Pride & Pleasure (The KNIGHT Brothers Book 1) Read online

  She followed behind Max, admiring another large portrait of a lovely red-headed woman. “So Victor gets his fluffy personality after his father?”

  “Not entirely. His gene pool was saved by his adoring mother, keeping him from being the devil’s spawn.” Max winked and smiled, then turned to the woman’s portrait. “God rest her soul. I do believe she was the glue that kept everything together.” He took out a handkerchief and delicately wiped the already clean frame. “I keep saying that our dear boy Victor will find someone who’ll show him the love that his parents shared. Stubborn man he is.” He continued into the hallway.

  “Angelina? How does she fit into all of this?”

  There was a long hesitation and she swore she saw moisture in Max’s eye. “She looks just like Miss Rose. Same spirit. Kind and loving. You’ll really like her, I’m sure. Ah, here we are, Miss Pine.” He stopped at a closed door and pushed it open. “Please take a look and see if it meets your approval.”

  Avary stepped in and her mouth dropped. The room was magnificent. From the royal purple tufted headboard to the matching layered sheets and throw, to the exquisite wall décor and the Persian rug that covered over half of the polished wood floor, it was all luxurious. Stepping up to the window, she looked out over the view of the water. She could almost hear the rippling of the waves against the rocks and dock.

  “As you see, your belongings are here. Is there anything else I can get you before I leave you to yourself?”

  “I’m fine. But thank you.”

  “Dinner is at eight. I will come and get you to show you the way, madam.” He smiled and dipped his head.

  “Is it okay if I call you Max?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “Certainly.”

  “Then please call me Avary.”

  “As you wish.” He closed the door behind him.

  Alone, she scanned the décor once again. This room wasn’t anything like the rest of the house she’d seen. It was elegantly comfy and so inviting. She could fit three of her bedrooms back home here in this huge space. She couldn’t wait to crawl in between the sheets. It helped her forget the rudeness of the host—some.

  Realizing she only had a half hour before Max would be back to get her for dinner, she opened her suitcase and her mouth fell open in shock. Inside she found all new clothes, neatly folded, with the tags still on. A note sat on top. Picking it up, Avary read her sister’s neat penmanship.

  “I knew if I told you what I’d done, you would have refused the offer. You can pay me back by being happy. In the meantime, live life and enjoy yourself. It’s not every day you get to spend a weekend in a mansion. Love you, Dawn. P.S. Wear the blue tonight.”

  How could she ever thank her sister enough?

  She lifted the top item, the red silk dress of Dawn’s, then she removed the next item and shook it out. It was a pale blue dress made of chiffon. She would never have picked something like this for herself. It was modest, yet seductive, and would show more of her legs than she was used to. The sleeves were long, but see-through. Inspecting the rest of the clothing, she did see, gratefully, that her sister included a pair of jeans, casual shirt, and flats.

  Taking the blue dress, she went into the bathroom.

  Her breath stilled in her lungs.

  A large window covered one wall, allowing lots of natural light to flow in. White shelves contained plush green towels, baskets of luxurious toiletries and a collection of nice smelling soaps. The best part was the large freestanding tub located in the middle of the room. She imagined herself settled into deep hot water, frothy bubbles, surrounded by lit candles, and reading a favorite book. She wanted to climb in now, but she didn’t have the time. Mr. Knight probably expected punctuality. Maybe she’d get to meet his sister Angelina, and hoped she had better manners. From what Max insinuated, she definitely would.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Victor sat at his desk, listening to Miss Pine’s CD and looking down into the melting ice cubes of his unfinished drink. He brought his gaze up to the closed door where she’d disappeared through a few moments before. He shook his head and sighed, rubbing his palm over his short hair. He’d only gotten it cut a few days ago after reading an article about himself and his head of unruly coal black hair. It had been a sense of rebellion to cut off his renowned locks. He was so tired of hearing the media’s take on everything.

  Now he had Avary Pine to deal with.

  Just what he needed, another opinionated woman staying at the estate. If it wasn’t enough that his sister Angelina loved to ruffle his feathers, he had another in his house that seemed to unintentionally set him on edge.

  The cellist wasn’t anything as he’d expected—or the crying woman he’d seen laying in the hospital bed. He’d researched her, just to be on the safe side since he was allowing her to stay in his home, and had gathered that she was a mousy, freckle-faced, shy woman. Sure, she had a few of those characteristics, but there was nothing about her that he could fit into the category of mousy—ingenuous, yes.

  He had a feeling she didn’t much care for him.

  Maybe he had come on a little too strong, which he knew was nothing unusual. Angelina had warned him not to be himself when Avary arrived. He guessed he dropped the ball.

  He rubbed his shoulders, wishing he could alleviate the kinks in his muscles. He needed to visit his favorite massage therapist, Juan Detrimo, who wasn’t afraid to dig deep into Victor’s muscles and work out the tension. He’d tried a few others in the past and they seemed more interested in flirting. Juan came in, did his work, and took off. There was never any need for small talk and constant chatter like some of them expected. He made a mental note to have his secretary make the arrangements, that is, if she could work time into his schedule.

