One Knight Only_SKelly Read online

  Over her first cup of coffee she watched the sun rise, but instead of losing herself in the beauty of another early fall morning, she let her mind wander down new paths. Most of which ended with a certain person.

  She'd long ago recognized that she had pretty much demonized Tad for something stupid. Burning a CD was an idiot trick, not atypical of a teenage boy. But it had been enough, an incident that had become hopelessly intertwined with all the other bad things currently taking place in her life.

  She'd lost her grandmother that year, the one woman who had offered stability to an uncertain teenage girl. That pain had been almost unbearable. Her mother was going through a nasty divorce and Drina was old enough to understand much of the anger and hatred flowing back and forth between her parents.

  There were allegations of affairs on both sides. Accusations of financial wrongdoings. Insults and terrible fights preceded her father's packing and leaving, followed by a tearfully agonizing scene with her mother. Drina handled it as best she could but her own fears and terrors needed an outlet. Needed a focus—somebody she could hate unreservedly, in the way she wanted to hate her mother and father, but couldn't.

  Losing her grandma just weeks before the Bjork-burning episode—well, it was awful. Unspeakably terrible. Then had come Tad's stupid action, and with it he had cemented his position in Drina's mind. He was now the bad guy, the one person she could despise without reservation.

  The fact that she had been very attracted to him and had created little fantasies about him in her mind before her world fell apart...well, that simply added to her resolve. She'd turned him into the villain of her life—someone she could hate—and as an added benefit she could revile herself for doing so at the same time. The lines between love and hate, anger and passion, well…none were clear at that time in Drina's life. They'd become blurred and indistinct. The result had affected her more than she'd realized.

  She shook her head at herself. She probably needed some serious therapy to deal with all this twisted crap. Or she should have gotten some when she was going through it. But now it was too late. She'd spent the intervening years happily using Tad as a target. If she was depressed it was, somehow or other, his fault. And she was a bad person for blaming him since she knew better.

  When other people blamed politicians or big business, Drina would nod in agreement, but in her mind it was all Tad's fault. No, it wasn't rational. But what thirteen-year-old girl is? She'd etched her view of him in stone at that time and although the intervening years had granted her greater understanding, she still hadn't found the power to change her opinions of him. Possibly she hadn't wanted to. Without him as her target-of-choice, she would have had to face things herself.

  He'd been too convenient. And absent.

  Now she was confronted with the reality of what she'd done. And the reality of the man Tad had become.

  Her carefully constructed network of anger matrices was falling apart. Tad wasn't a devil—he was a funny and appealing person who was tender and passionate in bed, and not above putting on a medieval costume to help out someone he'd never met before. Just because she pushed him into volunteering.

  He could have said no. He didn't have to look at her with those hazel eyes of his lighting up the way they did at some amusing comment.

  He certainly didn't have to drive her home and then screw her silly. With her full cooperation. And he absolutely didn't have to give her the best night of her life, sex-wise. Christ, she'd never believed in the whole G-spot thing, let alone guessed she might have one. But damn if Tad hadn't gone and shot that theory full of holes as well.

  She'd had incredible outdoor sex, which had turned her on in a major way, and then followed it up with multiple orgasms. And a really good night's sleep.

  Shit.

  She sighed. Tad was looking more and more like Mr. Perfect and less and less like Mr. Asshole. Drina was going to have to do some serious re-thinking.

  Of course, the most immediate problem was what to do now, today. The man himself would be waking soon. She would give him coffee, she supposed. He was shit out of luck if he wanted breakfast because she didn't eat in the mornings. Toast she could manage, but that was it. And then they'd go to the fairgrounds, since he'd be squiring again.

  All of which would be fine, but it was the long term after effects of last night that troubled Drina. She closed her eyes and for once tried to be completely honest with herself. Last night—and the implications it presented—terrified her.

  She could easily fall for Tad in a major way. He was too close to being everything any woman could want in a man, and he fit her requirements to a T. He pretty much always had, even while she was busy loathing the ground he walked on. Weird, but nobody said emotions were normal. Hers certainly weren't.

