Knight and Day (The Knight Erotic Trilogy, book 3 of 3) by Kitty French Page A

pretty certain that it would end with what she so much wanted. She held out a cautionary hand as he screwed the top onto the cocktail shaker and hefted it.
    “Take your shirt off before you do that.”
    “Before I shake the cocktail?”
    “You heard me, Sailor.”
    He sighed for effect, but she didn’t mistake it for genuine boredom because his eyes told her how hot he was for her. He was as into this as she was.
    She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and held it there as his fingers worked the buttons on his shirt open, revealing inch on inch of golden goodness. His shoulders gleamed as he rolled them to shrug the shirt off and dropped it.
    “Better?” He lifted his hands to the side, palms up.
    She slowly released her lip, now plumped from having been bitten, and watched his eyes follow the movement, with satisfaction.
    “For now.” She sipped her wine. “Now, toss things.”
    He looked away, shaking his head, half laughing.
    “I don’t do this stuff anymore,” he protested, picking up a bottle of neon yellow liqueur by the neck and flicking it in a graceful arch over his head. Kara watched, wide-eyed, as it somersaulted a couple of times then landed neatly in his other hand. She clapped with delight.
    “Wow!” The display of his body moving under the bar’s spotlights and the way he made his showmanship look so easy was thoroughly intoxicating.
    “Topless barmen. Write that down for your next business meeting with Lucien.” She rolled her gaze deliberately over his body. “A winner every single time.”
    “Sexist, English. So sexist,” he chided.
    She shrugged, not in the least bit sorry.
    “Now, make me a cocktail. Something sexy.”
    She sat back, unselfconscious with her body on display. He was in her thrall and he knew it. He studied her for a few seconds, and then seemed to make his decision. He turned his back on her, and she caught her breath, admiring him all over again. He was a man at home in his skin, from his lithe, sun-kissed shoulders to the lickable dip at the base of his spine revealed by the jeans slung low on his hips. Tawny lights gleamed in his hair when he moved, stretching for a bottle. There was a grace and a strength to the man that stopped her breath for a few seconds.
    And then he tossed a cocktail shaker over his shoulder and caught it as he turned about, flipping a bottle from the bar so a little of its peachy nectar went into the shaker. Rum flew overhead next, the bottle spiralling into his hand to be tipped into the shaker too. It was like a well-rehearsed circus act, as natural as walking the tightrope for the acrobat. Bottles rolled from his wrist to his shoulder and back into his hand again in a blink, ice cubes jumped one, two three in the air before hitting the tumbler. And then he was done, screwing the lid on before shaking the concoction high then low. He slid a glass along the bar and tipped the cocktail out with a final flourish, crushed ice suspended in glittering golden liquid.
    “One Naked Lady.”
    Kara gave him another burst of applause, her eyes round with delight. His hand caught hers as she reached for the glass.
    “Not until you’re a naked lady too.”
    She paused for a heartbeat, then kicked off her shoes and shimmied down from the stool. Her dress didn’t take much encouraging to fall down her hips, leaving her standing in the briefest scrap of midnight blue silk.
    “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on full nudity, lady. House rules,” he said, his fingers still around her glass. The gravelly edge to his voice told her that he appreciated what he saw.
    “I really do want to taste that drink,” she murmured, running one finger inside the top edge of the silk.
    “I really want you to taste it,” he said. “Take your panties off, English. Be naked for me.”
    Kara glanced behind her at the deserted dance floor, at the luxurious booths set around it which would very soon be filled with pleasure seekers. She was completely