KNOCKOUT (24 page)

I
sat idly
in the dining room of
Desrosiers
, waiting for my date to arrive.

I’d seen the pictures, read over the notes that Gwen had taken on the things that I should bring up over the course of dinner, but the more I thought about it the more nervous I became. It wasn’t so much whether or not I would like the woman—I couldn’t have cared one way or another at this point—but I honestly worried whether the more I dated the more of a wedge would be driven between my stepsister and I.

I had slowly been coming to terms with the fact that whatever the two of us had together would never actually work out—despite how much I knew we wanted one another, the fallout of our relationship would cause too much of a uproar for either of us to live quietly ever after. It had to be this way, whether I liked it or not.

I noticed her out of the corner of my eye at first, a gorgeously graceful woman gliding toward me in a glimmering silk dress. She almost floated across the floor as she walked, and if I hadn’t seen her feet, I’d have sworn they were at least an inch off the ground. She
was
a stunning woman by any standard, and I couldn't deny that I was enraptured as she took her seat, the waiter pulling out from behind her before she arrived and pushing it before departing.

“Tristan, I presume?” she said, a coy grin spreading across her face as she set her small clutch in her lap. “I’ve been told a great deal about you—not all of which from your sister.”

“All good, I hope,” I said, smirking as I took a sip from my wine glass.

“Hardly,” she said, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You have a reputation for being a bit of a…”

“Playboy?” I prompted, hoping to draw some kind of reaction out of her other than that disgusted look on her face. This wasn’t off to a good start, and I didn’t like the odds of it getting any better.

“An idiot,” she corrected, her tone severe. “And if you intend on continuing any manner of liaisons with me, I will insist than such embarrassing behavior ceases at once.”

“You hardly know me,” I said, “Perhaps it would be best to leave your assumptions elsewhere while we have our first dinner together.”

“That will be for me to decide,” Denise sneered, and already I knew what had thrown me off about that expression—the look in her eyes that I’d seen in all those other photos Gwen had shown me—that was the same look that my father had on his face constantly. That overconfident, pompous sneer, looking down their noses at those they see as less fortunate than they.

She was everything that my father might have looked for in a wife, and for that reason alone I already despised her. But I knew that I would need to be civil for Gwen’s sake; I didn’t need to anger another of her clients, one who was more than willing to spend her money for what she wanted, especially if what she wanted was a man.

“Your sister says that you have a love of literature,” Denise said. “What manner of literature would that be?”

“I enjoy the classics, mostly,” I said, not at all wanting to discuss my favorite books in with such a snobbish woman. I was hoping something awful might happen to save me, like a monsoon or an earthquake.

“I see,” she said, her words clipped. “As broad and elusive as you are, apparently. You at least gets points for keeping yourself mysterious.”

“Well I’m glad that you approve,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face.

“Hardly,” she said, rolling her eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted to harm another human being, but this woman would certainly have been on such a list were I that manner of person. She was infuriating on almost every level.

“And what literature do you read?” I asked, more out of politeness than any actual curiosity. To be honest I hardly cared one lick whatever book this woman shoved in front of her face.

“I greatly enjoy the works of —”

“May I take your order?” came the soft voice of a waiter who’d suddenly appeared at my side, thankfully cutting her off before she could expound on he interests. Her attitude alone had turned me off to the thought of pursuing anything that might even resemble a relationship with her. I couldn’t have asked for a better excuse not to listen to that woman for another moment, my thoughts distracted by the idea of something I could stuff in my mouth to save me from having an actual conversation with this utter brat.

“You’ll be quiet while your betters are speaking,” she demanded, her voice rising to levels that one would expect of a person whose entire family had just been cursed, “or have you been taught nothing of your place?”

The young man and I stared at her, stunned, as she continued to speak, her voice once again more civilized. How in the world could any one person be so rude? Even my father’s horrific attitude was at least curbed in public, something that apparently developed with age.

“Tristan,” she said in an obnoxiously insistent manner, ignoring the waiter and pretending as though her little outburst never happened. “I have no desire to be seen in the company of a serial fornicator who has not renounced his ways—and should this courtship continue, those ways of yours
will
be curbed. Am I clear?”

