Page 54 of Knotted

Which sends my little Peach Pop into a tailspin. “Oh, my God, no. First of all, it would beenemieswith benefits, and that’s not happening. Like, ever.”

Wow. Could she be any more offended at the thought of sleeping with me?

She tries to slip her hand from mine, a feeble effort at best. Then she swallows hard, her voice softening. “A business arrangement, right?” I can practically see the wheels turning behind those beautiful dark brown eyes, and I know I’m close.

“Yes, a business arrangement. One that the world believes is real and everyone in this room is sworn to secrecy on.”

I turn to Taylor, giving her a pointed look.

“What? I can keep a secret,” she insists, her voice a little defensive.

“Not really,” I say because I’m pretty sure Taylor’s been the town crier since grade school—spilling every secret from who kissed who behind the bleachers to who got caught cheating on the math test.

Which I did not appreciate, by the way.

Jules flicks a glance at Taylor, probably hoping for some backup—or hell, maybe just clarity on an answer. God, please don’t let it be the latter.

If she’s still the same old Taylor, she’ll take an hour just to decide on pizza toppings—never mind the life-altering shit.

If Taylor’s calling the shots, I’ll be stuck on my knee all fucking night.

“Do what’s best for you,” she finally says, her words full of care. Then, with a sudden shift, she turns to me, her eyes narrowing. “But if you hurt her, I’ll cram my thickest six-inch stilettos straight up your worthless ass.”

Given the fact that this girl has a thing for wearing spiked-heel ankle boots, I can’t help but clench a bit. “No one’s getting hurt, especially not me. I’m not about to take one for the team in the bunghole.”

Their laughter rolls through the room like a warm breeze, and Jules finally gives in, a smile tugging at her lips as the tension melts away. “All right, fine. Brian Gabriel Bishop, I accept you as my test drive, try-before-you-buy hubby, but only for three months, max.” She tilts her head, that familiar spark gleaming in her eyes. “So, when do we kick this off?”

“As soon as possible.”

“As in this weekend?” She’s trying to keep it together, but the way her pulse flutters along the curve of her neck, I’d say Jules is already teetering on the edge and forty-eight hours from sobering up and backing out.

I cut through all her doubts with a single word. “Tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 23

Jules

Last night was a blur of reckless decisions and impulsive promises. The,sure, I’ll marry you, Brian, quickly followed by us plunging headfirst into wedding plans and venue hunting—a dizzying whirlwind that sends anxiety slithering up my neck like a nest of angry bees.

When ideas like Vegas and Paris are tossed around, I catch myself scratching at my neck, the reality oftill death do us partpushing me dangerously close to the brink of an official runaway bride.

Then Brian brings up the one place we can both agree on.

Donovan’s.

A haven—breathtaking, secluded, a perfect escape from the world.

No media.

No paparazzi.

Just us.

By the stroke of midnight, Brian leaves—surprisingly superstitious for a big, gruff military man. Either that, or he’s afraidof turning into a pumpkin. “Eight p.m. sharp,” he says, all dominant military man. “Make sure she shows up, Taylor. In a gown. I’ll tackle the rest.”

Then, like only the desperate or borderline delusional would, he hands Taylor his black card, with strict instructions. “Make her happy.”

Taylor’s eyes light up. “Can I make me happy, too?”

---