Tell Me What You Want: Knights of Texas Book One Read online

  TELL ME WHAT YOU

  WANT

  BOOK ONE

  BY

  SUSAN SHEEHEY

  Tell Me What You Want

  by Susan Sheehey

  Knights of Texas

  Book One

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © October 2017, Susan Sheehey

  Cover Photo Copyright © 2016, Photographer, Lindee Robinson

  Cover Models: Ashley Hanson & Andrew Kruczynski

  Cover Design Copyright © 2016, MG BookCovers

  Series Logo Design Copyright © 2017, JM Walker—Just.Write Creations

  Edited by Chrissy Szarek

  Amepphire Press

  Trophy Club, TX

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Amepphire Press or the Author.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1947874-00-8

  Print book ISBN: 978-1947874-02-2

  Published in the United States of America

  First eBook Edition: October, 2017

  First Print Edition: October, 2017

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Teaser Excerpt

  Other Novels by Susan Sheehey

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Tell Me What You Crave!

  About The Author

  TEASER EXCERPT

  Cassie caressed his chest in small circles with her fingertips. Renner’s skin was smooth. She forced her fingers to stop and just focused on his heartbeat. Strong and steady.

  His hand closed over her fingers and brought them to his lips. He kissed each one, slowly. Every touch made her heart skip.

  “I know you’re curious, Cassie.” His voice, low and sensual, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

  If they weren’t covered in darkness, he’d see her blush—the heat was in her cheeks. Because she was curious. Extremely. She didn’t know if she was brave enough.

  Brave enough to feel. To want.

  To let go.

  “You’re in the driver’s seat.” Renner’s words were honey across her cheeks. Warmth drifted across the single foot of space between them. Soothing, musky warmth. “I won’t make any moves until you do.”

  A tremor slid down her spine. She took a shaky breath to settle her nerves. A tempting, red-horned devil sat on her shoulder, urging her to let go of her reserves and press her lips to Renner’s. The haloed, sensible voice in her mind told her the last thing she needed was an opportunity for guilt in an already emotion-filled heart, over capacity.

  Tightening her grip on his hand, she curled it under her chin. “Good night, Renner.”

  She felt him smile—rather than saw it.

  “Sleep well, Cassie.”

  OTHER NOVELS BY SUSAN SHEEHEY

  STANDALONE

  Audrey’s Promise

  ROYALS OF SOLANA

  Prince of Solana

  Jewel of Solana

  Crown of Solana

  KNIGHTS OF TEXAS

  Tell Me What You Want

  Tell Me What You Crave

  Tell Me What You Need

  DEDICATION

  To My Husband

  My infinite source of love, and killer one-liners

  CHAPTER ONE

  Renner

  “To the land of the living.” Dorian tapped his beer glass to Renner’s. The music blared throughout the club, and the deep bass pounded in his ears. The VIP section was the only thing separating him from the rest of the packed venue.

  “And dumb ass luck,” Renner said. He downed half his beer in a few seconds. The cold, bitter taste so welcome it turned nearly sweet on his tongue. His first sip in four months.

  “No shit. You must be Irish.”

  He bit back a grimace. No, that was Glicker. Poor bastard.

  The blonde bombshell on Dorian’s arm whispered in his ear.

  He grinned and gave the woman an eager nod. “Excuse me, gents.” He followed her to the dance floor.

  Renner couldn’t remember her name, but her raven-haired friend hadn’t stopped staring at him for the last thirty minutes.

  She’d introduced herself as Gloria, and was on her third chocolate martini. She’d sidled up next to Riggs, his former Marine buddy and hay-blond cowboy for most of the time, but her attention was clearly focused on Renner.

  He appreciated the fairer sex like any other red-blooded man, especially after the dry spell right before the accident, then elongated for four more months of recovery.

  “So, Dorian tells me you’ve been out of commission for a while.” Her sultry voice caressed the air with the music. And her come-hither gaze locked on his. “Occupational hazard?”

  “Something like that.” The gunshot wound and surgery scars prickled at the reminder. “Currently looking for a new job, now that I’m back on my feet.”

  “Are those feet up for a dance?” She rose, and extended her hand.

  Renner slanted a smile at her, downed his beer, then stood to join her. For the next eight songs, she never let go of his waist. Except to squeeze his biceps or caress the short stubble his cheek. The minimal small talk was as pleasing as her flowery perfume. He appreciated her simple makeup and small frame that fit in his hands easily. No need for a weapon with this one.

  After another sensual rhythm—purposely made to grind against someone—she lifted up on her toes, and kissed the tender skin on the side of his neck. “I have a room at the hotel across the street,” she cooed into his ear. “Care to join me for a nightcap?”

