Down on Her Knees (2 page)

She silenced the devil on her shoulder insisting that he’d outlined the perfect solution to more than one problem and did what she did best.

Super-denial lockdown mode engaged.

She steeled herself and gave him a cool stare. “I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression, Rafe. But I’m just”—she managed a nonchalant shrug even though she’d never felt more chalant—“not interested.”

She tossed her head back and shouldered past him, his laughter following her across the room. It wasn’t until she stood next to Cat and Lacey on the dance floor that she recognized the song pouring from the speakers around her.

“The Chicken Dance.”

Lovely.

…

It was official. This woman was driving him batshit crazy. He watched from his perch at the bar while she danced with her friends and tried her damnedest to ignore him. Too bad she was terrible at it. Not the dancing. The dancing was good. His dick twitched in agreement as she shimmied back and forth, her hips mesmerizing him for a second before he refocused.

Nope, the part she sucked at was ignoring him. The veiled glances from beneath her lashes. The way her pupils dilated when she looked at him. The pulse in her neck beating wildly.

Not interested, his ass. But the offer had been made and declined. Time to move along.

“All the single ladies, head on over to the center of the floor for me, would you?” the DJ called, snagging Rafe’s attention.

He took a sip from his glass of scotch and glanced at his watch. Another hour or so, a couple more corny traditions, and he could make a graceful exit. It probably wasn’t too late to find a woman willing to play tonight. It had been weeks since he’d done a scene, and he was feeling the drought now.

He ran through a mental list of possible partners until he found himself distracted again by the woman in peach chiffon being dragged into a line by a group of laughing women.

He didn’t look away until a shadow fell over the smooth lacquered bar. Galen Thomas stood over him, curiosity knitting his brows.

“What’s going on with you two?”

He considered playing dumb, but they’d been friends for too long. Galen would get it out of him one way or another. “Hell if I know.”

Galen snorted out a laugh. “That’s a first. The guy with all the answers doesn’t know. Are you actually digging her, or is this some tugging-braids-in-the-school-yard type of shit? Because I haven’t seen you look at a woman like that since—”

After having boxed together before Galen went pro, the serious look on his face warned Rafe that it was about to get real, and he cut in, deflecting the blow neatly. Because hearing her name still hurt, even now.

“Nope.” He took a long pull from his glass and set it down with a clink. “Courtney is sexy, and she’s a challenge, but that’s it. There’s no love match here, so get it out of your head.”

Galen had the audacity to look confused. “What do you mean? All I did was ask a simple question.”

“I know that you and your pretty new wife are plotting to end my days of debauchery so I can follow you down the rabbit hole to wedded bliss, but that’s not my bag, man. You done good, Lacey is a keeper, but that life’s not for me.”

Galen studied him like he was a creature under a microscope, and he braced himself for the second round. “Look, it’s been five years now, man. Maybe it’s time—”

Rafe cut him short again, anger making his voice tight. “I’m willing to bet you can still take me in the ring, but if you keep bringing Monica up, you and me are going to have a problem.”

The words lay between them like a live wire, and despite the guilt that followed right on their heels, he refused to take them back. Not much was sacred to him, but this one thing? Not open for discussion, end of story, period.

Galen’s gaze went flat, and for a second Rafe wondered if he was going to ignore his warning and push again. To his everlasting relief, his friend backed off with a curt nod instead.

“Got it.”

Twelve years of friendship was long enough for Rafe to know that they were cool. At least, they would be as soon as the head of steam he’d built between them had burned off. Right now, though, the silence felt heavy. He was just about to break it with some clumsy attempt at small talk when the space around them reverberated with shouts of encouragement.

“Get ready, Lacey!”

The DJ counted down. “Five, four, three, two…”

They both watched as the bride pitched the bouquet over her shoulder, directly toward her maid of honor, Cat. She lunged for it, but suddenly began to pinwheel, arms flapping as she slipped on a cloth napkin. She landed in a laughing heap on the floor even as the bouquet headed like a missile at its new, unwitting target.

