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  With a whimper, she surrendered completely to the rapture of his lips on hers. She pressed her hips forward, seeking more of his erection’s hardness through their layers of clothing. He raked his other hand down her back, grabbed her arse and kneaded her right cheek for a heartbeat before yanking her closer still to his groin.

  Fresh need blossomed inside her. She moaned, grinding the curve of her belly to his rigid length. She should stop what was happening. They were in public. People were everywhere. And Lancaster was famous, not just for his knighthood, but for his Academy awards and BAFTAS and…and…oh God, was he sliding his hand down to her boob? Was he sliding his hand… Yes, he was. He was. Oh God, he was cupping her boob. Cupping and kneading it. Worshipping it with his hand and fingers.

  Liquid pleasure flowed through Casey, pooling in the junction of her thighs. A shudder followed, making her nipples pinch tighter.

  Lancaster growled his approval, scrapping his thumb over the puckered tip as he did so. His lips feasted on hers, growing hungrier with each nip and swipe of his tongue.

  She met his ferocity. Fucked if she was going to deny herself this one moment.

  With a low groan, she raked her nails up into his hair, caught his tongue with her lips and sucked.

  He responded in kind, massaging her breast with increasing pressure, pinching her nipple, grinding his erection to her belly.

  Casey’s head swum. Another shudder rocked her. Her clit tingled with heat, desire swelling the sensitive nub of flesh. She pressed her thighs together, the ache and need building in her sex almost painful.

  Holy moley, had she ever been so turned on by a—

  Something hard slammed into her.

  She stumbled sideways, out of Lancaster’s grip.

  “Shit,” a male voice slurred. “Sorry, doll.”

  Fighting against the fog of her pleasure-stupefied brain, Casey blinked up at the bulky man standing beside her. He was familiar, but she didn’t know why.

  “Oh,” he said, turning to sneer at Lancaster. “It’s the pommy bastard. Why don’t you fuck off to the mother country and leave our women alone, eh?”

  “Are you always this belligerent?” Lancaster asked, sliding a hand up Casey’s back as he drew closer to her. She couldn’t help but feel like he was protecting her from the inebriated mountain of man. It was unexpected. And nice, even if she didn’t normally like the notion of being a damsel in distress. “Or are you still pouting about the thrashing we poms gave you convicts in the Rugby World Cup?”

  Murderous rage etched the man’s face. “I’ll give you a fucking thrashing,” he slurred, reaching for Lancaster with a wild hand, the other raised in a fist beside his jaw.

  Lancaster moved. Fast. With fluid grace, he maneuvered Casey behind him and slammed his head into the lunging man’s forehead.

  Bam.

  The guy staggered backward. Gaped at Lancaster with stunned shock, swung his gape to Casey and then, as if in slow motion, crumpled to the floor, eyes shut.

  Deafening cheers erupted around them. People surged forward, slapping Lancaster on the back. Casey couldn’t stop herself flinching. Jostled from all sides by the jubilant partygoers, she stared at the unconscious man at her feet, her heart pounding fast in her throat.

  Wow.

  “Well done,” someone shouted over her head, no doubt at Lancaster. “The guy’s been a tosser all night.”

  “And he can’t coach for shit,” someone else contributed.

  “’Bout time,” another voice joined in. “Wish I’d had the balls to do it myself.”

  More people pressed at them, all eager to shake Lancaster’s hand or pound him on the back. When an elbow collided with Casey’s temple, she knew it was time to get out of there.

  Ducking under the arms, she shoved herself through the crush of hot bodies. It would have been easier without the ankle-breaking stilettos she’d borrowed for the evening, of course. Christ, how did women wear these all the time?

  Finally free of the madness, she allowed herself a glance back at the boisterous crowd—mostly men—engulfing Lancaster in congratulatory cheers. He stood in the middle, bemused merriment on his handsome face, a bright red spot glowing in the middle of his forehead.

  Casey’s pussy fluttered. He was so gorgeous and sexy and she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him. The night couldn’t get any better…or surreal. Which told her it really was time to go.