  She was aware enough to know she had a healthy fear of relationships and it wasn't hard to understand why. Her previous affairs had been short, pleasant and pretty run-of-the-mill. She steered clear of complex or anything requiring more than the cursory involvement. She'd assumed that at some time in her life she'd settle down, but she still got that nasty butterflies-in-the-gut-doing-Riverdance-in-clogs feeling when anything or anyone came too close to opening doors inside her she'd kept shut for a reason.

  She had that feeling now and damn if those butterflies weren't working on a second number already with an encore ready to go in the wings. She did take a moment to ponder the question of whether she could find happiness with Tad.

  But her butterflies and her fears overwhelmed any arguments in favor. No, Tad represented a danger to her ordered world. They'd have magnificent sex, but one way or another, he'd end up leaving. And she would never recover if he did.

  Last night had been extra special and yes, it would be a memory for her mental record books.

  But that, as they say, was that. She had to move on.

  The problem was—how?

  How to politely turn Tad away without being cruel. She didn't want that, wasn't that kind of person. But this was a new situation and risky in the extreme. She'd have to think of something subtle and clever, something he'd never question and that would not hurt his feelings at all. He shouldn't be rewarded for a night of great sex by a kick up the ass. That wouldn't be fair.

  Resolutely, she ignored the ache that was starting to consume her heart. It was the best way for both of them. She could handle an ache, and he'd soon forget her.

  Her cell phone rang and she answered it, briefly confirming they'd both be at the fair on time and that Tad would be squiring again.

  "Hey. Good morning. Hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to coffee."

  And there he was. She turned to see him standing in just his pants, bare-chested and delightfully tousled, smiling at her over a steaming mug. "You sleep well? I sure did." His grin turned wicked. "Kinda hoped you'd be there when I woke up. But there's always later." He sipped. "I heard your phone. That's how I found you out here. Everything okay?"

  She nodded and surprised herself with what came out of her mouth. "Yeah. It was my husband. He's coming home tonight."

  Oh nice. Very subtle and clever. Way to go, girl.

  Chapter Six

  Tad spent the day alternating between utter eye-crossing fury, humiliation, disgust and plain old hurt.

  After Drina's little breakfast revelation—coffee and oh-I-forgot-to-mention-the-husband—things went downhill. Her protestations that neither cared what the other did, that it was an open marriage...none of them worked for Tad.

  He realized he was more old-fashioned than he'd imagined, because right now he felt like shit and was having a hard time getting over the fact that he'd fucked another man's wife, with her full encouragement.

  He just didn't do that. It was in direct violation of his personal rules of conduct and he was damn ashamed of himself for going there, even if he hadn't known it at the time. No matter how he looked at it, Drina was now tarnished by their night together. How she could have done what she did and completely ignor
ed the commitment she'd made to another man...well, it was beyond him.

  He'd stared at her after she'd spoken those fateful words. His mouth had opened but no sound came out. When the power of speech returned, he knew he had to stay silent or he'd lash her with an anger that might never wane. Whatever her views on marriage might be, there was only one solution for him and that was to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible.

  So he'd dressed hurriedly and left her house, waiting for her beside the car. He would honor his promise to squire in the tournament. At least he was a man of his word. She'd not said anything to him—after all, what was there to say?

  They'd driven the short distance in silence, and only when he'd parked near the entrance did she speak. "The Hatfield scrimshaw is in the box here." She pointed at a bag near her feet on the floor of the car. "You can have the receipt notarized and returned to me. The address is in there."

  "Okay." He'd nodded and stepped out of the vehicle.

  It was the last time they'd spoken.

  The day had turned murky, and by noon rain had begun with no sign of letting up. The Tournament had been cancelled for the rest of the day and some of the vendors were already shutting down their stalls. Bad weather was one of the inevitable hazards of an outdoor event like a Renaissance Faire. Everyone was prepared for it, but nobody wanted it.

