Page 53 of Knotted

I dodge the tension with a smirk. “What do I want? Well, for starters, I expect you to keep me in the lifestyle I’ve become accustomed to.”

He glances around the room, his eyes lingering on the lumpy couch and the lived-in vibe that clings to the place. “If you insist.”

“And a prenup,” I throw in, challenging him.

“Come again?” His smirk shifts, curiosity piqued.

“You might be a bazillionaire or whatever, but you said it yourself—there’s hundreds of millions on the line. My meager pennies might not be much, but they’re still mine, and I’m not about to let them sink with the Titanic.”

“Fair enough.”

“And no expectations of,um, consummation.”

His full lips twitch, barely containing a grin. “I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He leans in close, his voice dropping to a whisper that skims my ear. “No matter how much it tortures you, Peach Pop.”

I burst out laughing. “Ha! No women for months on end? Yeah, that’s got ‘torture’ written all over it. The infamousFuckboy of Bishop Mountaingoing celibate? Perfect. Desert droughts for everyone.”

He chuckles, the sound a deep, steady rumble that vibrates through his chest. He takes my hand, his grip firm and steady. “Deal.”

Then, before I can say another word, he guides me to the center of the room, drops to one knee, his firm gripwrapped my hand.

“Juliana Grace Spenser,” he begins, his voice dropping to a dangerously seductive octave, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? For the next thirty to sixty days? Ninety max? To hate, torment, and...let’s say tolerate, for as long as you avoid murdering me in my sleep?”

A small smile lifts, and I don’t know if it’s the wine, or the fact that he actually knows my middle name, but I well up.

I blink through tears. Am I seriously contemplating doing this? Getting married? To my worst enemy?

And just then, as if on cue, Logan and Taylor burst through the door, arm in arm, giggling like school kids.

Taylor’s eyes go wide as she takes in the scene. “What the fuck?”

CHAPTER 22

Brian

Shit.

Worst timing ever.

Logan’s apologetic look is met with my eye roll. What’s a cock block called when it’s a proposal? A rock block. Well, maybe if I’d actually bothered to present her with a ring. It’s the least she deserves under the circumstances.

Jules answers before I can. “Oh, nothing. Brian Bishop was just proposing.”

Taylor’s eyes go wide, and she gasps, both hands flying over her mouth. “And what did you say?” she demands, her voice low and urgent. Like if she doesn’t know soon, her head will explode.

I trace gentle circles over my would-be fiancée’s knuckles. “She’s still considering it,” I say, keeping my tone from sounding too annoyed. I mean, I could ask any number of women for this exact arrangement, and they’d be falling over themselves to say yes.

But it had to be Jules.

Why?

The hell if I know. But every time I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts—a long list, by the way—my mind kept drifting back to the one woman who wasn’t in there.

And I wasn’t bullshitting earlier. When it comes to women, it’s been a blur of meaningless sex and bad decisions. Ten years’ worth, to be precise.

My eyes lock onto those questioning doe eyes. And for reasons I can’t explain, I need this. “Come on, Ms. Spenser. Mutual benefits.”

Taylor leans over to Logan and whispers, “Did he just say friends with benefits?”

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