-faced father or from all those hoity-toity boarding schools she’d attended—he could still tell what her carefully chosen words were hiding when he could read what was in her eyes.
Her dark, sparkling eyes always gave her away.
Thumbing on the lamp, he blinked when the golden glow washed around the room. It was briefly overtaken by another flash of lightning. The accompanying crack had Eliza squeaking like a mouse with a stomped-on tail.
When he looked at her, it wasn’t pain or guilt or grief he saw on her face. It was horror. Fear.
And that he understood. All too well.
He had loved thunderstorms as a kid. Loved the awe he felt when Mother Nature unleashed her power. Loved the patter of raindrops on a tin roof. Loved the way the air smelled clean and fresh once the storm moved on.
But now? He dreaded them. Dreaded the sound and fury. Dreaded the dazzling brightness of an arcing lightning bolt and the heart-wrenching crack and boom of thunder.
It was especially hard at night.
When he was sleeping, it was impossible to tell the difference between a thunderclap and the sonic snap of a bullet as it left a barrel. When he was unconscious, he couldn’t differentiate between the sudden flash of lightning and radiating flames of an exploding bomb.
Too many nights he’d sprung awake, covered in sweat, and gripping the pistol he kept under his pillow. Too many nights he was faced with the terrible truth that, like every other fighting man he knew, he hadn’t escaped this career without psychological scars.
Now Eliza is scarred too.
He hated that for her.
“It’s okay,” he said reassuringly, but his smile was close-lipped and grim. “After what you’ve seen and heard tonight, loud noises are bound to be triggerin’.”
She licked her lips and he tried—and failed—not to focus on the tempting pink tip of her tongue. “You’ve seen and heard worse. And you aren’t jumping out of your skin.”
“Only ’cause I’ve had more practice at keepin’ calm and carryin’ on. Thunderstorms are hell. Fireworks are worse.”
“PTSD.” She grimaced.
“In our line of work, it’s inevitable.” He shrugged one shoulder. But he didn’t feel half as indifferent as he acted.
“Great.” Her voice flattened right along with her mouth. “Guess that means I need to find a good psychiatrist. My last one lives in New York, and I stopped seeing her when I moved here.”
He twisted his lips and broke the unwelcome news. “Problem with our current situation is we can’t exactly talk about anything we do, even to a professional.”
“True.” She stared off into the distance as if she was considering her options—or lack thereof. Then she drew back and looked at him. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”
“’Course I have. I’m not an idiot. I reckon I’ll spend years on a shrink’s couch once I retire.” He used the subject matter to return them to something she’d said earlier about therapy. “Why do ya have abandonment issues?”
She blinked rapidly, momentarily discombobulated by the change in topic. But she recovered quickly enough. “According to my old therapist, it’s because my mom died suddenly and then my dad shipped me off to boarding school before I had time to mourn. I needed to cry on his shoulder, but he couldn’t be bothered.” The lamplight showed her lips thin. “It’s like you said, the one person I needed the most was the one person who taught me I didn’t really need anyone.”
Fisher had never been a huge fan of Leonard Meadows. But hearing her talk of needing her father only to be rejected by the man made him want to find the chief of staff and knock some sense into the old fart’s head.
With a baseball bat.
Before he could respond, however, she took a page from his book and switched subjects. “Aren’t you curious why I couldn’t fall in love with Charlie?”
He had to take a moment to think about his answer. Eventually, he shrugged. “Just reckoned you were smart.” When her chin jerked back, he quoted A.E. Housman. “When I was one-and-twenty, I heard a wise man say, ‘Give crowns and pounds and guineas, but not your heart away.’”
She studied him in the golden lamplight. Again, he wasn’t sure what she was looking for. But just as he opened his mouth to ask, she said, “So what? You think falling in love is foolish?”
“Not foolish. But it can be dangerous for some people.”
People like me.
Although, in the still of the night, the dark, private part of himself admitted the truth. That he’d give anything to fall in love. To feel safe to fall in love.
He’d recently seen a social media post where someone said they didn’t want to be crazy in love. They wanted to be calm in love, understood in love, happy and patient in love. And he’d thought to himself…because that’s real love. Not the desperate, frantic, addictive feeling that is infatuation and obsession, but the comforting, secure, healthy feeling that is true love.