“Shit!” Courtney squeaked, lifting a hand up and barely plucking it out of the air in time to avoid it smacking her dead in the face.

“Damn,” Cat grumbled, pushing herself to her feet to playfully glare at a stunned Courtney. “Looks like you’re the next one getting married.”

“Are you okay?” Lacey asked as the onlookers crowded around to make sure Cat was all right.

“I’m fine.” She blew a copper-colored curl from her eye. “But this guy’s in a load of trouble if he’s going to wait until after she gets married to make an honest woman of me.” She jerked a thumb at Shane, her live-in fiancé and another of Rafe’s longtime buddies.

“Not to worry, love. It’s an old wives’ tale,” he reassured her with a wink. “I’ll take you whenever you’ll have me.”

Rafe strode over, attention on Courtney, who stood stock-still, hazel eyes wide with shock. “Did you get hit?” he asked, leaning closer to scan her face for injury.

“N-no. I’m fine.” She stepped away, cheeks pink. “Let’s keep it moving,” she called to the crowd, her voice shrill. “Nothing to see here.”

“You heard the young lady,” the DJ crowed. “We’re ready to rock and roll, so come on, let’s get ready for the garter.”

Rafe gave her one last glance, to see that she was all right. In spite of her reassurance, she still looked panicked, which didn’t make sense. Surely she didn’t believe in that antiquated mumbo jumbo about being the next one down the aisle?

He was still deep in thought, trying to solve the mystery behind Courtney’s discomfort, as the festivities continued, with Galen making quick work of his bride’s garter.

With everyone focused on the dance floor, maybe he didn’t even need to stick it out the hour. Maybe he could sneak away—

“Where are you going?” Galen said, stopping him in his tracks.

“Jesus, you’re fast.”

“Right. Now answer the question.”

He glanced out the tent and up the pathway with a regretful sigh, knowing he’d missed his window. “I was going to head out.”

“No way.” Galen planted his body in front of Rafe and gave him a grim smile. “You’re in the wedding party, you can’t leave. Get out there before you hurt my wife’s feelings.”

That was a low blow, but coupled with his guilt over being shitty to his buddy earlier, it worked. “Roger that.” Rafe made his way to the line of men Galen was gesturing to, cursing under his breath all the while. Clearly another stupid tradition that he was glad he’d never have to go through again after today.

“Back up, assholes.” A young guy with a dirty-blond buzz cut cracked his knuckles and hunkered down into what Rafe instantly recognized as a fighting stance. “Someone is about to get their hand up that chick’s skirt, and it’s gonna be me.”

A couple of the other men laughed, most didn’t, and Rafe’s blood went hot.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he growled at the frat boy, running through all the reasons he shouldn’t knock that leering grin off his face with one clean uppercut.

“Where are you from, dude, Mars?” Blondie frowned. “Whoever catches the garter gets to put it on that girl.”

Rafe hesitated. He didn’t have any siblings and most of his friends were single, so he’d only been to one other wedding in his life and that one was in Texas, years ago with Monica. Still, surely he would’ve remembered that tradition? Before he could grill the guy further, Shane shouldered his way into the pack and confirmed the situation.

“Yeah. It’s pretty standard, man.”

Which explained Courtney’s panic, and why she was strangling the bouquet in her white-knuckled hands. She was probably dreading the possibility of him catching the garter.

“Get your game face on,” Shane urged in a low voice, clapping Rafe on the shoulder, hard. “I don’t want to be here if this asshole next to me gets the garter. No matter what happens, remember, you’re an officer of the law. Keep it legal.”

Rafe nodded, but his focus was solely on Galen’s hand as he turned his back to the group and prepared to throw the tiny blue scrap of silk. Courtney might not want him up her dress, but there was no way in hell he was letting Frat Boy take advantage of her in the way he so clearly intended to.

