Page 48 of Knotted

“Come on up!” Taylor cries out, her voice full of cheer.

What?

“It’s my place, too,” she says, all coquettish and smug.

The room tilts a little as I stand and watch her buzz them up. Before I can protest, or walk a straight line, there’s a knock at the door.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Taylor teases, nudging my body in the direction of the door.

“No,” I grumble, reaching for the bottle in her hand. She keeps it just out of reach, grinning like she’s won the lottery. “Not until you let my future husband in.”

A flicker of jealousy ignites. Her future husband is—“Brian?” I ask, completely thrown.

“What? No. The hunky guy downstairs. I’m telling you, he’s the one.” She sets down the bottle and clasps her hands together, pleading. “Please?”

I roll my eyes, exasperated. “Ugh, fine. But don’t blame me when his freakishly big square peg doesn’t fit in your round hole.”

She squeals, smoothing my hair like a toddler.

Reluctantly, I crack open the door.

His stupidly gorgeous face greets me with a wide smile, just the right amount of scruff to catapult his heat factor to scorching. “Hi,” he says, his voice low and rumbly.

I fuss with the blanket, trying to hide my body’s betrayal—flushed cheeks, hard nipples, and a molten heat pooling between my thighs.

Still, I don’t budge. “What do you want?”

He raises the basket. “Dinner. And an offer.”

“An offer?”

He nods, his eyes locking on mine. “Hear me out, Ms. Spenser?”

With his Calvin Klein looks, aroma of food, and my inebriated state way beyond tipsy, I’m in way over my head.

And don’t even get me started on that chiseled jaw. And those ocean-blue eyes—any woman would drown in them.

My mouth opens just as my brain completely shuts down. “Fine.”

CHAPTER 20

Jules

Both men come in as introductions kick off. Brian nods toward the tall, rugged guy standing next to him. “This is Logan.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your chauffeur?”

The two men exchange a contemplative look, the kind that speaks volumes without a word. “I guess I’m whatever the boss needs,” Logan says, his tone smooth.

Brian claps a hand on his shoulder. “Mostly combat support since the article.”

“Combat support?” I echo, suddenly concerned.

Logan’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Yeah, keeping the crazed fans off the boss has become a full-time job. Ever since some wackadoo of a journalist turned him into a Marvel superhero, the attention’s been relentless.”

Smug as the day is long, Brian chimes in, “I prefer to think of her as a mad fan.”

Mad fan? I am not a fan. In fact, I’m the polar opposite of a fan and want to set the record straight, but all I squeak out is, “Oh.”

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