I blinked at her, staring for what felt like a full minute.

This woman was everything that my father prized in a member of the aristocracy—arrogant, entitled, belligerent, and worst of all, high on her own social standing. I don’t think I’d ever decided I hated anyone as quickly as I did in that moment. She was possibly the most impudent, spoiled, and self-important
bitch
I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.

“Well?” she asked, eyebrows raised so high I thought they might make a run for her widow’s peak. “I expect an answer.”

I turned to the waiter, slipping a hundred-pound note from my pocket and putting it in his hand. “I would greatly appreciate the check, if you don’t mind.”

The young man was shocked, more by the bill than the request as he hurried off to settle out my account—the sole item being the bottle of wine that I again filled my glass from. I could take no more of this woman’s grandstanding and flouting of her impossibly high standards that I’d never reach.

“I believe this dinner if over, Denise,” I said with a sigh.

“Excuse me?” Denise hissed, her face a mask of utter incredulity. “You will
not
walk out on me! Not here, not in front of… of…” She gestured. “People!”

“I think that I will,” I said, looking her right in the eye as I took a long drink of my wine glass, draining the entire thing in one go. “In fact, I’d like to add something before I go.”

I stood up, holding up my empty glass, as if in a toast. “You are possibly the most horrific woman I have ever had the displeasure of sitting across a table from for so little a time—and I say this knowing my own stepmother. You are by far the most pretentious, self-important
bint
to have crossed my path. And I will be happy to see the back of you.”

“How
dare
you!” she screeched, and before I could even react I felt the cool splash of wine splattering across my face and down over my shirt. “Why, I
never
!”

Before I even had time to wipe my eyes free of the wine, I heard the sound of her chair being pushed back and the clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor. I couldn’t help but start to laugh. I was cursed to be this way forever, to constantly botch whatever date my sister set me up on.

Gwen is going to murder me
, I thought as I wiped my face with a napkin, the waiter who’d only just been there moments before at my side, helping me get myself in order. Everything kept falling apart on every single one of these dates that my stepsister sent me on—none of them seemed right. The only person I ever felt at ease with ever since this whole fiasco started was Gwendolyn herself.

It’s ironic
, I thought.
I go to my sister, the matchmaker, to find a romantic connection, when all along it’s the matchmaker herself that I fall for.

I couldn’t stop laughing at the cosmic hilarity of it all, that fate would make the one person I’d always wanted the one person who I’d trust to help me find love for myself.

I stood up, brushing myself off and slipping the waiter another fifty pound note before I headed out to hail a taxi. I knew now what I needed—what I wanted more than anything… Nothing would suffice until I had it. I needed Gwendolyn.

I
had fallen
asleep on my couch, waiting for word on how my stepbrother’s date had gone when I heard the knock on my front door. I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding as the noise rocketed me from my sleep and back into the waking world. My heart was pounding and between my legs I could still feel the glimmer of lust from the intensity of the dream itself. I’d been thinking of Tristan again, and in ways that I had tried not to since that night at the restaurant. But try as I might the lust I felt for him could not be denied, especially not by my subconscious mind.

Again the knocking came at my door, and I glanced curiously over at the digital clock underneath my television.
Nine forty-six
?
Who in their right mind would come calling at this hour
? I rose up from my couch and shuffled over to the door, wiping the sleep from my eyes before peering through the peephole.

“Tristan?” I asked through the door as I spied my brother standing on the other side. By the look on his face I could assume that the date had not gone well. I was prepared to be utterly furious as I undid the lock and pulled the door open. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You set me up with a complete snob,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me as though he expected some kind of apology.

“And how am I responsible for the way she behaves?” I asked, my voice rising, though I couldn’t help but yawn. I was still too tired to be completely angry just yet, but I’d settle for mildly annoyed. “I’m not her mother.”

“No, you’re supposed to be my matchmaker! And so far, the only match I’ve had is the one I can’t have,” he said, stepping past me into my apartment.

