Page 64 of Fighting Mr. Knight

The punching continues. Now he has his back to me, giving me a perfect view of those defined back muscles and hard mounds of ass, but it’s not helpful to my plight.

I fidget with my chain awkwardly. “Right, that’s all, Mr. Knight.”

Is he going to address me at all? The guy is just damn rude.

Or . . . Jesus, he is planning on getting me in the ring to fight this out?

Maybe I should leave.

Just as I step backwards, he stops boxing and grunts something unintelligible. Is that directed at the guy he’s sparring with or me?

He strides towards me with the intensity of a man who has been released from a maximum-security prison. His trunks hang distractingly low, so I have no choice but to flick my gaze down his ab muscles to the prominent crotch bulge.

I catch a whiff of fresh manly sweat.

As soon as our eyes lock, the burst of sexual energy is so palpable, a shiver runs up my spine.

This is insane.

He really isn’t playing fair here.

I don’t like the guy. I don’t like the guy one bit. But I sure as hellwantthe guy.

I dare a nun to look at him and not lose her shit.

He stares down at me as his forearms dangle over the rope. “I asked you if you could work with Max.” His breathing is still erratic from the workout. “You clearly can’t.”

Swallowing, I resume my grovelling, “Yesterday, I received some news that affected me but I’m over it now. I can work with Max, no problem.”

He leans farther over the rope until he’s almost eye level with me. “Do you know how many architects bid on the factory project?”

“All of the London conservation firms. We are very privileged to win.”

“Forty-two. I have firms all over the world trying to get ten minutes with me for a chance to work on a Lexington project.” He glares at me so ferociously I must be missing the top layer of my skin now. “Many people would kill to be in your position.”

“Of course—”

“And you?” he says, cutting me off. “I gave you thirty minutes of my time yesterday and you threw it back in my face.”

I’m going up against a vicious boxer and this isn’t a fight I’m going to win. “I’m sorry it came across like that. To work with you and your team on theMotor Worksfactory is a dream for me.”

I think he’s looking for an ego boost.

“A project like this, on an iconic East End landmark I’ve grown up beside, and working with someone as. . .visionaryas yourself. . .will be the most exciting highlight of my career.”

The look in his eyes tells me he’s not having any of it. “It doesn’t seem that way to me.It seems you’re stuck in the past, incapable of moving forward. You’re too blindsided to see the opportunity right in front of you.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Is he still talking about the project?“I see the opportunity and I want it,” I say softly. “I can share work that I’ve done on previous projects to show you my experience. Max will vouch that I’m diligent.”

My response displeases him. “I hold you to a higher standard than Max.”

“Why?” I didn’t mean for it to come out a hiss. But really,why?

He doesn’t respond.

Unblinking, deep brown eyes bore into mine with startling intensity.Sweat trickles down his forehead but it doesn’t seem to bother him. I resist the urge to wipe it away.

There’s nothing worse than silence at a time like this, so I keep on talking for both of us. “I’ll get on my knees and grovel,” I joke, “if that’s what it takes.”

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