  A warm zing spread through his body. The assuming curve of her lips was unmistakable. And contagious.

  He looked around the dance floor, but Dorian wasn’t there. He’d moved to their VIP seats, where the blonde had draped her legs across his lap. The dark fuzz on his face and muscular arms twice the size of his own more than made up for his shorter stature.

  Women were always drawn to the tattooed, bad-boy image. His gaze moved to Renner, with a knowing smile. He raised his beer to him from across the room with a wink.

  There’s my cue.

  “Sure. Sounds fun.”

  The next morning, Renner woke alone. Not his first one-night-stand, but normally he was the one who left first. Although, he’d always at least said good-bye beforehand. As he stood to get dressed, he noticed an enveloped on the dresser. In neat feminine handwriting:

  Renner, Thanks for an awesome night!

  Stuffed inside was a bunch of bills.

  What the hell?

  *****

  Renner glared at Dorian and Riggs across the breakfast table at Sunny’s Diner. His scrambled eggs and bacon with wheat toast went untouched. He tossed the thick envelope of cash on the table. “Is this supposed to be charity?”

  Dorian chuckled, and took a bite of his oatmeal. “Hardly. Just a ‘welcome back’ gift.”


  “Tell me you didn’t hire her for me.”

  Riggs threw him a smirk. “Other way around, pal.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You lost me.”

  “We hired you, for her.”

  His mouth went dry. “No.” His voice came out harsh. “I’m out of personal security. Give this back to her. She can find a bodyguard somewhere else.” He stood to leave. “I thought I made it clear that life was over for me.”

  “Wait, Renner.” Dorian grabbed his arm. “Not as a bodyguard. You were her date.”

  “What?”

  His buddy sighed. “Technically, she was my date. But she asked if she could switch to you, because she liked your military look, and I agreed. The tip she left is all yours.”

  His heart stopped, and heat flooded his face. “She paid me for sex?” A few other patrons around them stared in their direction. Renner sat, and lowered his voice. “You made me a gigolo?”

  “No,” Riggs replied. “She paid you for your time and your company.”

  The taste still didn’t sit well in his mouth.

  He gulped his water.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind the gift.” Dorian rubbed the back of his neck. “Gloria’s a regular of mine, and needed a night out. I invited her to this, and when she saw you, she asked to switch her time to you.”

  A regular?

  “You’re an escort?” His mind wouldn’t wrap around that.

  “No. I’m a Knight.”

  “What does that mean?”

  His long-time friend reclined and rested his elbow on the chair. “Do you really want to know?”

  *****

  Duane Wilkes tossed a wink at the waitress, and checked his Breitling watch. Never mind that his smartphone sat on the table with the time on bright display, but Renner admitted the man sported a nice accessory. Almost as nice as his blue suit jacket and burgundy silk tie.

  “Dorian said you’re looking for a new job.” The subtle English accent was not so subtle in the Dallas bar, no matter how high end the furnishings or atmosphere. “Had a bit of a hot spot somewheres?”

  Renner eyed Dorian, who sat across from him in a plush cushioned chair. The reason for this introduction to his boss. At least they had a table in the corner, away from other guests this time. Not in the middle of a breakfast diner for all the world to hear.

  Dorian only sipped on his bourbon.

  “I take it he didn’t tell you the whole story.” He shifted in his chair. His jeans and buttoned shirt felt too casual for a place like this. Especially with both men in front of him in a suit and tie.

  Duane shook his head. “No. I don’t need to hear it either, unless your former hot spot could carry over to cause problems for my business.”

  He shook his head. Nope, everyone’s dead.

  “I can say with full confidence you’d fit right in. I have a huge customer base that goes nutty for military men. A feature that’s not currently represented in my agency.”

  “What customer base is that, exactly?”

  The man studied him with a small smile. “You’re skeptical. I understand. But keep in mind I don’t hire just anyone. You need to audition first. If you’re expecting free dates, a steady flow of income, and a good time in the sack with a bunch of different women, no matter what reason you have, then this role isn’t for you.”

  Renner tapped his foot under the table. “Isn’t this illegal?”

  Duane scoffed, and sipped a sparkling water. “My business is one hundred percent legitimate. I will make this perfectly clear. Sex for money is illegal. But that’s not what we sell. In a traditional escort agency, clients pay for an escort’s time, for so-called arm candy. Whatever the client and the escort decide to do on their date is their business. But my clients aren’t hiring any mere escort. They hire Knights.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  The manager smiled, the kind that most women would consider dashing, but Renner only expected him to sell him something. “I’m glad you asked. A handsome mug and being gifted in the sack doesn’t cut it. Knights focus on the client’s value. Not just for what they pay, but what they need. We cater to their hearts and minds, and make them feel valued, not just for their bodies and pocket books.”

