Page 23 of Fighting Mr. Knight

“Of course, it’s alright. I’m sorry—your email never made it past my PA.”

I shrug. “You need thousands of pictures to make a good quality digital mosaic. I didn’t quite have two thousand, so I added places they went on holidays together, houses they lived in, their favourite restaurants, other life moments like that.” I laugh. “When I say it out loud, it sounds a little stalker-ish.”

He smiles. “Kate and Sean are lucky to have you as a friend.”

My blush deepens, and I sink lower under the bubbles. “What did you get for them?” I ask, changing the subject. “Oh, this place, of course. Duh! It’s a present someone could only dream about.”

“Sean’s been a right-hand man to me since I started Lexington, it was the least I could do. You haven’t explained why you were upset, though. Did something happen to the mosaic?”

I squirm in the water. “I feel like I might have overstepped the mark. Sean’s mum had it taken down.”

A scowl mars his face. “For fuck’s sake. That’s bullshit.”

“It’s fine. I’ll put the massive picture of Kate and Sean as the centrepiece in my bedroom,” I say, feigning cheeriness.

His scowl deepens. “It’s not fine. I’m sorry my aunt upset you. If someone made that for me, I’d be honoured. You’re such a visual storyteller. No wonder you’re an architect.”

I eye him suspiciously.

Max’s voice fills my head. “Speaking of architecture, we have some fantastic ideas for the factory,” I say, launching into my pitch. “We’re going to bring to life the fact that the factory was the industrial backbone of London. When people visit, they’ll get an understanding of the history.”

He breaks into a smile. “That’s very important to me. And my nan, of course.”

“If you like the mosaic, I’ll talk to the designers and maybe we can add some to the factory interior showing the history of the neighbourhood. Like the amazing New York City mosaics and murals on the streets in Harlem,” I say excitedly. “They tell the story of all the communities that emigrated into the area. But they’ll be subtle in our work. We’ll make sure that they blend in with the whole concept of loft-style living.”

He nods. “I love it. Be sure to add it to your proposal.”

I raise my brows in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Come on, look at me. I practically use my body as a canvas. Of course, I like the idea.”

My eyes flicker down to his tattooed chest, and I can’t help myself, I ask, “What do they mean?”

He lifts his muscular forearm. “The roman numerals here are the date Dad died.” His hand moves up his arm and stops at a shield with an armoured soldier’s head above it. “The Knight family coat of arms.”

I could have guessed that one.

“Dad had the same one.”

I grudgingly drool as he explains ten or more tattoos on his chest and arms. “I like them,” I say hoarsely, concerned that I may have a deranged smile on my face.

“Glad to hear it.” There’s more gravel in his voice this time and it triggers a shift in the air.

He studies me, eyes darkening. His throat works as he swallows.

A quick glance down confirms I don’t have a breast hanging out of my bikini top. When I glance back up again, he’s still staring at me.

This is weird.

As I’m about to break the strange silence, his eyes drop to my mouth, then follow a heated trail down to my neck, lingering there.His lips part.

He leans forward in the tub.His nostrils tent. Did he just. . .sniffme?

Holy fuck, he’s going to kiss me.

“What are you. . .” My throat dries up.

My breath hitches audibly as his hand brushes my collarbone.

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