25
Bonnie
Max is spending my wedding night with Olivia. Jack is spending my wedding night with Michelle Allard. I’m spending my wedding night with an Argentinian Malbec and four bearded men living in the Alaskan mountains who need a virgin to share.
Kate: What are you up to now? X
There’s been a steady stream of messages from Kate and Nisha since I left the office. Checking in, just in case I drown myself in Malbec.
It turns out Kate didn’t know about Max cheating on me. I should never have doubted my best friend. She swears she won’t tell Sean until I’ve confronted Max. I have to think about this because Max has the power to fuck up my promotion.
To calm the worriers, I’m providing them with blow-by-blow details on how the night is unfolding.
Me: Getting a takeaway. Pizza. X
There’s no need to add that I’ve polished off three-quarters of a bottle of wine as an aperitif.
It’s the perfect night for takeout. In true stinking British-weather style, it’s bucketed down all day with no relief. I feel much safer on the sofa in my vest, oversized fluffy terry cloth loungewear and large socks.
Not like Michelle Allard, forced to wear a backless shimmery evening gown. The poor woman must be freezing.
My chest tightens.
The doorbell buzzes. The delivery guy is here with my pizza.
“Just a minute,” I call over the intercom, grabbing my cardigan so he doesn’t get an eyeful of bra-less breasts. Although delivery guys are like nurses: they’ve seen it all before.
Wrapping the cardigan around me, I walk as fast as the large socks will allow me down the stairs. The rain is so loud, it sounds like it’s inside the building.
I yank open the door. It’s not a delivery guy with my caramelised onion and goat’s cheese pizza.
Dark brown eyes burn into mine.
Jack is absolutely drenched. His tuxedo jacket is gone and he’s only in his white shirt, stuck to his chest and biceps. His hands grip the door on either side, his large frame dwarfs the doorway.
I stare up at him, my heart in my throat. Too stunned to care that spits of rain are belting down on me.
He stares right back at me. “I half expected you to be in your wedding dress. Are you going to let me in or just let me drown?”
“Ja-ack?” I stutter as if he might be a hallucination from the Malbec. “What are you doing here?”
He leans in until his forehead nearly touches mine. Droplets of rain drip from his face onto me. “Making new memories. I couldn’t let you remember today as your cancelled wedding day.”
“No?” I ask breathlessly, blinking in shock. “What am I going to remember it as?”
He grins, a full-voltage grin stretching across his face. “Best night of your life.”
A girly laugh erupts from my throat. I might be a little hysterical. “You’re so full of yourself, Jack Knight. I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be at the awards ceremony. With Michelle.”
“I left after the speech. I had better places to be.”
My heart jumps and I laugh nervously again because it’s all I’m capable of. “But you rejected me. I don’t understand.”
“I rejected your offer of a one-night stand.” His eyes darken. “We’re not doing a one-night stand, darlin’. You think you put yourself out there? That isn’t putting yourself out there.” Before I can react, he scoops me up off the ground in one easy hitch, balancing my ass on his arms.
I let out a surprised yelp. My communication abilities no longer extend to anything beyond “ Oh .”
His dilated pupils darken to almost black. “ This is putting yourself out there.”
Weeks of pent-up tension explode inside me, and I instinctively wrap my arms and legs around his drenched body, knowing I’ll die if I don’t feel every inch of him.
I don’t care that I’m in my PJs in the street.
I don’t care that it’s hailing down from the heavens, and I’m soaked.
I don’t care if I look like a massive hoe straddling a hot guy as people walk past to the chicken shop.
I’m exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to be doing.
His mouth crashes down on mine and I go to fucking pieces.
One hand tightens around my waist while the other comes up to hold my head in place so he can claim my mouth. His tongue plunges into mine.
It’s desperate and frantic and paralysing. It’s a kiss that travels down my spine directly to my clit. Nothing has ever tasted as good as this man.
A growl rumbles from his chest as I grind my towelled loungewear against his hard cock straining in his wet trousers.
That’s the spot.
Holy fucking hell.
I’m vaguely aware of my cardigan being open, exposing my vest. I’m getting wetter by the second from the rain and the raging horn between my legs.
We sound like we’ve escaped from London Zoo. Small mewls escape me while he grunts like he doesn’t give a fuck who’s listening.
My hands are all over his body, his hair, his shoulders, his neck, the tattooed bicep holding me up. Sliding over every hard warm muscle I can find. I can’t touch it all fast enough.
“Get a room!”