  Heart fast, she turned from her British knight and hurried away.

  Somewhere in amongst all this expensive debauchery was her cousin. The one who’d dragged her to the party. She’d find Sharon and they’d head home. As a breakfast-show DJ, Sharon had an early start the next morning and the drive back to Newcastle was a long one. Fingers crossed, her cousin remembered she’d agreed to be the designated driver for the night. Casey wasn’t drunk, but she’d had at least three cocktails. Too many to consider driving.

  Not drunk on alcohol, Casey. But seriously drunk on Lancaster’s kisses.

  She rolled her eyes at her own corniness. Still, she’d never forget this night, that was for certain. Or Lancaster’s touch. Damn, there was a lifetime of serious fantasies and vibrator fodder right here. In fact, as soon as she got home, she’d pull her rabbit from the top draw and revisit the wickedly wanton lust the British knight had awoken in her.

  It took fifteen minutes to find Sharon. And another thirty seconds to realize her cousin wasn’t driving anywhere.

  Standing at the door of what looked like some kind of sexual torture chamber, complete with cameras mounted to the walls—just who’s house was this?—Casey watched her half-naked cousin lick her way up the incredibly sculpted six-pack of the country’s newest soap-opera heartthrob before lifting her face to the country’s newest pop sensation, who began pouring Moët straight from the bottle into her open mouth.

  Casey cleared her throat. “Err, Shaz?”

  Without pausing in the rather unorthodox consumption of champagne, Sharon wriggled a finger that clearly said not now at her. And then she wriggled her hips on top of the soap-opera heartthrob stretched out on the shag rug beneath her.

  Casey licked her lips. The erotic sight was stirring up the lingering pleasure of Lancaster’s hand on her boob. “Shaz, it’s almost eleven and you’ve got to start work at four a.m., remember?”

  Her cousin rolled her hips against Actor Heartthrob and smiled up at Pop-star Heartthrob. “I’ll call in sick. They can play a best-of compilation. Besides, no one listens to the radio early Sunday mornings.”

  Both men chuckled. The pop star threaded his fingers into Sharon’s hair and directed her face to his stomach. “Want to join us?” he asked Casey, gazing at her with lidded eyes.

  “Oh, good idea,” Sharon purred against his six-pack. “Strip off, Casey and come sit on Bobby’s face. He’ll make you come with his—”

  Casey spun on her heel and hurried away, her cheeks on fire. Okay, she’d been wrong when she’d thought the night couldn’t get any more surreal. Now what did she do?

  Chewing on her bottom lip, she studied the goings on around her. Things were getting wilder. People were making out all over the place. Couples were dirty dancing, there were threesomes and, good Lord, foursomes taking place on almost every sofa. Lines of white powder were disappearing up peoples’ noses. Alcohol was being licked from naked bellies and breasts. She swallowed. Obviously this was how rich people partied.

  What did she do?

  A moan from the room behind her, followed by a man’s grunt and another moan, told her exactly what Sharon was doing. And it wasn’t excusing herself so she could drive Casey back home. Argh!

  Catch a taxi to Central Station and then grab a train home.

  Casey’s stomach clenched. Not exactly the best plan, but the only one available to her at the moment, it seemed. If it weren’t for the fact she’d removed a cyst from Mrs. Osborn’s poodle that morning, she’d book into a hotel room. But she’d promised the sweet elderly lady she could come in at si
x to see how her beloved dog was going, and Casey wouldn’t let her client down.

  Which meant taxi and then train.

  “Yay,” she muttered, turning away from the particularly open display of sexual gratification taking place against the wall before her. “Travelling on a train all alone in the middle of a Saturday night. This will be fun.”

  “I tell you what else is fun,” a deep voice with a smooth British accent murmured on her right. “Head butting a rugby coach.”

  Casey’s throat slammed shut. Her pussy fluttered. Her heart quickened. Turning her head, she gazed into dark eyes she could only describe as mischievous.