“Tristan, we can’t, and you know it!” I said, trying to force him back out, though I only succeeded in prompting him to close the door behind him. “We can’t!”

“But I want to!” he said, frustration clear in his voice as he paced like a caged animal. “Every time I’m with those women all I’m thinking of is you, Gwen! I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re all I think about anymore and I can’t stand not being near you. You’re what I’ve always wanted, Gwen.”

My heart skipped a beat as he leaned in close, his lips so close to mine as he whispered sweetly to me.

“So long as I have you then nothing else matters, Gwendolyn. You’re the one that I’ve always dreamed of having ever since we were younger. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now. You come first, in all things. Gwendolyn… I love you.”

“Tristan,” I gasped, his arms sliding around me tightly as he pulled me in close for a deep, passionate kiss. I saw fireworks flash across my vision as my body melted against his own, my body tingling as I began to feel the warm rush of my juices begin to flow between my thighs.

Every logical part of my mind knew that this was wrong, that we were doing something that we could never undo, but my heart cared nothing for the reasoning of my brain. I knew what I craved just as much as Tristan did, and his admission of his love for me only spurred me to throw caution to the wind and give in to the thing that I desired most.

Our lips met in a passionate dance against one another, his mouth so hot against mine I swore I would ignite like kindling. I could already feel the stirrings of his member pressing against my body, encouraging my own lustful body to shudder in excitement. I’d craved him like a drug from the first moment he was inside of me, his dick sliding between the slick lips of my pussy. I missed the cool touch of the metal piercing against my sensitive little spot as he slammed himself into me over and over again. I needed him more than I had ever needed anything else in my entire life.

“I love you,” he whispered breathily against my lips, his fingers sliding into my hair, grabbing a bunch of it and gently tilting my head back so that he could better lay his soft kisses on the skin of my neck.

“I love you too, Tristan,” I gasped, my body arching into his as I felt his teeth graze over the soft flesh of my neck. I felt like I was about to explode, my entire body practically vibrating with the anticipation of feeling my stepbrother buried deep inside of me, prompting me closer and closer to an earth-shattering climax like I’d felt the first night we were together.

Without warning, Tristan swept me up in his arms, carrying me from my living room and out into the hallway before depositing me roughly on top of my bed, sprawled out helter-skelter as I watched him begin to undress himself. I bit my lip in anticipation, my heart fluttering as I watched him free his cock from the confines of his slacks. I was soaked already, but by the time he pulled that monster out, I was utterly drenched.

“God, I still can’t believe how big you are,” I marveled, my face flushed with color.

Once he was undressed, my stepbrother crawled across the bed toward me, savagely pulling at my clothes until I was finally free of them before he began to kiss along the soft, gentle curves of my most sacred of places. I let out a gasp, my eyes closed as he buried his tongue into the velvet folds of my womanhood, my back arching. But just as I was about to come against the expert ministrations of his tongue, I felt something slide inside of me, and before I could process it, the enormity of his cock was invading me, filling me up from the inside out.

This time, it was different. This time, it wasn’t raw, hot, and heavy. We smoldered against one another, a low, slow burn that consumed us from head to toe. We moved as one, not fucking, but
making love.
It was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I’d never gotten close enough to anyone for it to happen like this.

But with Tristan, it felt good. It felt right. Tears brimmed in my eyes as I realized this was exactly where we were both supposed to be: healing ourselves, the wounds that had been inflicted upon us by our parents, and seeking solace in the only other person in all the world who could truly understand the damage we’d sustained.

I wreathed my arms around his neck, holding onto him for dear life as our walls finally came crumbling down. Tristan covered me in kisses, some so hard they left me reeling, others so gentle and light I could only beg for more. And when he came inside me this time, it was like a flood—like he’d been holding back before, but now he could give me all of himself, freely and without regret or hesitation.

I gave myself to him, too, coming around his cock in a steady rhythm, finally obtaining that sweet release no other man had ever given me. This was more than an orgasm. This was coming home. Finally finding the place that I belonged.

In Tristan’s arms.