Page 73 of Knights Game

He looks truly edible.

Fuckable.

I flush at seeing how stunning he looks.

Can you call a man stunning?

His tall frame is in a beautifully tailored Tuxedo, the trousers with a perfect crease down the front. His suit jacket done up at the waist, the trim in a shiny satin material, his bow tie black. My slow perusal ends on his handsome face.

He’s shaved his usual stubble, but his hair still looks like he just rolled out of bed.

He crosses the carpeted master suite where I stand frozen, watching as he glides elegantly and stops before me. I tilt my head. Desperate to touch his clean-shaven skin.

“You look” He frowns. “I am rendered completely speechless, you’re that beautiful.” Stepping forward, he gently kisses mycheek, and my greedy fingers stroke his smooth face. His smell engulfs me, and I know this evening is going to be torture.

In that tux, I want to touch him, I want to smell him all over me.

“Whatever you’re thinking to make you blush like that, I want to make it a reality,” he says, placing a chaste kiss on my lips pulling back on a grin. He puts his hand out to me, and I take it. He looks at his watch and nods.

“Right on time. I’m impressed.” His grin is mischievous, and I swoon at this new side of him.

Who is this man, and what has he done with the arsehole?

My heels click on the marble hallway floor and he leans forward, calling the elevator. “You look ridiculously hot.” I finally find my words as the doors ping open.

We travel down in silence, both of us taking in the other’s outfit, silently perusing each other. His hand is the only thing that touches me, but I feel it everywhere.

The tension is unreal.

Being this close to him, I’m having to physically hold myself back from touching him. I’ve never had such a physical reaction to anyone before. I feel breathless.

His eyes darken, and he shifts, then before I know it, his hand is on my lower neck as he pushes me into the wall with his body, kissing me savagely.

I return the onslaught, our mouths entwining, tongues dancing as my arm reaches around his shoulder pulling him to me more, the glittering clutch bag smacking the side of his face, but he doesn’t stop. We devour each other, it’s messy, it’s branding, it’s animalistic. We both try to take control, our teeth clash. He groans, but we don’t stop.

Couldn’t if I wanted to.

He only pulls away when the elevator door pings again. We step apart, both breathing heavily. Hands trembling, I tug at hisbow tie and straighten it, then wipe at his mouth rubbing at the lipstick mark that I’ve left behind.

He returns the favour, tucking my hair behind my ear as I run my hands over my dress. Smirking, he offers his hand to me. Taking it, he leads me across the glamorous lobby of his building, my heels the only sound in the silent, lust filled atmosphere.

He nods once at the security guard sitting behind the reception desk, staring at a row of cameras, and marches us out into the crisp London evening. A black limousine sits idling at the kerb, its black paint so polished and clean that the lights of London dance along its smooth surface along with the distorted reflection of us.

“Good evening, sir.” A man dressed in a smart black suit with one of those driving caps nods and opens the door for us. “Miss Johnson, Mr Knight, you both look radiant tonight.”

I smile politely, thanking him, before climbing carefully into the backseat with Luca.

The leather is white and rich, with wood trimmings around the door panels. A privacy screen separates us from the driver, igniting butterflies in my stomach.

Luca takes a bottle of expensive champagne resting in a sunken bucket by the door; I pull the two glasses from the same area and hold them out to him. Uncomfortable silence stretches between us.

I take a large gulp of champagne.

“I wanted to give you something,” Luca says reaching into his pocket and passing me a simple white card. “The telephone number of my lawyer. As agreed, he will review your parents’ will and go through anything that you want to go through with him … free of charge.”

I take the card, and our hands briefly touch as I look at the elegant writing and wonder if it’s his.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. Care Home debt, his lawyer: he’s doing everything he said he would, he’s keeping his word.

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