CHAPTER ELEVEN
Riggs
He could barely contain his excitement as he sat at the bar of the four-star restaurant. The low hum from the people at the full tables increased the intimacy. A frosted-glass window separated the main dining area from the four-sided bar, all dark wood with a menu full of high-end wines.
Skylar had waited an entire week before she’d called him after his trip to the Emergency Department. Probably to further prove her point that she had control over whether or not their relationship continued. Aloofness, casualty, or still miffed over the perceived deception, whatever the reason, Riggs heard it.
Loud and clear.
He didn’t blame her.
He’d thought she’d known he was a Knight the whole time. Surely, the woman’s sister wouldn’t have kept that detail from her. When she’d asked him what he did for a living—after an incredibly erotic night and basking in post-coital glow—he’d truly been confused.
Perhaps she’d been asking if he had a second job, if being a Knight wasn’t enough. Then they’d become distracted by conversations about his tattoo, his military days, and the painful subject about her dead sister.
Had he known that she wasn’t aware…
The door opened, and in walked a gray dress.
Riggs blinked.
The long pair of smooth legs gliding in under that gray dress belonged to Skylar.
His Skylar.
Her butterscotch hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, with a few curly tendrils framing her face. Her sun-kissed cheeks pulled up when she saw him. Subtle, yet unmistakable.
“Damn,” he breathed.
Somehow, she’d managed to look so much taller than the first week they’d spent together. Super high black heels clicked across the wood floors with confidence, and he itched to suckle those smooth legs…one inch at a time.
Riggs stood, and kissed her cheek, letting his hand linger on the small of her back. She smelled like sugar and pomegranate. Her rosy lips reminded him of raspberries.
“I’m really glad you called,” he whispered in her ear.
“Couldn’t say no to a patient in need.”
“So, the Florence Nightingale thing is real?” He escorted her over to their reserved table toward the back, giving them more privacy, and pulled out her seat. Her shoulders skimmed his hands when she sat.
“Only if they’re awake. Normally, they’re passed out by the time they get to the OR.”
He chuckled and took the seat next to her. The deep-red damask cushion felt like a pillow underneath him.
The waiter draped their napkins over their laps and poured water into their glasses. Riggs ordered a bottle of red wine.
“I’m sure you have some pretty strange nurse stories,” he continued. He rubbed his hand across the pristine tablecloth. Stark white, countering the warm caramel walls textured with a dark glaze, giving it an almost antique appearance.
“Of course.” Skylar nodded. “Kind of why I got into it. My sister had so many funny ones.”
He was careful not to let his smile slip when she spoke of her sister. Clearly, she didn’t mean Wren. “She was a nurse?”
She pressed her lips together, and looked down at the table. Finally, she nodded. “In Chicago.”
He slid his hand over her knuckles, and squeezed her soft skin. “Tell me one of yours.”
The light in her eyes returned, and she curled her fingers into his. “On the ED shift after you left, I had a patient try and steal all the chux from our storeroom because he claimed his dog lost control of his bladder.”
“What are chux?”
“Disposable underpads. Not sure how he got in the storeroom in the first place, but he was definitely high on something.”
Riggs laughed. “Theft a problem in the ER?”
“Oh, people try to steal whatever they can. My favorite stories are the ones drug seekers come up with to get meds. This one guy comes to the ED at least three times a week for pain killers, so they tell me. But he uses a different name, as though they wouldn’t recognize him. That’s why I like the OR. There’s enough drama in medicine without the human element.”
Skylar’s bubbly side came back the more she talked. He loved the passion in her voice, and the way her skin responded to his touch when he ran his fingers up her wrist.
The waiter returned with their chosen wine, pouring some in each of their glasses, and then took their order.
“Your turn.” She sipped her wine. “I’m sure you have some crazy Marine stories.”
Riggs’ throat dried out, and he sipped his own wine. More of an attempt to hide the flicker of unease. “Several PT runs in our boxer shorts after caught out of barracks one night. Then there was the time we caught one of the guys stealing snacks from the commissary, so my friend Renner, filled the guy’s footlocker full of rubber mice and cheese cubes.”
“Creative.”
“Basic was full of pranks like that.”
“How many tours did you do?”
“Any combat?”
He swallowed again, but kept his practiced polite expression in place. “Some.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”
Riggs shrugged a shoulder. The nerves crawled up his gut.
We need to get off this topic.
“I’m sure there are similar things in that ER.”
Skylar raised her eyebrows. “Are you kidding? Five policemen stand duty in the ED every Friday and Saturday night. I’ve only been there a month, and I’ve already seen a half dozen arrests, and two knife fights.”
He scowled. “You’re right in Oak Cliff. Not a pleasant neighborhood.”
“Anything like Afghanistan?”
“Hardly. That place is literally hell on Earth. Especially Kabul.”
Bodies everywhere on those streets.
She winced, and then straightened. “That reminds me. On my first surgery, the same day I met you actually, the doctor threw an amputated toe at my face.”
Riggs blinked. “What?”
“Yeah. He likes to prank all the new hires. But I caught it.”
“Wait, he does that as a joke?”
The waiter came by with their food, and she never responded.
As Riggs stared at his linguine, all he could focus on was the bits of parsley.
An amputated toe.
Images flashed in his mind of the gruesome arteries hanging from his CO’s neck. Shrapnel stuck in his Kevlar vest, and then back to Murphy’s dead eyes.
A cold sweat formed at his neck, and his stomach churned.
His heart rate slowly climbed…
“Riggs?” Skylar’s distant voice barely came through.
He looked at her beautiful face, but didn’t register her expression. He gave his practiced smile again, not sure how convincing it came out.