  Hell, he didn’t have extra time for anything—especially entertaining a cellist from the city. Yet, he had no other choice. He’d made a promise to Angelina and he wouldn’t break it.

  He wasn’t sure how long his sister had left…

  Standing up from the chair, he went to the window. The sun was starting to set and the last of the rays reflected off the water in the distance.

  His phone rang, but he didn’t bother answering. The clock read seven forty-five. He was ready to call it a day, not that he could concentrate now. His day wasn’t quite over though. He had to eat dinner with the cellist.

  He scrubbed his jaw and went to his desk, looking down at his blinking cell. The phone vibrated, notifying him that the caller had left a voice message. Clicking on the icon, he listened as Selena asked if they were still on for tonight.

  She was still his go-to when he needed a release of tension in parts of his body below the waist, and occasionally they went to dinner, attended a gala or played tennis. He wasn’t interested in dating, and neither was the voluptuous blonde that loved sharing herself with a whole variety of men. Victor should be disappointed that he wasn’t the only man she pleasured, but Victor didn’t care and that’s what made this all even better. She knew how to use her gorgeous body to make a man forget all about his troubles.

  He texted her. “See you tonight.” And hit send.

  If he couldn’t have a massage, he could at least have a sexual fix.

  Leaving the office, he followed the stairs, went down the hall and into his bedroom. He pulled off his tie and tossed it onto the bed. From his closet he pulled out a V-neck sweater and black slacks, then exchanged his suit for the casual clothing. He didn’t bother with checking himself in the mirror before he went back downstairs to the dining room. The elegant table with the large ornate chairs that seated twelve was set with two places. He never liked eating in the formal dining room, but he guessed he should try to keep this dinner as professional as possible.

  “Hello.”

  The soft voice reached him. He turned and found the cellist standing by the entrance and he dipped his gaze over her. Again, nothing about her matched the definition of mousy. Her long hair, blonde or brown, somewhere in between, hun
g in soft waves. Her eyes were bright and seemed to take in all of the light from the crystal chandelier. The dress she wore now wasn’t anything like the outfit she arrived in that announced to the world that she was innocent. No, this dress teetered on sensual, yet kept a man guessing. The top had lowered onto one shoulder, showing off the slender silken line of her skin and a sliver of the top of one pale breast. The material flared around her thighs, the hem settling nicely on the thick, lush place on her legs. He followed the long, slender curve to her delicate heels, not the lethal weapons some women wore.

  His cock twitched and his chest tightened. What the hell? She wasn’t his type, not even in the same world as the women he found attractive. So then why was his body hard and his lungs deflated?

  Obviously he needed to see Selena more than he thought. After all, it’d been a few weeks since he’d had the time to visit her. He only had to make it through dinner.

  “Did you find your room to your liking?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She clasped her hands at her waist. His eyes naturally fell to her long, slender fingers and short, neat nails on her left hand. Again, she was subtly, but not so much, hiding her right hand. She wasn’t very tall, only reaching his shoulders even with her heels on. If a swift wind came along, she’d probably blow away.

  An image of her fighting off her attacker came to mind. He knew very little about what happened outside of the music theater where she was attacked. A mugger approached Avary, there was a struggle, and he had brutally cut her hand—the one she used to hold her bow. A sting of anger passed through him. The man should be hung up by his toes and whipped with her bow.

  “I wanted to apologize again for my earlier behavior. I allowed my curiosity to get away from me.” Admittedly, he’d been an ass. “I tend to ask the hard questions.”

  “I’m very patient, Mr. Knight,” she said softly.

  “I’m glad one of us is.”

  “I’m sure you have more patience than you let on.”

  “Would you like to have a seat? I’m sure dinner will be served soon.” He pulled out the chair for her, which she took and he went around to his own chair at the opposite end but didn’t sit yet. She was busily spreading her cloth napkin on her lap and he took the time to watch her delicate profile and the way she nibbled at her bottom lip. “I must make a request. Please, call me Victor. Every time you call me Mr. Knight I have an urge to look for my father.” He realized his words came out a little too harshly.

  “That must bring up painful memories.”

  He shrugged. “No, not at this point.”

  “Okay, but only on one tiny condition will I call you Victor. You must call me Avary. Right, Victor?”

  He watched her mouth, liking how her tongue had caressed his name as it left her lips. He could barely catch his breath and what he didn’t like was how she managed to control his physical reactions. He’d never been a man who allowed anyone power when it came to his head or his heart, outside of Theobald Knight who’d played everyone around him like puppets on a string. “Yes, fine, Miss…I mean, Avary.” There was something about her that tweaked his curiosity and attention.

  Max entered through the door from the kitchen. “Shall I bring your plates, sir?”

  “Yes, we’re ready,” Victor answered, keeping his gaze steady on the woman who sat at the other end of the too long table. “What would you like to drink, Miss Pine?”

  “Water, please, Max.” The door closed and Avary cleared her throat. “Is he always here?” she asked.

