Knight and Day

Chapter Four

“Tell me again why we’re having a dinner party?” Kara asked, bending down to adjust the strap of one of her high gold sandals. She’d only half listened to Sophie earlier when she’d mentioned their plans for the evening, mostly due to the fact that she’d had her nose buried in a thriller. Blood and gore. No sex. Reading about it led to thinking about it, and thinking about it led to trouble.

“It’s business, mainly. Lucien wants us to meet someone.”

“A new supplier?”

Sophie shrugged, reaching over and unhooking Kara’s hair from where it had tangled with her big gold hoop earring. “Not sure. He was mysterious.” Sophie glanced at her watch. “Right. I’ve got to go and check in with Miriam, make sure the food’s all good to go.”

Kara watched her friend’s disappearing back. For mysterious, read ominous. Ominous in a…

Kara’s train of thought was rudely interrupted by a thunderous crescendo of noise. She crossed to the window and craned her neck to get a better look at the visitor who’d just created his own minor hailstorm of gravel beneath the wheels of his great chunk of a motorbike. Frowning, she smoothed her palms down the short, fitted skirt of her ‘when in doubt, go killer’ LBD, and crossed the hallway to open the front door just as the guy on the other side pulled his helmet off his head and shook out his hair.

His sandy, surf boy hair.

Terrific. Just terrific. Kara’s eyes swept him over in an instant, taking in everything from his vintage look leather jacket to the dark shirt and jeans beneath.

“Evening, English.”

Lucien and Sophie appeared through the archway, robbing Kara of the chance of a sarcastic comeback. Dylan Day had the audacity to grin and tip her a private wink.

“Do come in.” She smiled widely, letting her eyes shoot private daggers at him as he murmured his thanks and walked past her into the villa.

Lucien stepped forwards and shook hands warmly with their visitor.

“Sophie. Kara. This is Dylan Day.”

From the look of comprehension that crossed Sophie’s face, Kara knew that Lucien had already told her that he’d appointed someone as manager of the club. Sophie moved forward and placed her hand on Dylan’s arm.

“I’m Sophie. It’s great to meet you,” she smiled, guiding him through into the lounge. “Let me get you something to drink.”

Lucien’s eyes lingered on Sophie’s backside as she retreated to the kitchen.

“That’s my Sophie.” He smiled amicably, but the warning was clear in the almost imperceptible emphasis he placed on the possessive. Look at my girl the wrong way and I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Dylan nodded. Message understood.

Kara cleared her throat dramatically, hands on her hips, her eyes wide. Lucien did a bad job of hiding his smirk.

“And this is Kara, Sophie’s business partner.”

Dylan extended his hand formally towards Kara with a clear, innocent as a baby smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kara.”

“Watch her,” Lucien murmured. His blue grey eyes glittered, danger and mirth. “She has claws.”

Kara opened her eyes wide and laughed lightly. “Ignore him. I’m a regular pussy cat, Dylan.”

Lucien laughed low, excusing himself as Sophie called out to him from the kitchen.

“A pussy cat, huh?” Dylan said. “Domestic, or wild, English?”

Kara didn’t even know what it was about Dylan Day that riled her.

“Play nice, Mister, or you’ll find out the hard way.”

He lowered his head towards her as Sophie reappeared with Lucien close behind her, and the clean, masculine scent of him caught her off guard as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“I never could resist a challenge.”

“Kara, grab Dylan’s coat would you?” Sophie handed Dylan a glass of champagne and smiled at her friend, leaving Kara no option but to take his jacket or else look conspicuously rude. He handed it over with a grin.

“Don’t rip it with those claws of yours.”

Kara shot him a sugar sweet smile and headed into the hallway, Dylan’s jacket in her hands. Faded tan and butter soft with wear, and the kind of bashed up that only ever worked with leather and spoke of many years of being moulded around its owner. It was still warm with Dylan’s body heat, and as Kara lifted it onto a coat-hook the indefinable scent of him caught her for a second time.

So the man smelled good. What of it?

Irritated with herself, she rejoined the others, who by now had made their way outside and gathered on the deeply padded seats of the dining alcove beneath the shade of the awning at the back of the villa. They were laughing easily as she approached, and Dylan already looked utterly relaxed and at home alongside Lucien and Sophie. She slowed her step, watching them, suddenly unsure of her role amongst them. It looked like a table set for two couples, but there was only one couple seated at that table. Plus a couple of other people who meant nothing to and knew nothing of each other.