  Dorian’s smile widened behind his bourbon.

  As the waitress dropped off another highball, Duane handed her a credit card. When she left, he continued.

  “The Knights of Texas Agency employs Knights for high-end cliental. They expect a strict higher standard, as do I. So, I provide a higher title than an escort. Hence, Knights.”

  “Quite fitting, for the owner who is clearly from England.”

  He shrugged with a not-so-humble grin. “Here in the States, I can get away with it.”

  Renner crossed his arms and absorbed Duane’s words. The man knew how to sell himself, and his business. He clearly had a taste for finer things, and carried himself in the same manner. Semantics made it legal, but could he really see himself in this job?

  “Look.” Duane leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “We’ll give it a trial run. If after the first week you find you enjoy it, and if I think you’re up to snuff, you’ll earn your links.”

  “My what?”

  “These,” Dorian replied for his boss. He lifted his sleeve and showed the black stone cufflinks, with a diamond chip off-centered. “Any formal dates, we’re required to wear them.”

  “Among a few other rules specific to Knights, and with a few additional perks, it’s a simple job.” Duane signed the credit card slip with which the waitress returned. “But, simple does not mean easy.”

  “You ready to make a shit-ton of money?” Dorian grinned.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Renner

  The fiftieth date as a Knight, and Renner still felt jittery walking up a client’s walkway. Not that he’d ever let it show. No, on the outside he was confident, collected, charming and savvy. Those were the job requirements. An easy transition from personal protection services.

  He still made clients feel safe and secure with no judgments.

  Only now he carried a different kind of gun.

  The neighborhood was quiet. Only a few chirping crickets and a breeze rustling the towering oak trees. And his footsteps echoing on the pavestone walkway. Suburbia heaven ought to be this quiet at eleven o’clock. The house windows were dark, the entire residence seemed shut down, except for a single spotlight by the front door.

  This woman was definitely new to the high-end Knight business.

  The only other thing Duane had told him was her request for an overnight engagement—no formal wear required. Yet he still wore his black stone cufflinks, the signifier of an official Knight.

  He glanced across the perfectly manicured lawn, to the minivan parked in the driveway. Had to be a divorcee.

  Divorcees were usually the kinkiest patrons. Creative and passionate, most likely from years of having those qualities squashed in a dead marriage.

  Renner had several divorcees as regulars. All part of the Knight territory.

  This brand new client would certainly be interesting.

  He swallowed his breath mint, and rang the doorbell.

  Images flashed in his mind of his previous divorcee customer. Always dressed in their most form fitting outfits, deep cleavages and high heels, impeccable makeup no matter their age. And they were always loud under the sheets. Some, with no sheets.

  Finally the door opened, and Renner put on his best smile. The one meant to make women smolder. The perfect match with his dark jeans and Armani shirt and vest.

  The woman wore cotton pajamas, faded green-checkered pants, with her honey-blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. At first glance, she didn’t have on a smudge of makeup. In fact, she almost looked beaten to a pulp with the dark circles under her eyes.

  She was young. Too young to be married, let alone a divorcee.

  Do I have the wrong house?

  Everything about her looked soft. Her c
heekbones, her chin line, and neck. And those eyes—the deepest green tropical jungles would envy.

  “You’re from the agency?” she asked, a tiny smile barely breaking her thin lips.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Renner. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Cassie. Please come in.”

  When she stepped back, he noticed her bare feet. No toenail polish. But they were small and adorable, much like the rest of her. Despite the Walking Dead look on her face.

  The fact she didn’t reach to shake his hand bothered him.

  Cassie was going to play it shy. Definitely a newbie. But Renner would accommodate her. Anything to make her feel safe and secure.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stepped inside.

  Everything screamed housewife. This was the house of married life. Clean, but cluttered. Homey furniture with couches shoved against walls and a well-used coffee table. A layout of convenience. Pictures of a little boy scattered everywhere. A stack of mail sat a foot high on the dining room table.

  Not the normal client.

  “Thanks for coming on short notice.” She stepped around him, careful not to brush him when she walked past.

  She’s nervous. Renner couldn’t help but smile.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Soda, beer, wine?”

  “Whatever you’re having.” His standard reply, whenever a client didn’t specify.

  “I don’t drink,” Cassie replied quickly. “But I have a beer if you’d like.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  He made sure not to touch anything as he followed her to the kitchen, at a distance. Clearly his presence unnerved her—odd—and he didn’t want to invade her personal space. Not yet. Not that the place made him uncomfortable, though the toddler toys piled in the corner of the kitchen was a new one.

  Crap, there’s a kid in the house?

  “Not your normal cliental, am I?”