“That’s the second time you’ve used that word. Dangerous. Why?” She dragged his mind back to the conversation. “Because there’s a chance you’ll get your heart broken?” He started to tell her some folks just weren’t built for the emotion. Leastways not the healthy kind. But she plowed ahead. “But there’s also a chance you won’t. And when it’s right, it’s so, so right. I mean, just look at the men who lived here before you, who still work here now. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful than the love they have for their partners?”
It seemed she was full of rhetorical questions because, again, she jumped ahead before letting him answer. “I didn’t know what true love looked like, what true partnership looked like, until I came to work here. And now that I know, I won’t settle for less.”
He opened his mouth, but she wasn’t finished. “That’s why I didn’t say yes to Charlie’s proposal. Because he never looked at me the way Boss looks at Becky. Because he never dragged me into a dark corner to kiss me cross-eyed like Ozzie is always doing with Samantha. Because I had no desire to text him two hundred memes and TikToks and funny anecdotes a day the way Michelle does with Snake because she wants to be connected to him even when she’s not near him.”
Whether she knew it or not, she was putting into words all his thoughts.
The original Black Knights were the reason he knew crazy in love wasn’t the golden ticket, that calm in love, patient in love, and understood in love was where it was truly at. And he wished…oh how he wished he was capable of those things.
The ache in the cold, hard pebble that was his heart was so intense his voice came out hoarse. “So why are ya wearin’ his ring?”
She looked down at the massive diamond that caught the glow of the lamp and refracted sparks of fiery light around the room. “Because he slipped it on my finger before I had a chance to answer. And the next second the gunman stepped onto the patio.”
He watched breathlessly as she pulled the giant stone off her finger and leaned over to gently place it inside the top drawer of her nightstand.
When she laid back against her pillow, staring at the ceiling and the strange shadows that danced across it thanks to the rain running in rivulets down the windowpane, her expression reflected the self-flagellation of her thoughts. “Would he have sacrificed himself for me if he’d known what my answer would be?”
Her lower lip trembled and tears once more gathered in her eyes. He wasn’t sure it was wise. Hell, he was pretty positive none of his decisions this night had been wise. But he pulled her back into his arms.
She came willingly. Eagerly, even. And that pleased him in ways he didn’t dare examine.
“I feel so guilty, Fish.” Her breath was hot against his neck. When her tears fell on his skin, they were hotter still. “I feel like I deceived him or?—”
“Ya did no such thing.” He was quick to cut her off. “McClean sacrificing himself had nothin’ to do with what he thought ya felt for him and everything to do with how he felt about you.”
For the span of half a dozen heartbeats, she was quiet. Then, she admitted hoarsely, “Honestly, I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
“It makes it so all you should ever feel is grateful.” He brushed a hand over the back of her head, marveling at the silky softness of her hair. It had mostly dried and was only damp near her scalp. “I feel so grateful to him.” And then, before he could stop them, words he had no intention of ever uttering popped right out of his mouth. “I can’t imagine a world without you in it. I can’t imagine my world without you in it.”
He felt her stiffen in his embrace. Heard her breath hitch.
He’d said too much. Revealed too much.
She scooted back so her nose was no longer pressed against his neck. Her dark eyes narrowed as she rubbed a shaky hand over the wetness on her cheeks.
Even with the swelling and the bruise, she was beautiful. More beautiful because, without the mask of cat-eye mascara and her usual fire-engine-red lipstick, he could see her. The real her. The young, sad, hurting her.
He wasn’t sure what he expected her response to be to his ill-timed admission, but it certainly wasn’t her asking, “Will you kiss me, Fish?”
The request blew through him with the force of an H-bomb. His lungs collapsed. His head exploded. And he wouldn’t have been surprised to feel his heart stop beating.
Before he had time to respond, she continued, “Will you make me forget all this death and remind me what it means to be alive?”
She wants you! The posh, sophisticated Eliza Meadows wants you, a lowly Louisiana boy who barely has a pot to piss in. Quick! Kiss her before she changes her mind!