Dylan glanced across as she approached and pushed himself onto his feet with a wide smile.

“Kara,” he murmured with a nod, catching her off guard with both his old school manners and his use of her given name rather than ‘English.’

There was something in the softness of his pronunciation that made her swallow hard, and she flashed him a quick smile to cover the inexplicable fluster he’d thrown her into. The only seat available to her was alongside Dylan on the upholstered bench-seat, and he dropped down gracefully beside her once she’d settled.

The evening sun had slipped low over the bay, and their vantage point offered them a spectacular view of what promised to be a legendary Ibizan sunset. It had been a long, hot day, and the burnt orange sun was making the most of its curtain call.

“You get some view from up here,” Dylan observed, his eyes on the bay. “It must be one of the highest points?”

“Lucien likes to be king of the castle,” Sophie laughed, and Lucien lifted his eyebrows as he topped up everyone’s glass and then raised his own.

“To Gateway Ibiza’s new management team, complete at last.”

They made the toast as the caterer’s waitress emerged from the villa with their first course, a platter of Iberian ham and mozzarella cheese with plump tomatoes drizzled in fragrant local rosemary oil.

“So you’re American, Dylan.” Sophie stated the obvious, earning herself a nod from Dylan as she pushed the platter a little towards him as an encouragement to help himself.

“Sure am.”

Kara watched him place ham and tomatoes on his plate. “You’re a long way from home," she said, casual but deliberate.

He nodded again, slower this time, his eyes still on his food. “I guess so. I’ve rented a place over in Vadella.”

He looked up and smiled, the kind of open, genial smile that people employ when they really don’t want to elaborate. It served only to make Kara dig a little deeper.

“What brings you to Ibiza?”

Dylan shrugged, that big easy smile still in place. “I was ready for a change of scene. I came to see a friend, but he’s moved on.”

“It’s a long way to come on the off chance. They don’t have phones in America?”

“Kara...” Lucien chided, but Dylan was unfazed by Kara’s bluntness.

“Hey, it’s fine. Sure, they do, but the time was right for me to move on,” Dylan said, his voice not betraying any sign of Kara’s line of questioning having hit a nerve. “I’d been living in Vegas a while. The place can drive you a little crazy if you let it. I’d split from my girl… it was just time.”

His girl. Something about the phrase lit the fire of irritation in Kara’s belly again, she couldn’t have said why.

“Don’t tell me. Her name was Lola, and she was a show girl.”

Sophie stood up pointedly. “Kara, could you help me inside for a sec, please?”

As Kara stood to follow Sophie, Lucien pushed the platter towards Dylan for seconds.

“I never had an annoying younger sister, Dylan, but if I had to imagine what it might be like…” He looked meaningfully at Kara’s back as she walked away, and she turned and shot him daggers. He shrugged, with an utterly unapologetic smile.

“What the hell’s got into you?” Sophie hissed as soon as they were safely inside the villa.

Kara shrugged, aware that her behaviour had been questionable at best. “I just get the wrong vibe from him.”

“The wrong vibe? Kara, we might be in Ibiza, but since when did you get vibes? You don’t know the first thing about Dylan.”

“Exactly! Do you?” Kara said. “Does Lucien?”

“No I don’t, but I trust Lucien’s judgement.”

Kara trusted Lucien’s judgement too, and knew that she was just digging a bigger hole by pushing her point. The vibe she got from Dylan Day wasn’t an untrustworthy one. She didn’t fear that he was going to rip her friends off or that he’d be terrible at his job. It was far less tangible than that. The man just somehow pushed her buttons.

Her alive button.

Her awareness button.

Her turned on button.

In Kara’s book, they were all buttons that she didn’t want pressed. This summer, and probably the next one too for that matter, were all about restoring her equilibrium through work and friends. Her heart had been well and truly trampled on, and it wasn’t anywhere near ready to be prodded and poked by an American with a chip on his shoulder and a smart comeback always on his lips.

But Kara was ready to play nice for Sophie’s sake.

“Okay.” She sighed, and then smiled. “Okay. I’ll be on my best behaviour. Just don’t ask me to apologise for the Lola comment.”

“I’d have thought you of all people would have some empathy, Kara,” Sophie chided gently, handing her a fresh bottle of champagne to take outside. “He might be broken-hearted for all you know.”

Kara huffed as she left the kitchen. “He doesn’t look broken-hearted to me.” Quite the reverse, in fact, she added, to herself.