When the garter came his way, the anger had drained away, leaving behind laser-like focus. And when Frat Boy checked him hard in the side, he checked him even harder back, sending the kid stumbling as his own fingers closed over the prize.

Even over the cheers of the guests, he heard Courtney’s gasp and met her gaze, his tunnel vision expanding to include her. She sat on a chair in the middle of the dance floor, eyes wide as he walked toward her, unable to squash the rush of adrenaline pounding through him. He might make her nervous, but at least that other guy wasn’t going to put his hands on her. If she knew what the bastard’s intentions had been, she might actually be grateful right now.

And what about your intentions?
his conscience whispered.

So maybe they hadn’t always been pure, he conceded, but this time, he had only done what he’d done to protect her. He stopped in front of her chair and tipped his head at her.

“Ready for me?”

It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. All low and growly. But his pulse was still jacked over the near-brawl, and looking down at her now and realizing what he had to do was only making it pound harder.

“Do your worst,” she murmured, lifting her head dramatically, like she was at the gallows and he was her executioner.

His worst?
Rafe let loose a rusty chuckle. Fuck, if she only knew how bad his worst could be, she’d already be up and running. Although he’d done his best, his worst, and everything in between to her a hundred times in his dreams.

The only thing that kept him in check was the realization that she had no clue what she was asking for. Because to a guy like him? That kind of declaration was an invitation. And in that way, a good bedroom dom was like a vampire.

An invitation was all he needed.

Not this time
.

She’d made her position clear earlier, whether she meant what she’d said or not. He had to play nice.

He lowered himself to the floor, reluctantly slid off her strappy, fuck-me sandal and set it down next to him. She had a thing for shoes. Nearly every time he saw her, unless it was right after her shift at the hospital, she was in heels. Heels he couldn’t help but imagine locked around his neck while she rode his tongue.

Jesus, he was no better than Frat Boy.

Except she wasn’t looking at Frat Boy like he was a fat, forbidden slice of chocolate cake. She wouldn’t admit it, but there was no question she felt it too. The pull between them, thick as taffy on a summer day. A slow, sexy song began to play, and the guests all clapped and stomped, calling their names.

“Get on with it, Romeo.” She had her serious RN voice on now and for some twisted reason, the disparity between that and her body language raised his blood pressure higher, making his cock pulse. Sharp-witted and strong-willed, which he respected in so many ways. But in the bedroom, she’d be all his.

He bit back a curse, shut down his brain altogether, and focused every ounce of his energy on the task at hand. No time for thinking. It was time to get a garter on a bridesmaid. Not the Courtney he knew who’d wormed her vanilla way into his rocky road dreams. Just some girl on a chair.

Sitting right in front of him.

Lips parted.

Pulse pounding.

Pink-cheeked.

Shit.

He squeezed his eyes closed and took her leg in hand to circle her slim ankle. Lightly at first, then, without conscious thought, more firmly, letting her feel his strength. She gasped, and his eyes snapped open.

He tried, god knew he tried to fight it, but it was like his hands had a mind of their own, desperate to make her gasp again, desperate to take her further as he slid to the side, taking her ankle with him. A scant few inches that would be imperceptible to onlookers, but that Courtney no doubt felt, as the move spread her legs for him. Not wide. Just open enough to make her aware of her position. Just open enough to let her know what was on his mind…what he really wanted from her in that moment.

Watch yourself
, his mind blared.

But he was too far gone.

He kept his gaze trained on her face as he tightened his fingers into a band of resistance, effectively restraining her, and slid the garter over her foot and onto her calf. Her throat worked visibly, her body tensing as she opened her mouth to say something, but she closed it with a snap. He lifted her leg high then, resting her ankle on his shoulder and pinning it there with his hand.

The crowd squealed with excitement and laughter, caught up in the bawdy tradition and outward bravado of the moment, but the look on Courtney’s face was anything but funny. Her lush bottom lip was caught between her teeth and her eyes lit with fire so hot it nearly brought him low.