Page 100 of Knotted

Jules

I hug the corner of the room, soaking in the spectacle—the glittering sea of celebrities and journalists, all decked out like they’ve stepped off the pages ofVogue. It’s the kind of event where hiding feels like survival.

But even in my little cocoon of anonymity, the deep rumble of a voice cuts through the hum of conversation.

“Ms. Spenser.”

I turn, and all breathing stops.

Standing before me is a walking god in a panty-melting tux. Tailored to perfection, it hugs every muscle, every hard line, in all the right ways. His wavy hair is the right level of just fucked, and that light stubble? My fingers itch to run across it.

And those eyes—normally ocean blue, but right now darkened to the midnight sky—hint to just the kind of night I’m in for.

But it’s the way he says “Ms. Spenser,” in that low, gruff tone like he’s tasting every syllable that makes me lose a little more of my mind.

It does things to my insides.

Sinful, criminal things.

And I love it when he calls me that, even though technically, I’m his wife—Mrs. Bishop. But when he leans in and gets all “Ms. Spenser” on me, I know I’m in for one hell of a night that’ll leave me wrecked and breathless, and barely able to function by morning.

It’s a fantasy we regularly slip into.

He looks so good, I’m damn near on the brink of begging him to rip this dress and throw me against the nearest wall.

I’m in awe, but I pretend I’m not. “You clean up pretty good, Bishop.”

“As do you, Ms. Spenser. I’d love to clean you up with my tongue. Starting with that pretty pussy of yours.”

I flush, suddenly feeling naked in my spaghetti-straps dress that hugs every curve like cellophane. I tug at the straps, praying my nipples don’t make a bid for freedom and take out an eye. “Down, boy,” I mutter below my breath. “It took the glam squad three hours to get me looking like this. You can’t ruin all their hard work right off the bat.”

“Three hours?” His brow shoots up, surprised.

I shrug, a smirk tugging at my lips. “It takes a village . . .”

He fakes an exasperated sigh. “Then I guess I’ll bide my time. Maybe work the room.” His hand slips into his pocket as he glances around casually. “I hear Sydney Sun is on the agenda.”

Wait—what?Sheis?

“After her last few emails, I’d like to say hello.”

I blink, confused. “She’s on the agenda?” I ask. And what emails?

A slow smile spreads across his lips. Brian leans in, close enough for me to catch the warmth of his aftershave and the heat radiating from his chest.

My pulse spikes, and for a second, I almost think he’s about to say something suggestive. I brace myself, already anticipating how it’ll make my knees go absolutely weak.

But instead, his voice drops to a whisper. “You haven’t seen her, have you? Sydney Sun? We’ve been emailing for a while now.”

What?

My brain goes into a tailspin. A full-on death spiral.Sydney Sun—emailing him?

And he’s emailing her back?

And . . . he likes her.

A group of people drifts past, and he steps in closer. The heat of his brick wall body against mine. “She’s done so much for me, especially with my watch and all. I’d love to show her what she means to me. How deep our connection is. Since I have a few hours to kill...”

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