Fighting Mr. Knight: A Billionaire Office Romance (The London Mister Series Book 3)

My gaze turns to Bonnie as the DJ invites the bridesmaids and groomsmen to join the newlyweds on the dance floor.

With her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her striking blue eyes—one slightly bruised and bloodshot—and ridiculously high cheekbones, she looks like a seductive Viking.

A Viking that has been in a fist fight.

Now she’s looking at me like . . . she’s ready for another fight.

That look I can’t quite decipher whether she wants to fuck me or fight me, and I don’t know which I would prefer or in what order.

Walking across the dance floor, I scan her slowly from her feet upwards.

The dress accentuates the definition of her collarbone, an underrated part of a woman’s body, in my opinion. Bonnie has an exceptional collarbone.

Her hand comes up to stroke her neck protectively.

I’m going to enjoy this forced close proximity.

Unlike most other women, it always takes her a little longer to relax in my company. Whether it is stoicism or nerves, I can’t gauge, but she always has a bit of a bite to her tongue. I suspect now it’s related to the pressure of winning the Motor Works factory project since she and Nisha seem to freeze whenever they see me at the castle.

“Shall we?” I reach out my hand, and she nods, letting me lead her onto the dance floor. “Can you dance?” I ask.

“Actually, yes,” she says, as if I’ve offended her by even asking. “I took professional lessons with Kate. Can you?”

My hands slide down the smooth fabric on the contour of her back before resting on her waist. “I have a few moves. To play it safe, we can do a simple sway and I can spin you out a few times.”

She eyes me critically. “We really should have agreed on a strategy in advance.”

I smile and pull her flush to me as I relax us into a sway. My mouth comes close to her temple. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out together.” Her head just about reaches my shoulder.

“I hope this is a long song,” I say with intent, not breaking eye contact.

Her teeth latch onto her bottom lip.

Oh, Viking, I’ll have to make a conscious effort to keep this dance PG.

“See? We figured it out,” I say huskily, tilting my head down until our foreheads are nearly touching.

Except we haven’t figured this out at all.

My left foot moves forward, as does hers, and her stiletto lands squarely on my big toe. In fact, with every step I take, Bonnie pulls in the wrong direction, as if in defiance, making it impossible for me to maintain any rhythm.

I search her face, confused and she seems to gain false confidence. The last thing I need.

It’s like watching a new-born calf trying to walk for the first time. All sliding limbs that it doesn’t know how to use, so it slips around the ground, struggling to gain any sort of balance.

Bonnie is bad.

The worst dance partner I’ve ever had.

As she freestyles all over my feet, we transition into a weird fusion between a botched foxtrot and a teenage disco sway. The height difference between us makes it even worse.

A quick glance around the dance floor tells me all eyes are watching us in amusement.

I study her face for any signs of self-awareness.

Holy hell, she actually thinks she’s a good dancer.

“Bonnie,” I say firmly as, undeterred, her foot comes down heavily on mine again.

“Whoops.” She looks up at me with those eyes that make my heart rate spike, despite the eyelash inconsistency. I’ve never seen eyes so expressive. “Little mistake. It’s because the dress is too tight.”

The dress has nothing to do with it; in fact, it should be restricting her limbs from flailing all over the place. Now I understand how she walked into an elbow. I’ve done semi-pro boxing for years. Those guys, packing two hundred pounds of pure muscle, they’re predictable. Bonnie, on the other hand, must weigh no more than one-twenty, tiny compared to me, but is doing serious damage to my feet.

“Let me lead, darlin’.” I restrain her with an iron grip. “And get a refund for those dance lessons, will you?”

She scoffs. “What are you saying?”

Do I need to spell it out?

I grin down at her, relieved to have gained control. It’s okay, darlin’, you still really fucking turn me on. “Your feet are spending more time on top of mine than on the floor.”

“Just because I’m willing to try something that requires a little more skill. Your feet are too big, that’s the problem.”

She scowls but thankfully relents as I force her to relax into a boring but safe sway.

“Darlin’,” she hisses back at me.

But the boring sway isn’t as safe as I expected, and I become extremely aware of those perky tits pressing against my lower chest.

That’s all it takes for my cock to stir in my tuxedo trousers.

Her core grinds softly against my crotch whenever we shift weight. Maybe it’s her version of revenge for me stifling her dance moves.

“Isn’t this much better?” I ask gruffly, trying to stifle the raging erection threatening.

“I suppose,” she says stiffly, her cheeks burning a sexy scarlet.

I stroke the dark red jewelled necklace decorating her neck as an excuse to touch her collarbone. “Did you make this one? What’s this one for?”

“It’s called a Fire Agate stone. I had to work with a colour that matches the dresses.” She nods in Becky’s direction. “See? Becky is wearing a matching one.”

I don’t look at Becky.

Bonnie’s mouth twitches. “Apparently, it stimulates physical energy.”

Apparently, it does.