Sophie watched her friend walk back across to the dining nook, deep in thought. Kara’s reaction to Dylan Day was unreasonable, and that could only mean one thing. Hope and fear mingled together in Sophie’s gut for her friend. Kara was the toughest person in the world, until she wasn’t, and then she fell to pieces. But she did it in a scary, private way that allowed her to stay looking perfect on the outside while on the inside she was broken glass. Sophie knew her well enough to be sure that there were still some big, jagged shards within from the way Richard had treated her, and she just hoped her friend was not about to get sliced open by them.

Lucien glanced at his watch. The evening had settled into a more relaxed mode after Sophie and Kara had returned to the table, and for the remainder of dinner Dylan had showed himself to be an interesting and well-informed guest. His instincts told him that Dylan was a safe pair of hands for the club, and they also told him that Dylan Day was a man with a past that hounded him. He understood those hounds. He’d lived with his own pack of wolves for enough years, but he’d also learned that there were ways to silence their howls.

He dropped his arm over Sophie’s shoulders and massaged her bare shoulder, the girl who held the hounds’ reins and kept them at bay.

She reciprocated with a light massaging hand on his thigh as she laughed at something Dylan said, and when he slid his hand under her hair to stroke his thumb over the extra sensitive spot on the nape of her neck, she passed a hand over her forehead.

“You know guys, I might have to call it a night. I think I’ve got the beginnings of a headache,” she murmured, her cheeks pink from champagne and Lucien’s attentions as she stood up. “Lucien?”

He smiled, his fingers toying with the zip of her dress.

“I’ll come with you.” He placed a hand on her forehead. “We can play doctors and nurses.”

Sophie rolled her eyes as he stood up and put his arm around her waist.

“Dylan, it’s been a pleasure.” She raised her hand to stop him as Dylan went to stand. “You guys stay a while and finish the champagne, it won’t keep. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

As she leaned down and kissed Kara goodnight, she distinctly heard her mutter ‘bitch’ in her ear.

“Listen, Kara…” Dylan topped up their champagne glasses in the silence that followed Lucien and Sophie’s disappearance. “I think we may have got off on the wrong foot, and for my part in that, I’m sorry.”

He handed Kara her glass and picked up his own, turning his body towards hers on the bench as he settled back down. The top couple of buttons on his dark shirt were open, and Kara found her eyes following the tanned column of his neck down and wondering what he’d be like if he lost the shirt altogether.

Balls. She closed her eyes and brought her glass to her lips. She didn’t want to think that.

Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it.

Maybe if she said it three times in her head something magical would happen and he wouldn’t be so attractive when she reopened her eyes.

Well, that didn’t work. In fact, if anything, he looked sexier still, because he was watching her, waiting for her.

“Are you waiting for me to apologise too?” she asked, placing her drink down.

“Do you feel like you need to?”

He was half school teacher, half sex god, and for some reason Kara found herself ready to be thrown over his knee and chastised for her sassy mouth. Oh Lord. This was going to go bad. Champagne swilled in her veins, and there was no stopping the words from leaving her lips.

“No. I actually feel like sliding over there and unbuttoning your shirt.”

Dylan’s expression went from lazy amusement to round-eyed surprise in five seconds flat. Surprise laced with arousal.

“Which is why you should leave right now,” Kara continued, aware that she’d said too much, as always. Her big mouth had got her into all sorts of trouble over the years, and it would seem that this was destined to be another of those times.

She watched him swallow hard and wanted to trace her index finger down his Adam’s apple.

He watched her watching him.

“Well, that’s an unexpected development, English.”

“You’re telling me,” she said. “Leave. Please?”

Kara manoeuvred herself off the bench and stood to allow him room to get out.

“Should I finish my drink?”

“Nope.”

“I could take my shirt off?”

He was standing too close, his fingers on the buttons at his chest, his eyebrows raised suggestively, his expression caught halfway between joking and deadly serious.

“Goodnight, Dylan.”

Kara crossed her arms firmly, and for the briefest of seconds Dylan’s eyes moved down to the cleavage she’d just inadvertently served up like two oranges on a platter. She didn’t dare open her mouth for fear of what might come out. “Rip my dress off and take a proper look,” sprang unhelpfully to mind.

Dylan leaned down and touched his lips against her cheek; warm, tingly, and lingering for a second longer than could be deemed platonic. Jesus, he smelt like nothing on earth. She wanted to lick his face.

“Goodnight, English,” he said softly. “I’ll see myself out. And for the record… I’ve never felt less like leaving anywhere in my life.”