  In this instance, Tad viewed the rain as a blessing in disguise, since it allowed him to say goodbye to the knights and the horses and leave Carver several hours before he'd hoped. He avoided Drina altogether, resolutely walking away from her and the Faire without a backward glance.

  Now he was finally heading home to Boston up Route 3, with the Hatfield collection on the back seat of the Audi. His original mission was complete.

  Okay, so he'd taken a slight detour and fucked the woman of his dreams, only to find out she was married. So what? Big deal. It happened all the time.

  Not to me, whispered a little voice in the back of his brain.

  He told the little voice to shut the hell up, and focused on driving through the gloom of an autumn rainstorm. Fortunately traffic was light, and he found himself in the familiar surroundings of his parking garage in good time.

  Being home had never seemed such a relief before, and Tad closed his own door behind him with a sigh that seemed to emanate from his toenails. His message light was blinking and with some sort of vaguely suppressed hope she might have called to say something—although God knows what—he hit the Play button.

  Of course there was nothing from Drina, and he mentally slapped himself upside the head for expecting there would be. Ian had called—twice—checking on the status of the scrimshaw collection.

  Sarah had called once. He was seeing her casually. Or had been. Neither were invested in more than friendship and he felt no compunction to return her call. She felt like little more than a memory from another life. There were a couple of other messages, neither of which required more than a brief notation of a phone number on his memo pad. He usually referred business calls to this line and had it set up to transfer to the store during working hours. His cell was more for private matters.

  Chucking his overnight bag into his bedroom, Tad went to his kitchen, grabbed himself a cold beer and then sat down to call Ian back.

  "Hey dude. Is this a bad time?"

  "Nope. Glad to hear your voice. I expected you back Friday night." Ian's tone was familiar and welcoming and Tad felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease a little.

  "It was a bit of a clusterfuck, if you want the truth. I had to wait because the executor was—get this—working the Renaissance Faire."

  "Jeez. The one in Carver?"

  "Yep." Tad closed his eyes briefly. "And you'll never guess exactly who the executor was..."

  Silence reigned for about ten seconds. "You going to tell me? Or am I supposed to guess?"

  "D'you remember that tiny blonde girl in Junior High?"

  There was silence for a moment. "D'you mean the one with the blue eyes and that CD you burned because you didn't have the balls to ask if she'd go to the movies with you?"

  Tad winced. "Yeah. That one."

  "Can't remember her name. Audrey? Andrea? Something like that?"

  "Audrina."

  "Yeah, that's it." Ian chuckled. "Audrina Franklyn. Now I got it. Don't tell me she was the executor?"

  "Yeah. She's Audrina Ashford now. Drina. Her mom remarried. I think there was a divorce or something going on when she was in our school."

  "Well." Ian paused. "That was an interesting case of small-world-itis."

  "Yes."

  The silence fell once more.

  "Tad?" Ian broke it finally. "I've known you too long. What's wrong?"

  Tad sighed. "I messed up, big time."

  "I knew it." Ian sighed back. "Put beers in the freezer if you don't have any cold ones in the fridge. Be there in five."

  There was a click and Tad stared at the phone in his hand. He should have known his closest friend in the entire world would figure out there was a problem. Or had been a problem. Or whatever getting royally fucked up over a woman was classified as, these days.

  And he admitted subconsciously that he probably wanted Ian's advice, or at least an ear into which he could pour his troubles. He shrugged and returned the phone to its cradle. Ian would indeed be there in five, since they lived conveniently near each other...Ian over the store and Tad mere blocks away.

  He went to put some more beer in the fridge and wait for his friend.

  The bell sounded promptly seven minutes after the end of the phone call, and Tad couldn't suppress a grin. Ian was so damned prompt it was sickening some times. "Okay asshole." He yelled as the bell sounded again. "I'm comin'..."

  Swinging wide the door, he blinked at the sight of both Ian and Ian's new lady, Marielle.

  "Uh, hi Marielle. The asshole comment was for your ugly escort."