The yell breaks us apart and I come to, mortified and gasping for breath.
We’re standing in an open doorway on the street, breathing hard. People are queueing for fried chicken just a metre away, for God’s sake.
Jack exhales a heavy breath, walks us into the hallway and slams the door. Without putting me down, he starts to ascend the stairs.
“Put me down, I’m too heavy!” My protests are weak. The fact he can carry me effortlessly is insanely sexy. “We’re going to fall.”
He continues up the stairs. Perhaps it’s for the best. That kiss made my limbs feel all flappy like one of those rubber dolls.
The doorbell buzzes, stopping Jack short. “Who’s that? Do you have another suitor waiting to claim you?”
I giggle. “It’s the pizza delivery guy.”
Jack reverses down the stairs. “At least it’s not the chicken shop. This pizza better be good. We’ll be working up an appetite.”
I giggle again into his neck. I’ve morphed into a flapping giggly mess since I opened the door to him. “Seriously, aren’t you going to let me down? I have to see this man again.”
Ignoring me, Jack opens the door.
The delivery guy is not expecting a grown man holding a woman in his arms like a small child. After the surprise wears off, he hands over the pizza box.
I thank him and take it quickly, my face boiling as Jack fumbles awkwardly with one hand to get something out of his pocket.
“Jack,” I mutter, trying to avoid eye contact with the delighted delivery guy.
After painful seconds, Jack cheerfully hands the guy a generous tip. “Here you go, mate.”
I sigh as Jack closes the door. “I’m never ordering from Spicy Slice ever again.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m half Italian, remember? I’ll find you a good pizza spot.”
We hike back up the stairs and I’m suddenly aware of how shabby my flat is. I can’t actually let a billionaire in, can I?
“Why not?”
Shit, I said that out loud. Or can the guy read my mind?
“It’s not what you’re used to. It’s temporary until I figure out where I want to live,” I say in a rush.
“I think the carpet was put down in the eighties. You can tell by the pattern. You’re probably used to marble tiles.
But it’s the most modern thing in the flat.
Everything else looks like it’s from the Victorian era. ”
I’m babbling.
“Relax, Bonnie.” He winks as he sets me down outside the door. “I grew up in a council estate, remember? I’m used to carpet from the eighties.”
I push open the door that I left jarred open with a shoe. It’s a risky strategy when you’re living by yourself.
He scans the room, either intrigued or horrified.
I imagine the shabby interior through a billionaire’s eyes. Oh, God. My underwear is drying on a clothes rack in the middle of the living room.
“Nice. It’s cute.”
Cute is what you say when you’re being kind.
I discard the pizza on the kitchen counter. It’s no longer the highlight of the night. It doesn’t smell half as good as Jack. “I wasn’t expecting visitors,” I mutter, whipping the clothes rack out of sight. “You’re drenched. I’ll get you a towel.”
“Sure. I don’t want to flood your living room,” he replies with a grin, strolling about the room, inspecting things in my living room too closely. I want to order him to stand on the spot.
Scuttling off to the bathroom, I contemplate my game plan. Neither the bedroom nor I am in any fit state to seduce anyone. My heart’s bloody pounding here.
When I come back with the towel, he’s in the kitchen and has taken the liberty of removing his shirt. Oh, Lord, I forgot about the tattoos.
There’s definitely going to be a flood, man.
Jack Knight is the largest thing I’ve ever had in my flat.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I watch him inspect the boiler. It’s one of those ancient ugly ones that takes up a huge chunk of wall.
He frowns as he looks on the bottom of the boiler. “When was the last time this was serviced?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. I’m more concerned about the last time I was serviced.
He moves from the boiler to the stove, inspecting it with the same precision. “Do you have a gas certificate for this? This model is at least ten years old.”
“I’m not sure. I just rent the place.”
He turns to me, and his dark eyes sharpen as if that’s the wrong answer. “Your landlord has responsibilities. I’ll have someone come round this week and check everything out.”
It’s sweet how concerned he looks about my boiler. I feel it in my ovaries.
“Okay, Daddy.” I fling the towel at him.
“If there’s going to be a gas explosion, hopefully it can wait until tomorrow.
Now will you come and sit on the sofa, please.
” Taking him by the hands, I lead him away from the utilities and back to the sofa.
“Give me a minute to freshen up. And don’t touch or look at anything. ”
My request falls on deaf ears. I’m gone less than a minute and when I return, he’s standing in the middle of the living room with a small pink object in his hand.
“What’s this?” he asks with a teasing tone.