The antique-looking walls now reminded him of the sides of that mud-hut in the desert, covered in debris.
“Are you feeling sick?” she asked, her voice a little more present.
“I’m fine.” Riggs managed to grab his water, and down several gulps.
“You’re really pale.” She reached forward and touched his wrist, feeling for his pulse.
He pulled back, and grabbed his wine to deflect the attention. The alcohol tasted bitter down his throat. “Excuse me for a minute. I’ll be right back.” He focused on keeping his cool during the walk to the restroom.
The second the stall door closed, he threw up the wine.
Riggs splashed water on his face from the sink. Only to notice his hands shaking. “Get it together, man.”
Skylar
Riggs’ chair remained empty for at least five minutes. She refused to touch her food until he returned.
The way his face had lost all color, and the sudden silence had worried her at first. Skylar had gone through her mental checklist of symptoms for stroke or precursors for cardiac arrest. Then she remembered their previous discussion of amputated toes and knife fights. She cringed. “So stupid, Sky. Well done.” She’d grossed him out. Not everyone could handle those kinds of graphic topics. “Now, he’ll bolt for sure.”
The waiter came by to check on her, twice.
She politely declined, and continued rolling the wine glass between her fingers. Her arms chilled from the air conditioner overhead.
After several more minutes, she was about to go burst into the men’s room to check on him.
Until Riggs appeared, walking confidently back to their table.
If she wasn’t so concerned about him, she might’ve just plastered herself against him. Because, damn, the man could wear a suit.
Form fitting, with a pristine French cuff shirt, and the silk tie reminded her of the cover of several erotic romance novels. One would never have known Riggs had been sweating bullets a few minutes earlier.
“Feeling better?”
“Much.” His smile nearly knocked her off her seat as he took his.
“I’m sorry,” Skylar breathed.
“For what?” Riggs’ gaze locked on hers.
“I often go into nurse mode, and forget that topic is too graphic for most.”
He sipped his water. “That’s not it at all. No topic is off limits for me. And I think your nurse mode is adorable.”
She blushed, but doubt still circled in her mind.
“Are you still hungry?” he asked.
“Not really.”
He nodded. “We’ll pack this up to go. I’d like to take you somewhere.”
She lifted her chin. “Oh?”
“You’ll like it. Trust me.” His gaze nearly glittered with playfulness.
“We should talk about that first.”
Riggs tilted his head.
“Re-establishing trust.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m all for that.”
“This is new territory for me. So, if we’re moving forward, I need to know a few things.”
“Ask me anything.”
Time for some truth. “How did you get into escorting?” Skylar tilted back against her seat, and crossed her legs. Putting a little more distance between them to help her think more clearly.
“You mean a Knight.”
“What’s the distinction?”
“Knights focus on what the client needs, not just what they pay for. More exclusive.”
She took a deep breath. How was any different than other escorts? Not like she had any experience. “How’d you get into it?”
“A few of my Marine buddies became Knights after coming home from overseas. They brought me in.”
“Is it your primary job?”
“Yes.”
“I have a few questions about…the role.”
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
“There are rules on disclosure?”
“Of course. Many.” His tone was direct, more pragmatic. “Which is why you won’t find me on social media.”
That makes sense.
She sipped her wine. The way he sat in the chair was so casual, but simultaneously dominant, and far too appealing. “How long have you been in…the business?”
“Two years.”
Skylar swallowed, preparing for the bitter answer. “Do you sleep with your clients?”
His jaw flexed, but he revealed no emotion. “Some.”
“But not all?”
He shook his head.
“Did you sleep with me because my sister paid you?”
“Absolutely not.” Riggs’ stare was intense.
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s illegal to accept payment for sex.”
Skylar refrained from rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to report you. Level with me.”
He leaned forward, and took her hand in his. His tense gaze made her hold her breath. “I choose who I sleep with. I chose you. Job or no job. And I’m damn glad we did.”
She squeezed her legs together, remembering how completely he filled her, the pressure of his body between her thighs, the heat…the multiple climaxes. She wasn’t cold anymore under the air conditioner. She was actually thankful for it now. Clearly, her body wanted more.
More Riggs.
Her moral sensibilities wouldn’t approve of paying for a relationship. No matter what technicality kept it legal. Wren may have been the type to hire a man, but not Skylar. Nor Phoebe.
She blinked. “Was my sister ever your client?”
“Never.”
She let out a breath. Skylar couldn’t bear the thought…
“You’re obviously struggling with the concept of payment,” Riggs’ said.
“Yes.”
Why is my heart racing?
“I thought I made that clear.”
She blinked again.
“With you.” He caressed her wrist, up to her elbow, setting off electrical sparks straight to her core, “You’re not a job. Just good food, good company.”
“What if it’s more than food?”
A lot more.
His gaze turned hungry. "Then I’m a damn lucky man."
God, the way he’d said that, the anticipation, the promise…
What's the harm, Sky?
The voice in her head was soothing, and strangely like Phoebe’s.
Be safe, and enjoy it.
Be safe. She’d never felt scared with him, or threatened.
The man was certainly an expert, and now she knew how he’d gotten that good. Since she was such a novice in that area, who better to enlighten her? With her crazy work hours, a serious relationship probably had zero chance anyway.
Nor did she think his role as a Knight allowed serious relationships.
But…Riggs probably had several women—clients—beg for a real relationship with him. Yet, here he asked for more with Skylar. Without receiving a paycheck. Didn’t that show he was more serious than wanting a score or a regular in his calendar?
“You’re thinking too hard, again.” He flashed a sexy grin.
“If I were to invite you back to my place again, would you charge for that?”
His grin widened. “Normally, yes. But for you, I’ll always make an exception.”
“Good. Because I’m starving.”