White Knight

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  White Knight

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Preview the next book

  Note from Mari

  eBooks by Mari Carr

  Mari recommends … Lila Dubois

  Excerpt

  “Hey Shea. Got a minute?”

  Shea wrote down the drink orders she’d just taken and walked over to where Emma stood by the bar. Yesterday, the two of them had gone out for lunch. Shea had expected to be grilled about her relationship with Travis, but Emma hadn’t even brought up the subject. Instead, they talked about the future of the club. Shea suggested some menu changes that Emma loved. Then she helped Emma hash out some ideas for future fetish shows.

  “What’s up, Em?”

  “You’ve been summoned by the Grand Chawhee again.”

  Shea shook her head. “No. I can’t miss another night of work. I wouldn’t leave you short-staffed like that. I’ll go tell—”

  Emma raised her hand. “Apparently it’s not that kind of summons.”

  “What does he want?”

  Emma lifted a glass of whiskey. “You. To deliver this. He assures me you’ll be right back. In fact, he said I could set a watch on him. Five minutes.”

  Shea frowned. “He has whiskey up there.”

  Emma laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know. What the hell is going on between you two?”

  Shea felt herself flush. “Um, well…”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Wow. That good, huh?”

  “Give me the damn drink.” She took the glass and walked toward the stage as Emma continued to giggle. A week had passed since their first “date”, and since then, Travis had backed away from their physical attraction. Shea hadn’t minded slowing things down. Her mind was still trying to process a million different pieces of information about the mysterious man, in addition to her attempts to hide her living at the club. She was reaching system overload.

  She knew one thing for certain. Travis called to her like no other man she’d ever met. This past week, he’d taken her on lots of field trips—as he called them—around L.A., showing her all the local tourist traps as well as some off-the-beaten-track places. He’d been a fun companion and as each day passed, she found herself falling deeper under his spell.

  However, she still sensed his unease anytime her affections brought her too close to him physically. One day, he’d been looking at John Travolta’s handprints in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. She’d walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist in a friendly hug. Travis stiffened as his fingers gripped her wrists tighter than a vise to pull her away. She’d released him immediately. When he turned, he’d tried to make light of his reaction. He said she’d startled him but she’d seen the fear, the panic in his eyes.

  After that, she’d kept a wide berth, allowing him to make the physical overtures. Unfortunately, that only left her more confused. He’d spent most of the week holding her hand or with his arm wrapped around her shoulder. He’d kissed her no less than a thousand times, so clearly he didn’t have a problem with being close to her, just with her initiating the touches.

  She sighed. She needed to let it go. For the first time in her life, things appeared to be going her way and in typical Shea fashion, she was looking five steps ahead for what could go wrong. It was time to start enjoying life instead of always looking for the catch, the negative.

  The door to Travis’ office opened before she could knock. He took the glass of liquor from her and placed it on the coffee table.

  “Shut the door. We don’t have much time, so we’re going to have to make this quick.”

  She closed the door. “We don’t have any time. Travis, I’m working.”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re a waitress and I just ordered a drink. I’ve watched you with the customers. One of the reasons your tips are so good is because you’re friendly. You make conversation that usually lasts a few minutes. All I want is my conversation.”

  He glanced toward the window overlooking the theater and pointed. Shea caught a glimpse of Emma standing along the back wall. She was looking at her watch and grinning. “She’s set a timer on me.”

  Shea nodded. “She said she would.”

  “So this will be short and sweet.” Travis led her to his desk, which she noticed he’d cleaned off. Actually, the whole office looked tidy.

  “Housekeeper come through today?”

  Travis didn’t respond. Instead, he lifted her skirt and pulled her panties down in one fell swoop.

  “Hey, I thought you were kidding about the quickie.”

  White Knight

  Scoundrels, Book 2

  Mari Carr

  Published 2017 by Book Boutiques.

  ISBN: 978-1-946363-74-9

  Copyright © 2017, Mari Carr.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.

  Manufactured in the USA.

  Email support@bookboutiques.com with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.

  Blurb

  Shea Landon knows this is a bad idea. But when you’re broke, tired and homeless, you do crazy things. She decides to crash in her new place of employment, a fetish club, borrowing the big comfy bed that’s used as a stage prop. She doesn’t realize she’s not alone…

  Travis Knight knows this is a bad idea. As he views his new waitress sneaking around the club after hours, he realizes he should fire her and call the police. Instead, captivated, he watches her on the same security monitors that separate him from the world. Until watching isn’t nearly enough…

  Two people—one desperate, one broken, both hopelessly alone. Two people assuaging their needs through spanking and sex games, bondage and taboo fantasy. It’s enough. It has to be—when the biggest secret between them might be a tragedy neither can overcome.