Had he mentioned that along with the better angels of his nature he sometimes dealt with the worser devils who also inhabited his psyche? They’d been bigger influences in his life when he’d been younger. Age and wisdom had taught him to ignore them. Mostly.
He should ignore them now.
Lordy,he didn’t want to. He’d been waiting four long years for her to ask him that exact question.
Luckily, his better angels chose that moment to pipe up. Isn’t this a curious about-face? She’s always assured you she’d rather eat mud than take you up on your myriad offers to get her naked. So what’s changed?
He knew the answer, of course. It was as plain to see as the nose on his face.
She’d been witness to a massacre. She’d lost a man she liked and respected, even if she hadn’t loved him. She was suffering under a mountain of survivor’s guilt. And this was her reaction to all of that.
Which meant…if he did as she asked, she’d probably regret things in the morning.
So what if she does? That’s on her. She’s a grown-ass woman free to make her own decisions.
Okay, so that was a good point.
Don’t do it. She’s raw, exposed. You’ll be takin’ advantage of her vulnerability. And that’s a line that can’t be uncrossed.
Damnit, that was a good point too.
“Eliza, I…” His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words. He was torn between what he wanted—what he’d been wanting since the moment he clapped eyes on her—and what he believed was right.
In the end, there was a clear winner in the war the angels and devils waged within him, and he found himself squaring his shoulders and blowing out an unsteady breath.
She wouldn’t welcome what he had to say, but it was better to deny her in her hour of need than be the sonofabitch who took advantage of the situation.
“I’ve wanted to kiss ya since the first moment I saw ya, doll f—I mean darlin’.” He chose his words carefully. “But now that you’ve opened the door on the possibility, I just can’t make myself step through. It wouldn’t be right.”
She blinked as if she couldn’t believe her ears. He couldn’t blame her. He was having trouble believing he’d actually said the words.
Damn you, better angels! He shook an imaginary fist in the air.
“Why not?” Her voice was soft and full of confusion.
“’Cause I don’t know if you’ll regret it in the mornin’. And all the reasons you’ve had for keepin’ me at arm’s length for the last four years are still there. Ya said it yourself. Ya want what the others here have. True love. True partnership. And when it comes to those things, I’m not the one, so....”
He let the sentence dangle, punctuating its end with a shrug of his shoulder.
Something flickered in her eyes. Something that had him narrowing his. But it was there and gone in a flash.
“I’m not looking for love, Fish,” she assured him with a sad-sounding chuckle. “At least not tonight. Tonight I just want to forget. Won’t you do a gal a solid and help her forget?”
Her request hung in the air, a palpable force that tugged at something deep inside him. It was something that whispered in his ear, telling him he might be different. Something that promised him there might be hope for him yet. Something that…lied.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, a physical representation of the conflict inside him. “What happened to ya sayin’ ya didn’t want to be just another notch on my bedpost?”
“I’m not asking you to sleep with me.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. So reasonable. So rational sounding. “Just kiss me, Fish.”
Could it be that simple?
Could he kiss her and offer her a little comfort? A little distraction? A little reprieve from all the horror she’d witnessed without it being any more than that? Without it meaning any more than that?
At the hospital he’d thought there was nothing he could do to help her. But he could do this. Couldn’t he?
What’s a little kiss between friends?the devils whispered. And the angels? Oh, the angels had gone suspiciously quiet.
Without their grounding influence, there was nothing to stop him from cupping her face. Nothing to stop him from gently brushing a thumb over the bruise on her check.
Ya can’t give her the great Black Knights Inc. love affair she wants. But you can give her this.
“Ya sure?” he asked through a throat that was raw with emotion.
She nodded slowly and the pleading in her eyes broke through the last of his resolve.
“If we do this, it’s just this,” he warned. “I don’t do hearts and flowers. And I definitely don’t do love.”
“I told you, I’m not asking for any of that.” Her warm breath whispered across his eager lips. It smelled of hot chocolate, dark and sweet.
“Promise me ya won’t regret this in the mornin’.”
“If I regret it, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.”
That did it, just decimated the last of his restraint because she’d absolved him of all responsibility, of any future guilt. He leaned down, intent on brushing his lips against hers. But before he could, her cell phone jangled to life.