  “Most of the time. He does live here at the estate.” He noticed how the area between her brows scrunched ever so slightly.

  “Is he your butler? Assistant?”

  “He tends to ride the fence between both. Once father passed, I got rid of the majority of the house staff. Seemed rather useless to have so many working for one man. Max stayed, of course.” Her tongue came out to glide along the swell of her bottom lip and Victor clenched his teeth. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen the act before, but with Avary it was quite different. She didn’t have any ulterior motive of seduction, which made him hard in areas that shouldn’t be rising to the occasion.

  Max brought them their plates, Avary’s water, and poured Victor a glass of wine. “I’ll take my dinner at the other end of the table, Max.”

  “Sir?” Max lifted a wiry brow.

  “Come now, my friend. You understand perfectly well what I’m asking.” Victor chuckled. Considering he’d never eaten at the table alone with a woman, Max might be stunned by the request. Victor pulled out the chair next to Avary, realizing she watched him with piercing blue eyes. “Is this okay?”

  She shrugged and the top drifted down her arm again. His fingers ached to tug it back into place, but instead he tightened his grip on the chair’s arm. “It’s your table. Sit where you’d like.”

  He laughed. For a woman who came off as mild-mannered, she certainly did have a bit of salt in her sugar container. Reaching over, he removed the silver lid to her plate. “Dig in.”

  “What is it?”

  He removed the lid to his own. “Dill crepes with smoked salmon.” She continued to stare. “You don’t like salmon? I can have the cook prepare something else.”

  She gave her head a quick shake and a tendril of misbehaving hair curled around her mouth. He watched her push it back into the silken mass of waves. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’d like to try it.”

  He stared, couldn’t have turned away if his life depended on it. She tackled the concoction with gentle curiosity, cutting into it delicately and bringing a small bit to her mouth. Her perfectly bowed lips wrapped around the tines of the fork, much like they would for a kiss. A smile played at the corner of her mouth and her cheeks turned a light shade of red. “Well?” he asked.

  “Good. Very good.” She cut into the delicacy again. “It’s certainly not Nutella and bananas on bread.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You haven’t tried Nutella?” He gave his head a shake. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on. It’s a comfort food. But this is good too.” She popped a bite of the crepe into her mouth.

  Smiling, he followed suit. “No one ever turns away my cook’s food. The chef used to work for a Michelin starred restaurant.” Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he sat back in the chair as she pushed her empty plate away from her. “Thoughts?”

  She shrugged. “I really enjoyed it, yet I wonder how your cook managed to get the salmon rolled up like that. I’m used to having crepes with fruit, like blueberries and strawberries.” He laughed and her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. “That’s not what you were asking, is it?”

  “Although I find your take on the crepes interesting, honestly, no I wasn’t. I meant deeper thoughts. How you’re feeling about being here. Hopefully more comfortable.”

  Her mouth came open at the same time the kitchen door with Max bringing them their next dish. He placed a plate in front of each of them and quickly disappeared with their empty appetizer plates.

  “As you were saying?” Victor urged.

  “Truthfully, I’m still a little stunned that I’m here, with the Victor Knight, having salmon rolled up in crepes.” Her voice was breathy as if her heart was beating fast and her lungs worked harder. She lifted her ice water to her lips and drank thirstily. Yeah, she was definitely nervous.

  “You talk as if I’m a celebrity. I assure you, that’s far from the truth.”

  “If you say so, but you certainly have ended up in social media a lot lately.”

  “They’ll print anything these days,” he said.

  Her gaze narrowed. “So, it’s not the truth that you’re engaged to Selena, the model?”

  He almost choked on his wine. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I don’t want a relationship, any more than Selena does.”

  “You’ve been together a long time. Isn’t that the natural progression of two people seeing each other?”

  “No. Do you have a boyfri
end?” The question rolled off his tongue easily.

  “What?” She worked her bottom lip, licking off some of the lip tint.

  “A boyfriend. A man, or possibly a woman, who you are romantically involved with?”

  Her cheeks were now the same color as the red vase in the middle of the table. She swallowed. “I-I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she said softly.

  “I think it does. Most men wouldn’t want their partner spending the weekend with another man.”

  She blew out a long breath. “I’m not spending the weekend with you, Mr.—uhh, Victor. I’m here to play.” She must have realized how her words could have been mistaken as something naughty because she gave her head a quick shake. “I mean, play for your dinner party.”

  “Are you trying to keep from answering my question?”

  “Fine. I don’t have a boyfriend, or girlfriend, at least not in a romantic sense.” She took her fork and held it above her dish. “And this is…?”

  “Rack of lamb with roasted potatoes.” He pierced one of the potatoes with his fork and ate it, all while wondering why in the hell he’d asked her a personal question. He was interested. He was crossing the lines he’d placed on himself, but what else could they talk about? He had a feeling she had no clue how yeast helped grapes grow, or how grapes were turned into wine. “Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine?”

  “I’m sure. Why don’t you want a girlfriend?”

  He cocked his chin. “I’m not the relationship type.”