Page 38 of Fighting Mr. Knight

I glance in the direction ofBonnie’s room. I hope to God she doesn’t hear us out here.

“Good night, Becky,” I growl unnecessarily, and turn back in the direction of my room with one very angry, unsatisfied cock.

11

Bonnie

What the hell is wrong with me?

Jack Knight-triggered oxytocin has been pumping through my bodyall night, leaving me a hot mess. And that’s with a stuffed moose head watching me.

The guy looks, smells and dances like sex. I didn’t stand a freakin’ chance. After the dance, a million women fangirled him all night, Max being the ringleader.

That dance. Holy fucking shit.

He washard.

The guy practically humped my silk bridesmaid dress on the lawn . . . and I let him.

I can’t figure out if I’m happy that I had the chance to knock Mr. Big Dick down a peg or two, or because the possibility of angry sex might be on the cards—not that I wouldevergo there.

But it’s a fantasy for the Bean Bag.

Besides, Max encouraged me to network. I’m only doing what I’m told.

The breakfast room is the stereotypical aftermath of a British wedding, everyone that looked fabulous last night looks slightly worse for wear today.

Tans are patchy, makeup is still half on, eyes are reduced to slits, rogue pins are sticking out of slept-in updos, and there is a general demeanour of dehydration.

Voices that were roaring last night dull to an idle murmur as they mull over the breakfast buffet, trying to decide whether it’ll make them feel better or worse.

Nisha mumbles incoherently beside me. I banged down her door this morning to get her out of bed.

“Huh?” I ask, distracted, scanning the room for six-foot-something monsters with topknots and ten tons of muscle.

“I feel horrid.” Nisha groans. “I can’t look at that fry-up. Why did you let me drink so much last night?”

“Last time I checked the bridesmaid manual, it didn’t mention keeping guests from overindulging.”

He’s not here. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed.

“I’m not drinking ever again,” she says firmly as we meander around the buffet. “Okay, at least until Christmas.” She looks at me crossly. “I mean it this time.”

“I’m not doubting you.”

She lifts a lid, sees it’s black pudding and makes a retching sound, closing it quickly. “Why are you so cheery this morning? Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m exhausted,” I mutter. “Go get us a seat, Nisha. I’m going to pop to the loo.”

She sighs and moves towards empty seats.

“Not there,” I hiss as Nisha veers towards Kate’s creepy uncle, Dom.

I turn towards the main hallway where the bathrooms are, after giving the room a final once-over.

Maybe Jack’s left already. He mentioned he’s getting a lift in Tristan Kane’s helicopter. Talk about upstaging the bride, who arrives in a friggin’ chopper?

“The other bridesmaid is a bit of alright, isn’t she? That Bunny.”

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