  Previously Published

  (2015) Carried Away Publishing (2011) Ellora's Cave

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to Lexxie Couper, an amazing writer, a wonderful friend and “XXX”. :)

  Acknowledgements

  Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design

  Prologue

  Travis Knight turned away from the two-way glass in his office, the performance on the stage no longer filling that empty place inside him. Tonight’s fantasy involved a harem girl captured by a dominant sheik. The talented actors—his best friends—had never failed to capture his attention and enflame his imagination, but tonight the show left him cold.

  Dropping onto a chair, he rubbed a weary hand over his face, his gaze traveling from one end of the room to the next. His desk was an experiment in disorderly conduct, papers stacked high, covering every horizontal inch of oak surface on the antique. He’d acquired the desk at an auction, the overly large piece appealing to him at the time. It was a desk that spoke of power and purpose, two attributes he’d worked hard to maintain throughout his life. Like the piles of shit teetering precariously atop it, he suspected all his hard-won control was about to topple as well.

&nbs
p; His gaze moved to the walls lined with bookshelves, overflowing with countless novels. An avid reader, Travis’ tastes ran the gamut from horror to poetry. Books—like the fetish fantasies enacted in his club—allowed him brief escapes from reality. Glancing at the table beside him, he studied the dust gathering on the cover of the last book he’d attempted to read. He hadn’t picked it up in weeks, the words failing to pull him out of his stupor, his depression.

  Darkness had finally descended and Travis was helpless to hold it at bay. He was too fucking tired of the fight. Enough was enough. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and succumbed to it. Clenching his fists, he considered his next move. It was clear he couldn’t remain in this club, couldn’t escape the demons roaming the rooms.

  Maybe he’d leave Scoundrels to Emma. Give it to her and Jack as an engagement gift. After all, they’d found each other on the stage below. He knew their happiness and love shouldn’t leave him with this ache in his gut, but he couldn’t shake it. It was selfishness, pure and simple. He could admit that shortcoming. It’s not like he was proud of it. He wasn’t. Even so, that didn’t make it go away.

  His friends had discovered love after years of standing right in front of each other. Love had a funny way of showing up in moments when you least expected it. At least that’s what Emma said. Travis had never felt the emotion. Not once. He grimaced and rubbed his side. Fucking ache was back again. He was screwed up—no two ways about it. Thinking about love shouldn’t cause physical pangs. Jesus.

  He likened himself to a gentleman soldier, wounded and home from war. He could picture himself, scarred from too many battles, hardened by killing and bloodshed. He’d lock himself away in a dreary, cold manor, letting the chill and dampness settle into his bones as he waited for death to claim him. He’d shut himself away from the balls, the ton, the matchmaking grande dames, keeping everyone at arm’s length to live out the rest of his days in misery.

  The absurd daydream faded. It was Emma’s fault. She’d given him a Regency romance novel for his birthday as a gag gift, claiming he needed a few lessons in chivalry and true love. In a fit of boredom, he’d actually read the fucking book cover to cover. Now he was addicted to the things—read them voraciously—and had taken to daydreaming in historical times. As if he wasn’t crazy enough…

  Reaching beside him, he picked up the glass of whiskey he’d poured earlier and downed it in one long drink. Slowly he breathed in and out, waiting for the booze to take off the edge. When it failed to take effect, he reached for the bottle and poured another glass. And then another. And another. Only when the tumbler fell from his hand, bouncing on the plush carpet without breaking, did he feel the numb peace take over.

  The club had long since closed, the office illuminated only by the flickering security screens that showed him an empty bar, a dark stage, quiet nothingness.

  Always nothing. His eyes drifted shut on that thought and he felt the chill of his Regency manor prison form once more.

  Nothing.

  I have nothing.

  I am nothing.

  Chapter 1

  Three months later

  Shea Landon finished clearing up the last of the dirty glasses after the fetish show. She glanced toward the stage, remembering exactly what she’d witnessed there only a few hours earlier. She felt her face—and her body—flush, a purely ridiculous reaction given her upbringing. Still, there was something about the show that had sparked a definite thread of arousal.

  Her new boss, Emma, had been the night’s star, performing with her incredibly handsome fiancé, Jack. When she’d interviewed for the waitress job at the club, Shea never could have imagined the no-nonsense, all-business woman who ran Scoundrels, in the provocative schoolgirl outfit, bent over a desk getting her ass spanked. It was shocking to see Emma in that light. However, the whole act, while not a personal fetish for Shea, had been hot.

  “So how was your first night?”

  Shea found Emma smiling at her, back in business mode and attire. “Fine,” Shea said, wishing she weren’t blushing.

  “I wanted to tell you that you did a great job tonight. You saved me, Shea.” Emma grinned at her. “So, what did you think of the show?”

  “Well, it was,” she paused, trying to find the right word, “erotic.”

  Her new boss nodded. “I should have warned you I’d be one of the performers but it completely slipped my mind. After the whole Bethany drama and hiring you so quickly, I’m afraid I’d almost forgotten it was my night to star in the show.”