  She grinned. Tad stepped aside and let them in, ducking a mock punch from Ian and admiring Marielle's ass. He'd seen it naked during one fabulous night of decadent sex, but from that point on, she had been Ian's alone. Tad harbored no regrets and welcomed her into their little "family", such as it was. He liked her very much and was secretly thrilled at the way his best friend was taking to a single committed relationship.

  "Okay you idiot. What the fuck did you do?" Ian had helped himself to beers and was settling Marielle into one of Tad's overstuffed chairs.

  "How about we let Tad tell the story, Ian?" Marielle lifted an eyebrow and glared at her beloved. "In his own way?"

  "We'll be here a week, but if that's what you want, don't say I didn't warn you." Ian grinned back and lifted his beer bottle to his lips. After a healthy swig he waved it at Tad. "Go for it, buddy. Lay it out for us."

  Tad blew a breath through his teeth, picked up his beer and then put it down again. He couldn't face the taste right now, not until he'd bared his soul. "It started at the Renaissance Faire. At the jousting tournament..."

  Fifteen minutes later, the story was told, laid out for Ian and Marielle. Minus the intimate bits, of course, since Tad wasn't a fuck-and-report kind of man under any circumstances whatsoever.

  Marielle had watched him intently during his recital and leaned forward now to place a cool hand on his knee as he sat on the couch next to her chair. "God, Tad, how awful. What a bitch."

  "No... ," he frowned. "She isn't. Not really."

  "Yeah she is. She let you take her to bed knowing she was married?" Ian frowned too. "That's just bad, bud. You don't do that to a guy. Or to your husband."

  "See, she didn't seem that type at all. Of all the things I would have expected, a husband wasn't one of them."

  Marielle made a slight sound, somewhere between a cough and a snort. "Men never do." Then she pursed her lips as her brow furrowed in thought. "Tell me something, Tad. Didn't you actually see anything in her house that belonged to a man? No shaving cream, or socks or anything?"

  "I didn't really look much
." Tad thought about it. "But now you come to mention it, no."

  "Okay." Marielle sat up. "Let's just run through a few things. Bathroom. Any male-type shampoos? Soaps?"

  Tad shook his head. "Only that liquid stuff. Smells fresh. Shampoo was pink. Matching conditioner." He pushed his mind back into the shower with Drina, painful though the memory was. "She had a pink floofy thing. And a long handled brush."

  "Towels?"

  "No. We air dried."

  She glared at him.

  "Of course there were towels." Tad couldn't help his grin. "They were pale green I think. Not positive, but that sounds about right."

  "Hmm." Marielle narrowed her eyes. "Okay. Kitchen. Did you have coffee?"

  "Yes. I helped myself."

  Ian chimed in. "Mugs? How many?"

  "Uhh..." Christ, these two would have made the FBI proud. He tried to recall opening the kitchen cupboard door. Pulling up the memory he looked at Ian. "Two. White with horses on them I think."

  "Okay. Coffee pot. What size?" Ian continued his train of thought.

  "Not very big. She had one cup and I took one and that emptied it." Tad nodded as he affirmed this point. "I turned it off. I remember thinking that I didn't want it to burn now that I'd taken the last of it. So no more than two or three cups, tops."

  "Fridge?" Marielle tossed out the question.

  "Nope." Tad shrugged. "Didn't need to go in there. The night before, she made us a couple sandwiches and I don't take cream in my coffee."

  Ian finished his beer. "Well, following Marielle's deductive reasoning here, I'd say all those facts raise some doubts about the existence of a husband. You checked for rings, of course."

  Tad recalled noticing her hands as he'd driven them to the Faire and knew he'd looked for a wedding ring mark of any kind. There was none. Her fingers were bare. "Yes, I checked and no there was nothing. No tan lines either."

  "So, Tad," Marielle stood and took Ian's empty beer bottle from him, "as of right now, the only thing suggesting Drina's married is—Drina herself."

  "Okay."