  Sir Addison Lancaster smiled at her, his lips twitching, his face so close to hers she could feel the warmth of his breath tickling her lips.

  Her lips instantly remembered how incredible his lips felt against them and promptly told her body in no uncertain terms how much they’d like to feel them there again.

  Now.

  Pronto.

  What was the delay?

  Lancaster drew closer. “But nowhere near as fun as kissing you,” he murmured. “Do you mind if I do it again?”

  Chapter Three

  She was driving him crazy. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way she looked—like a natural beauty with playful innocence in her blue eyes. Maybe it was the quick-witted way her mind worked. Or the way she kissed him with utterly unforgiving and totally ferocious desire. Perhaps it was the way she’d slipped away from him after he’d dealt with the moronic rugby coach. Whatever it was, Addison had spent the last twenty minutes tracking her down, determined to pick up where they’d left off.

  There wasn’t a hope in sodding hell he was finished making love to her mouth. Or touching her. Or feeling her touch him.

  Or—

  “Actually, I think I do.”

  He blinked, her refusal jarring him out of his rising ardor. “Sorry? What did you say?”

  She gave him a pointed look and crossed her arms under her breasts. Addison wondered if she realized just how enticing the action made her cleavage. Cleavage, he had to admit, that was already very enticing to begin with.

  A wave of tight heat rolled through his groin as he remembered how wonderful her breast had felt beneath his palm. Fuck, he wanted to feel it there again. Preferably without clothes separating her flesh from his.

  His cock throbbed at the notion. He drew a slow breath.

  “Hey, up here.”

  He jerked his stare up from her breasts, an unfamiliar warmth creeping over his cheeks. His pulse thumped fast in his throat. Wow, when was the last time he’d felt guilty when caught admiring a woman’s body?

  Never. This was all very…new. Ruby was doing something to him.

  Blue eyes regarded him. He wanted to believe he saw humour in their depths but he wasn’t sure. He gave her a rakish grin. “Sorry. But in my defense, they are incredible. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking how amazing they felt when I—”

  She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Okay, okay. Enough with the flattery. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a taxi to catch.”

  Addison’s gut clenched at her words. Taxi? She was leaving. Alone?

  “Surely you’re not going to deny this gallant knight a favour?” he asked. “I went into battle for you. I sustained an injury.” He touched his fingers to his forehead and affected a dramatic grimace. “It still hurts. Perhaps you could kiss it better?”

  Despite the exasperated frown pulling at her eyebrows, her eyes danced with mirth. “Does this whole charming knight thing usually work for you?”

  He gave her another grin, this one less rakish and more self-deprecating. “Actually, this is the first time I’ve tried it. I’ve been in the wilds of Madagascar ever since I was whacked about with the sword by Her Royal Highness and I’m still working out the kinks in my suit of shining armour.”

  Ruby narrowed her eyes. “I don’t really know how to respond to that.” She studied him for a moment, opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head, raised a finger, shook her head again and let out a sigh. “I’m sure I’m going to regret this given you’re using me as a guinea pig and every fibre in my being tells me to run away from you as quickly as possible, but what were you doing in the wilds of Madagascar?”

  “I was there for work.”

  Naughtiness flittered across her face. Addison’s cock responded in kind with an interested spasm. “Of course you were.”

  He chuckled. “I work all over the world. I’m a wildlife cinematographer, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Hence staring down hungry tigers.”

  “Hence staring down hungry tigers.”

  Her lips twitched. “And the bears? That wanted to eat you?”

  He shook his head. “Oh no, the bears that wanted to eat me were in London. Seriously, you haven’t experienced wildlife until you’ve been to a party at Sir Richard’s home. Makes this one look tame in comparison.”

  Ruby laughed and then turned her head and covered her lips with her fingers. Addison watched the move, puzzled. She really was trying to fight her responses to him. Why?

  “And on that note,” she said, a soft chuckle in her voice. “I am leaving. Enjoy your evening, sir knight.”