  Shea knew Emma was annoyed with her previous waitress for deciding to elope with her boyfriend and move to San Diego. Ordinarily losing one waitress wouldn’t have been so detrimental, but her defection had coincided with the absences of two more waitresses. Emma had been left with no one to call in and forced to hire someone on short notice.

  Lucky for Shea. Her money had officially run out yesterday. Landing the job at Scoundrels was the answer to a prayer.

  “Can I ask a favor?”

  Shea nodded. At this point, there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for the woman standing between her and starvation. “Of course.”

  “How are your hospital corners?” Emma asked.

  “Pardon?”

  Emma gestured toward the stage. “Bethany always changed the sheets after each night’s performance. She may have been flighty and impulsive, but she made one hell of a bed.”

  “It just so happens I was a hotel maid in a former life. Where are the clean sheets?”

  After spanking his naughty student, Jack had swept Emma to a bed positioned on the opposite side of the stage, where the two pretended to have sex. Shea decided—with a fair amount of depression—that their fake sex was hotter than any real sex she had ever had.

  Emma led her backstage, showing her the hutch where the linens were stored. She also pointed out the laundry bin where the dirty sheets could be tossed. Along the way, Emma gave her a quick tour, something there hadn’t been time for after her whirlwind hiring and training session this afternoon.

  Emma nodded to the mirrored glass above the stage. “And that’s the lion’s den. Only venture there under extreme caution.”

  “Lion?”

  Emma winked good-naturedly. “I’m kidding. Travis Knight owns the club. His office is behind that glass.”

  “Oh.” Shea lowered her voice. “Is he mean or something?”

  Emma laughed. “God no. His bark is worse than his bite. Although lately he’s been taking some nips. Not sure what’s gotten in to him.”

  “Does he come to the club often?” She worried that the owner would take exception to her super-fast hiring.

  Emma shook her head. “No. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve actually seen him down here on the floor. He stays locked up in his office most of the day, taking off right after the show.”

  Shea sighed a breath of relief. An absent owner was fine with her.

  “Well, as soon as you change the sheets you’re free to go. I’ve finished all my chores, so I’m about to take off. Bill the bartender is always the last one out. He’ll lock up. Did you drive?”

  Shea shook her head. She couldn’t afford to take the bus, let alone own a car. “No, I walked.”

  “Oh, do you want a ride home then?”

  Shea panicked. She was currently homeless, but she didn’t want Emma to find out. If she’d earned enough tips, she could get a room in the shitty hotel she’d stayed in upon arriving in L.A. last week. “No, I’m very close. Another reason why I was so excited to get this job.”

  Emma nodded. “Sounds like the whole deal is a win-win for both of us. You get a job close to home and I get a wonderful waitress.”

  “Thanks, Emma. For everything.”

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you.” Emma sighed, sounding very tired. “Mercifully, tomorrow is Saturday.”

  “Don’t we still have to work on Saturdays?”

  “Oh yeah, but I don’t keep office hours on the weeken
d.”

  “Office hours?” Shea asked.

  “Jack swears I have the schedule of a vampire. The club is open until two a.m. Tuesday through Saturday. During the week, I come in at noon to deal with paperwork and stuff like that. Saturdays I don’t do that. Give myself a few extra hours to relax.”

  “So your weekend is really Sunday and Monday.”

  “Exactly. Same will hold true for you too. Hope you’re not in love with Saturday.”

  Shea reached into the hutch, pulling out fresh sheets. “No. Not at all.”

  “The chef and I will show up around three tomorrow, but I don’t need you here until four. We open for dinner at five and the performance takes place at ten, followed by the dance-’til-you-drop routine.” Emma reached into her pocket. “This is my cell phone number in case you need to get in touch with me for some reason.”

  Shea took the business card and tucked it in her pocket.

  Emma stifled a yawn and Shea struggled not to mimic the action. She was dead on her feet, but she refused to let Emma see how tired she was.

  “Damn. I’m beat. I’ll see you tomorrow, Shea.”

  “Night, Emma.”

  Shea walked to the stage and slowly stripped the sheets from the bed. As she flipped out the new ones, tucking the fitted sheet around the mattress, she resisted the urge to lie down and close her eyes. She tried to batten down the anxiety that had been eating at her all night. She had nowhere to go. It had taken her longer to find a job than she’d anticipated and she’d used up the lousy few hundred dollars she’d traveled to L.A. with.

  Once the bed was made, she sat down on the edge of it, sinking into the mattress and almost groaning. She’d never felt a softer, more comfortable bed in her life.

  Pulling out her tips for the night, Shea counted the money. She had a little over two hundred dollars. She sighed with relief, so happy to have money in her hands. It was enough for a room at the fleabag motel—as she liked to call the crummy place she’d been staying—and some food. Unfortunately it was two a.m. and she didn’t like the idea of venturing into East Hollywood so late. While she was desperate for a roof over her head, especially after spending last night dozing in a Laundromat chair, she wasn’t stupid enough to put herself in danger.