CHAPTER THREE
TRAVIS
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I might’ve been a little rough with Brooklyn. I stole the idea from Parker, and honestly it didn’t work out quite as smooth as his calculated meet-cute.
I’ve injured her.
There goes my cheeky joke about liking it rough. No one here is going to appreciate it.
Now that she’s here in the flesh, I can see that Brooklyn is much smaller than I was expecting. The camera adds pounds and all that.
She’s at least five foot five, but tiny as fuck. By the look of her tanned, taunt abs, I’d say she hasn’t eaten a hamburger in a very long time.
Sexy, yes, but so is watching a woman eat.
I like my women with curves.
I glance around and spot a few men watching her and am taken aback by the sudden and strong urge to tug her blazer closed and tell her to cover the fuck up. Like I’m her damn father.
What is wrong with me? I own a damn sex club.
My game is getting clothes off women, not the opposite.
But if I got her alone, I’d been ripping them off.
She might be tinier in the flesh, but she’s also a thousand times more gorgeous. Her blonde hair is shiny and wavy, and intelligent, sparkling blue eyes challenge me with every glance.
My cock has been hard since the moment our eyes locked.
“I think I’ve broken my ankle.” Brooklyn begins to hop.
“What? You just walked over here.” I frown.
“Oh, no! I’ll get Sam,” Milly says, and disappears to get whoever Sam is.
“Are you a doctor?” Those blue eyes deepen in their challenge.
“No, I—” I start, then concede. “No.”
Her brows shoot up all then shut the hell up. “Well, thanks for the drink, but I think I’d rather get a professional opinion.”
Brooklyn eyes a table nearby, and I stiffen. I’m not going to all this trouble to meet her and set this plan in motion only for her to brush me off.
I need her to pursue this story about my father and make sure he does not get his Hollywood star. And totally destroy him.
But one step at a time.
“Come on.” I loop my arm around her lower back and help her over. I pull out a chair, and she sits as Sam, I assume, walks over with our drinks and Milly in tow.
He places them on the table and hands her a pack. “Ice.”
Typical bartender, he has his shirt open, tats on display, and looks like he could please a woman in bed while scrolling TikTok. Milly looks like she’d offer to give it a go if only he’d pay attention.
He’s not.
“Thanks Sam.” Brooklyn presses the pack against her ankle and sighs.
“No problem.” He disappears, leaving Milly looking forlorn.
Damn it. I need to get rid of her, and my plan to flirt with Brooklyn has turned to shit and her friend isn’t going to just leave her with me.
“Let me take you to NYP,” I offer, referring to the New York Presbyterian Hospital.
After charming her, I planned to drop Brooklyn home with my name on her lips and wait for her to inevitably phone me. You know, like a gentleman.
Then leap into stage two.
I was not supposed to break her. Apparently, I’m much stronger than Parker. ( I’m getting that quip in now because he’ll probably punch me again if I say it in front of him.)
I smirk to myself.
I’m going to say it anyway. Fuck it.
I’ll admit I’ve messed this up. Unless Brooklyn is super trustworthy, she’s going to send me packing. For a moment I consider pulling Zayne or Killian into this plan, but the idea of one of them fucking her has my jaw clenching.
It wouldn’t be a hardship; Brooklyn McKenna is goddamn stunning. I know Killian would be onboard completely.
The rest of my plan? Maybe not.
So, I have to work this out.
“No offense, but I don’t know you.” Brooklyn barely looks at me, focusing on her ankle.
Unluckily for her, I didn’t get to where I am in life or business by taking no for an answer. Never have, and I never will.
Not when the stakes are as important as this.
It’s like the universe dropped this opportunity into my lap. The world finally seeing my father for the evil monster he is. If I don’t help his downfall along, he could get away with it.
I will not let that happen.
I crouch and give her my most charming smirk. “I told you, my name is Travis Warner. I’m the idiot who almost knocked you over. Which, if you don’t remember, means you probably have a concussion.”
Those blue eyes grow a little bigger as her brows lift, and I’m reminded Brooklyn is a very intelligent woman. And right now, probably thinks that I’m some Wall Street broker trying to get into her panties.
She’s almost right.
“Proof that you are in fact not a doctor.”
The ice is melting, and water begins to drip over her tanned skin and along the stem of her high heel. Fuck me, it’s insanely erotic. I don’t have a foot fetish, but I’m thinking I might start.
I imagine lifting her leg and sucking her wet toes as her bare pussy awaits my cock.
Jesus. My semi just turned rock hard.
I doubt my Tom Ford slacks are hiding it either. I’m not small, and this is the only time in my life I’ve wished I were.
I cannot scare her off.
Pull it together, Warner. You need to gain her trust.