  “Sir Addison, actually,” he said before she could turn away. “But I’m totally okay with you calling me Addison. Or Sir Oh My God You’re Incredible. I’ll answer to both. The sir isn’t compulsory on that last one, by the way.”

  She laughed again. And, as before, stifled the response with a turn of her head and her fingers.

  Unable to stop himself, Addison reached for those fingers and removed them from her lips. “Why do you do that? Stop yourself from laughing?”

  She studied him for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “Because you are Sir Addison, aka Sir Oh My God You’re Incredible, and I’m just an Australian vet who spends most of her days sticking rectal thermometers up the butts of animals. One kiss is all the fantasy I can allow myself.”

  The words, and the resigned disappointment he heard in them, stroked Addison’s senses. As did the fact she hadn’t yet tried to remove her fingers from his. “One kiss is never enough,” he murmured, drawing his head closer to hers. “And a fantasy denied is a fantasy only half lived.”

  “Persistent and a charmer.” She repeated her earlier opinion of him a second before she ducked his kiss and slipped away from him.

  He straightened, watching her skip backward, her lips curling. “Don’t forget brilliant scrambled-egg maker.”

  She laughed, this time letting the rich sound leave her without hindrance. Addison’s cock throbbed. His chest tightened. Lord, he could truly get used to hearing that sound every day.

  “I’m more a poached-egg girl,” she said with a grin.

  He started walking after her, his body thrumming with an elemental desire. One he wasn’t going to ignore. One that had little to do with sex and everything to do with…her. All of her. “Oh, but you haven’t had my scrambled eggs. What I can do with a whisk…it’s almost as impressive as what I can do with my hands.”

  Once again, she laughed. “You are a shocking flirt, sir knight.”

  He grinned. “And yet you’re still facing me, even as you walk backwards. Can’t stop looking at me, can you? Imagining what I’d look like naked?”

  She rolled her eyes, dimple flashing at him.

  He bit back a victorious yes, the sight of her obvious joy filling him with his own.

  “Aren’t you poms all white and pasty?” she asked, teasing jest in her voice.

  “How ’bout I show you?” He reached for the top button on his shirt.

  A pink blush flooded her cheeks and she turned. “Good night, sir knight,” she threw over her shoulder. “Have fun storming the castle.”

  Addison laughed and ran after her, only slowing as he drew level beside her. “One more kiss? Please? Just one?”

  She shook her head, flicking him a sideways grin. “Oh, no. Far too dangerous.�
��

  “Dangerous?”

  She nodded. “Dangerous. If I kissed you again, I’d forget you spend your nights partying with ravenous bears and your days facing down hungry tigers.”

  “What if I told you I’m totally okay with that?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You, Sir Oh My God You’re Incredible would not be okay with that. And neither should you be. You’re a knight. You should embrace that.” She flipped him another grin. “I would suggest practicing your flirting technique though. Maybe less focus on the scrambled eggs.”

  “And more on the…”

  Her dimple flashed once more. “The Scrabble skills.”

  Addison laughed and then frowned as the realization they’d walked out of the house hit him. “You really are going?”

  She nodded. “I am. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow and my ride…” Her cheeks flushed with pink again. “Well, my ride is…busy.”

  An image of all the debauchery happening inside the house filled Addison’s head. Which one of the partygoers was Ruby’s ride? A man? A lick of jealousy stole through him, followed by a wave of excitement. If her ride was too silly to let her leave alone, that meant…

  “Let me take you home,” he offered.

  With a chuckle, she shook her head. “No.”

  “Oh, come on.” He took her fingers in his hand and tugged on them until she turned to face him. The warm summer breeze chose that moment to play with her hair, lifting it from her forehead in a wispy tousle. Once again, Addison felt his body respond. His body and his soul. “If you don’t want to kiss me again by the time I pull up outside your home,” he said, hiding the sudden intensity he felt in a roguish smile, “I’ll sod off and you’ll never have to deal with me again. How’s that sound?”

  Ruby studied him, the hint of her dimple in her cheek. “Enticing, I will admit, but I think before you get too excited, I should tell you I live in Newcastle.”