She touches my own gold chain. “You always wear this. Does it have any special meaning?”

“It was my father’s.” I don’t consider myself sentimental, but I wear that chain pretty much everywhere.

She flinches. “I feel like I keep putting my foot in it.”

“Your feet are definitely a problem right now,” I tease. “You have full permission to ask me anything.”

“He was from Hackney, right?”

“Yup, just off the flower market.”

“And your mum’s Italian?”

“Yup.”

“How did they meet?”

I know why she’s asking. There are legends about Dad. He’s famous from beyond the grave.

I keep my face stoic. “My mum’s family is Mafia. Dad worked for the Kray brothers and they wanted to broker a deal between the Italians and the East End mob.”

Her eyes widen. “So, the stories are true.”

I chuckle. She’s fun to play with. “That’s why you need to let me lead. I’m pretty dangerous.”

She purses her lips. “You’re bullshitting me.”

“My mum came to England. Worked as a nurse and lived in a flat with other nurses in Hackney.” I grin. “Met my dad in a pub. Back then he was a bit of a looker. Like myself so you can only imagine.” My grin widens. “That was enough to keep her in England. That’s the story. No mafia. No mob. Just a man who met a woman and knew she was the one.”

“You almost sound like a romantic.”

I laugh. “Why do you sound so suspicious?”

“Just . . . nothing.” She shrugs. “Can you speak Italian?”

“Sei la donna più accattivante della stanza.” 

“What does that mean?”

“You’re the most captivating woman in the room.”

She makes a face. “Sounds like a well-used line. I hope you know more than the chat-up lines.”

“Sono ferito. I’m wounded. I don’t use lines.” Seven billion pounds usually does the trick. “No need. I’m telling it like I see it.”

She’s not convinced.

Her lips match the stone around her neck. Blood red. Lips perfect for kissing. She stares up at me, lips parted in a strange blend of malevolence and innocence that could freeze the balls off a man.

What I wouldn’t do to have those big blue eyes staring at me as she wraps her pouty lips around my cock.

It’s imagery I could do without right now.

Thankfully, she interrupts my filthy thoughts. “Did you have something to do with the mosaic being put back up?”

“Nope,” I lie. “I think my aunt saw sense.”

Her expression says she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push it. She loosens her grip on my neck and slides her hands over my shoulders to settle on my chest.

Her thumb gently brushes over my nipple ring through my white shirt.

I stifle the groan in my throat. “Darlin’, you shouldn’t do that,” I warn her gruffly.

“Do what?”

I cock a brow. Bonnie knows exactly what she’s doing.

Her fingers brush my nipple ring then rest there for a moment making my nipple harden. Then she tugs on the ring. Almost like she’s annoyed with me.

Fuck.

Any harder and that will hurt.

My breath jerks. “Easy, Viking.”

Everyone is watching. My workers, my aunt, my sisters, my mum, for God’s sake. This is neither the time nor the place.

“Viking?”

“You’re fierce. I’m afraid if I get too close those cheekbones will slice me.”

“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment.”

“Believe me, it is.”

Her smile comes out lopsided like the two sides of her face are in conflict.

As the song fades out, Bonnie drops her hands from my chest. “Thanks for the dance, Jack.” She tries to move away but I pin her with my hands.

“Wait,” I say hoarsely. “I need a minute.”

And she knows damn well why.

We stare at each other in a loaded silence with her body tight against my raging erection as oblivious guests fill the dance floor.

I clear my throat. “Let’s go outside for a while.”

Her eyes slant. “Why?”

“I want to talk to you alone.”

For a second I think she’s going to leave me hanging, something that hasn’t happened to me in well over two decades.

“Just for a minute. Please.”

Despite her mutterings, she lets me guide her in front of me to keep my exit from the dance floor PG.

“Jack, where’re you off to?” My mate Tristan slaps me on the back.

“Later.” I ignore his smirk and keep walking until we’re outside on the patio.

“Dance with me here?” I ask as a sexy jazz song starts. I couldn’t give a fuck about the rest of the crowd, but I need to feel her against me without every female member of my family watching.

She steals a cursory glance at the tent in my trousers. “Here?” she asks in a high pitch, looking around.

In response, I widen my stance and grab her by the waist, crushing her body against mine. “Yes, right here. Now will you be a good girl and let me lead?”

“I haven’t decided,” she says thickly.

It’s clear she wants me. She might not say it, but her body does—her flushed cheeks, parted lips, dilated eyes. Those sexy breasts heaving up and down.

Oh, darlin’, your lips might lie but the rest of your body screams the truth.

But something’s holding her back. Maybe she likes to be chased.

My right hand slides lower to the grey area between lower back and ass.

She wraps her hands around my neck, and we begin to rock slowly.

“See, this isn’t so bad?”

“Could be worse.” She’s biting her tongue. Maybe it’s a self-preservation thing. “I can’t believe you implied I’m a bad dancer. Kate said I was really coming along in the last lesson.”