“No, I’m not a doctor.” I stand, reaching out my hand to her. “But I do have a car sitting outside, so let me take you to the ER.”
Milly and she share a glance, and her young friend shrugs. “I can message the girls and tell them I’ll meet them later. We can Uber over.”
Brooklyn shakes her head and gives me a top-to-toe once-over. “No, that’s okay. You stay and have fun.” She then accepts my hand, and I help her to her feet and find my arm wrapped around her back again.
“I promise to drop her off and drive away like her knight in shining armor.” I smile at Milly.
“Knight? You’re the one who broke my ankle.” She snorts.
I lean down, our faces close as I rasp, “Sweetheart, it’s not broken.”
“If you say so, Dr. Warner.”
I can hear the eye roll in her voice.
Jesus, this is much more complicated than I was anticipating.
Milly and Brooklyn hug goodbye.
“Message me when you get there and when you get home.”
I hold up both my hands. “I’m just dropping off the patient.”
It’s a lie. I have no intention of leaving.
––––––––
AFTER brOOKLYN HOPS a few steps, I glance down, frown, then reach down and scoop her up in my arms.
“What are you doing?!” she exclaims.
“Saving your broken ankle and getting us out of here before the next ice age.”
I think she snorts.
“You could’ve asked. So much for being a knight.”
“Knights don’t ask, they take,” I state.
“How would you know?” Brooklyn’s fists grip my shirt, and her entire body tenses, and I don’t think it’s entirely because she’s surprised.
“I was a Knight of the Round Table in a past life. Obviously.” I nod to my driver, who’s surprised to see me carrying a woman out of a bar, then leaps into action and opens the car door.
“Who has a car idling outside a Manhattan bar?” Brooklyn asks, taking in the driver, car, and me as I place her back on her feet. “A kidnapper, that’s who.”
I slide my hands into my pockets and tilt my head.
“You don’t think that’s a little obvious? If I were going to kidnap someone, I’d probably use a syringe or spike their drink, then drag them out back.”
“Wow.” Brooklyn shakes her head. “That gives me a lot of confidence.”
I spring my arms wide. “Okay, everyone, I’m announcing that I—Travis Warner of King Arthur's Round Table of Knights—is hereby taking Brooklyn to the ER.”
“Jesus,” she mutters as people on the sidewalk mostly ignore us and one guy chuckles. “Get in the car.”
I climb in after her, and the driver closes the door behind me.
“Also, I don’t think that’s historically correct,” she says, arranging her purse on her knee.
“What?”
“King Arthur's Round Table of Knights. That’s not what he called it.”
I stretch out a leg and resist rearranging my cock, which is uncomfortable after all the action inside my briefs.
“Given I was a knight, and you were probably a wench working in the kitchens, let’s assume I am right.”
Brooklyn glances out the window, and I’m pretty sure it’s to hide her smile. She likes me.
I don’t blame her.
I am rather charming.
She turns back. “First, I don’t assume anything. Second, it would’ve been called a cookhouse or scullery. Kitchens were no—”
“I get it; you know everything.”
Christ, she’s a pain in the ass. If she weren’t so fucking gorgeous, I probably would drop her at the hospital entrance, then tell the driver to floor it.
But I need her.
Brooklyn McKenna is a pawn in my plan, and for the foreseeable future, I will be the man she can’t stop thinking about.
I know what women want.
And so I’ll keep playing this little game.
“Also, given this entire thing is fictional, and there is no solid proof that King Arthur existed, I would be a queen. Or at least a princess.”
I snort.
“You mean Genevieve.”
“Yes. His queen.”
“Who ends up with Lancelot?” I smile.
I might be enjoying this a little, actually.
There is a long silence.
“Let me guess, you think you are Lancelot.” When I look back, Brooklyn is rolling her eyes.
“ Sir Lancelot.” I chuckle.
“My husband, the king, knighted you, and I’m the queen, so I don’t have to call you sir.”
I turn my body. “I love how much you’re getting into this. Are you always into roleplaying?”
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have said that.
I could have scared her off, but she surprises me by blinking, and I get the impression she’s about to answer in the affirmative, and then I’ll have to fuck her in the car before we get to the ER.
Which I’m totally fine with, for the record.
It would speed things up.
A second later, Brooklyn blinks once more and seems to have returned to her mildly hostile state.
“Just filling the silence with a stranger until we arrive at the ER.” She tugs her blazer closed.
Now she’s covering herself up.
The weirdest notion comes over me. Even if Brooklyn wasn’t part of my plan to destroy my father, and I had no intention of letting her walk away from me this evening, I wouldn’t want her to.
I like teasing her.
I like this banter.
And we’re absolutely going to play out this sexual fantasy as soon as we possibly can.