I chuckle. “Kate’s a primary school teacher. That sounds like a line she uses on her students.”

Those eyes, fuck. They stop my breath short every time they focus on me. A shade I’ve never seen in anyone else.

“I know a lovely jazz bar in Soho where you can throw all the short-circuiting robot moves you want. Let’s grab some dinner this week then head there.”

“Dinner?” she repeats in a tone that suggests she’s never heard of the concept.

“Yeah. Dinner. This week.”

“Like a meet and greet with the design team? Shall I get our HR to arrange it?”

Either she’s torturing me, or the woman has been out of the dating scene for so long she doesn’t know an attempt to date her when it hits her in the face. “I think I’m capable of arranging it myself. No, I don’t want your design team to be there.”

“You and me? Us two?” She eyes me as if I’ve suggested we round everyone up to come outside and drink the Kool-Aid.

Not quite the reaction I’m used to. “My ego’s taking a bit of a beating here.”

“I’m sure your ego is fed just fine, Jack.”

Touché. “You’re not answering my question.”

“Is this to talk about the project?”

Jesus. “No. We won’t be talking construction over dinner.”

“So, it would be a friendly dinner?”

“No.” I pull her flush to me. “Does this feel like two friends dancing?”

Her upper thigh pushes against my erection at just the right point, and I can’t help but let out a low tortured groan. If she keeps on writhing against me like that, I might actually come in my pants like a pathetic boy.

I stare down at her, desperate to touch her. I run one of my hands up her rib cage and under her breast, making her breath hitch.

Her hand leaves my neck and runs down my chest. She tugs on my nipple ring again triggering my hands to travel south to cup her sexy ass so possessively that her feet lift slightly off the ground.

I can tell she’s wearing those large spandex pants. Probably best, a thong would have tipped me over the edge.

We are both really fucking horny, shifting from side to side pretending to dance when we’re dry humping in our clothes.

“Bonnie,” I prompt hoarsely. “Is that a yes?”

“I’m busy for the rest of the year,” she deadpans, except it comes out breathy. She’s fucking with me. I think. Little does she know her feistiness is my aphrodisiac. “Besides, haven’t you forgotten you’re already on a date? Lining up a date on a date isn’t cool, you know.”

“Who? Michelle? She’s not my date. She asked if she could come with me. She wanted to see Sean get married.”

Still, she eyes me sceptically. “I didn’t think I’m your type. I’m surprised you’re even interested.”

I pull back slightly so I can properly look at her. “Does it feel like I’m not interested?”

“That’s because I’ve had four hours of professional help getting ready today. I don’t look like this every day.”

“Really?” I grin. “You don’t usually look as if you’ve been in a fight? It’s not going to work in that case.”

She slaps my chest, but I tighten my grip on her.

“I’m aware of what you look like when you’re not playing bridesmaid,” I say seriously. “If you want to turn up in those tight yoga pants, be my guest. Believe me, there is nothing you could wear that could make me any less attracted to you.”

“Oh.” She bites down on her lip. “You’re very sure of yourself, Jack Knight.”

I shrug. “I know you’re attracted to me too.”

This does not go down well.  Her scowl is so fierce she looks constipated.

“You made that obvious when you watched me in the bathroom.”

The bright Viking eyes widen in horror. “You saw me.”

I chuckle. “That’s how mirrors work, Bonnie.”

“But you acted like you didn’t see me.”

“Did I?”

She groans. “Oh, my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I’m happy to give you a repeat show any time.” I wink. I just can’t help myself. “Don’t worry, it’s not as intimidating as it looks.”

Her jaw drops. “Were you always this arrogant or was it the biography that did it?”

My lips twitch. “So, you’ve read it?”

“I don’t need to read it—your life is splashed over the tabloids.” She rolls her eyes. “For my clarification . . . you’re talking about an actual date?”

I’ve never been cross-questioned this much when asking a woman out. “Yes, Bonnie. A date. Me and you.”

Excitement flashes across her face then it’s gone.

Someone clears their throat from behind me.

Bonnie jumps away from me as if I’m contagious.

I turn to see Damon, a guy that Sean and I went to school with, watching us in amusement. Michelle Allard, the face of my hotels, appears behind him.

She stops short when she sees Bonnie with me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Jack.” Her eyes narrow. “What’s going on here?”

Damon smiles condescendingly. “I think that’s obvious.”

“Nothing,” I reply coldly. Damon Manning is the last person I need to know my business. “Bonnie and I were having a chat.”

“You’re needed inside,” Michelle says coolly. “I said I would find you.” She eyes Bonnie. “And now I have.”

I sigh and turn back to Bonnie, leaning in so only she can hear. “Dinner. This week. I’ll message you so you have my number.”

As I turn, I swear she curses at me under her breath, which only makes me chuckle.

It’s not often I have to play a game of cat and mouse but if Bonnie wants to play . . .

Game on.