Fighting Mr. Knight: A Billionaire Office Romance (The London Mister Series Book 3)

I really hope this isn’t the right house.

It’s a massive white Victorian dream home high up on the hill, overlooking Greenwich Park, the home of GMT, Greenwich Mean Time, on one of the most prestigious roads in South East London.

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning. The April sun is freakishly strong thanks to global warming, and I’m sweating like a pig after hiking up a hill that could rival San Francisco’s Lombard Street.

There isn’t a hope in hell I’m walking in through those gates.

With shaky hands, I dial Jack’s number. He answers on the first ring.

“I thought you said you lived alone.” I scowl, eyeing the massive black, boxy dog that could be Damien’s protector dog in The Omen.

“I do. Why do you think,” he cuts himself off. “Oh.” I can feel him grinning down the phone.

The big white door opens, and out comes Jack, shirtless as usual.

“She’s fine,” he says, eyes on me. His voice comes through the phone and in person. “She just needs to smell you.”

“Yeah, because that’s what you do to food before you take a bite.” The dog comes up to Jack’s thighs and eyes me with a look that screams he’s mine.

“She looks scary but she’s really sweet. She’s excellently trained.” He grins. “Better house-trained than me.”

“She looks like a thug. What type is she? A hellhound?”

“An Italian mastiff. Great guard dog. Her name’s Lucy. My niece Poppy named her.”

Poppy has more balls than me hanging out with that monster.

“She doesn’t look like a Lucy,” I mutter, staring at Lucy’s massive jowls.

By some miracle, Jack coaxes me inside the gates. I stand stiffly as Lucy sniffs my crotch, praying she won’t rip my panties to pieces like her owner. To my relief, she walks off bored.

Inside, his house is white and modern. Clearly, it’s professionally designed and decorated, but I get the sense with Jack it’s about getting the job done rather than an attempt to showcase his wealth.

It’s also more tech-savvy than I ever imagined a house needed to be. The house can detect useless things such as the optimal time to open and close the blinds, so Jack doesn’t need to.

In the space of a week, he’s come to my tiny flat four times after driving me home on his motorcycle.

We’ve just hung out. For a billionaire, he’s easy to please. I cook and he makes a half-assed attempt to help, then is relieved when I tell him to stop. His requests are always simple, hearty food. Meat. Potatoes. Pies. More meat. The guy eats simply but eats a lot. It’s like trying to feed a racehorse in training.

And always, as soon as dinner is over, allowing me no time to digest, Jack strips our clothes off and humps me on every hard surface in the flat. That’s why we don’t go to fancy restaurants.

Jack gives me a tour starting with the roof terrace.

“Wow,” I yell, running circles around it. “You can see everything from here! You can see Lexington HQ!”

It’s a panoramic view of the city. Canary Wharf glass towers glisten over the Thames. Following the river down, St Paul’s cathedral and the Shard are in the distance.

He laughs, deep and husky, as he watches me.

“Here.” He hands me binoculars sitting on the decking table in the middle.

I take them excitedly. “Oh my God, I can see the pods of the London Eye!” I squeal. “This is so much fun.”

I drag the binoculars further down the river. “I can see the Lexington Hotel at London Bridge! What does it feel like to see buildings you own from your house?”

“The view’s much better from where I’m standing.”

I tilt the binoculars towards his voice and Jack comes into view. He’s watching me watch London.

“Charmer.” I giggle pathetically. This man has turned me into a giddy moron.

“Come on.” He juts his chin to the terrace entrance. “I’ll show you the rest.”

“I expected you to live in a penthouse apartment with tiger skin everywhere and mirrors on the ceilings,” I say wryly.

“Christ, Bonnie.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a porn star.”

He should be.

He slaps me on the backside and leads me through each of the four floors by the hand, starting with the bedrooms. My mouth waters when I see the humongous bed in his minimalistic bedroom.

At the bottom floor, he shows me the wine cellar, the games room, the gym and the sauna.

The gym seems to be the most used room. On the walls are pictures of a young Jack and his dad who looks exactly him except without the Italian complexion. Most of them are taken in boxing rings, with Jack holding up medals.

“You look like him,” I say as he wraps his arms around me, pushing my back flush against his naked torso. I touch the chain around my neck. “I’m so scared in case I lose this.”

“You won’t lose it.” His warm breath tickles my neck as he inhales my scent. “I trust you.”

“You don’t know that! I think you should take it back. I’ll never forgive myself if I lose it.”

I don’t even know if he’s listening. His hands come up to palm my breast and I feel the familiar thickness press against my lower back.

“There’s nothing you could do that would make me mad at you.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” I grumble.

“Come on, I haven’t shown you the best room yet.” Taking me by the hand, he pushes open the door to the left of the gym to reveal a small swimming pool and a hot tub.

My jaw drops. “Remind me why we spent the last few nights in my crappy one-bed flat?”

He shrugs. “I wanted you to feel comfortable.”

I snort. “And you didn’t think I’d feel comfortable in a house with views of the city and a swimming pool? This is how you attract bunny-boilers. I’m never leaving this place. I’m moving in.”

“Only if you follow the house rules.”

“Oh yeah? What are the rules?”

He strips his shorts so he’s fully naked. “No clothes in the pool area.”

His cock is already swollen and hard.

No matter how often I see his thick masculine body covered in tattoos, I still shiver with intimidation.

I laugh to cover up how flustered I am.

His lips quirk as he takes his cock in his fist. “There are other house rules you’ll have to abide by.”

He’s about to tell me when the phone in his other hand starts ringing. “Fuck,” he says, his face darkening as he reads the caller ID. “Sorry, Bonnie, I’m expecting this. I need to take it.”

I give him space and shimmy out of my summer dress revealing a very expensive red lingerie set purchased yesterday. I know Dad owes him part of half a million but if Jack rips this set, he’ll be buying me a replacement.

He licks his lips approvingly.

I catch snippets of the strained conversation. Wicks. Belmarsh prison. Unease swirls in my stomach as I watch his mood darken.

He blows out a breath through his teeth, shuts off the phone and storms past me out into the boxing gym with such intensity my breath hitches.

I follow after him and watch him as he throws bare-fisted vicious punches at the boxing bag hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

I’ve never seen him like this. The look in his eyes scares me.

“Jack.” I wince as he smashes the bag with heavy grunts. “Wanna talk about it?” I ask tentatively from the corner of the gym, feeling self-conscious in my underwear.

He stops suddenly as if only realising I’m in the room. “Sorry, darlin’.” His chest heaves as he tries to calm himself down. “That was the police constable that was on my dad’s case. I’m seeing Donnie Wicks in two weeks. The date is finally set.”

“Oh.” I pause. “Why?”

His nostrils flare. “Sorry. Even hearing his fucking name sets me off. Fuck if I know. The cunt’s dying and wants to talk to me. Maybe he’s finally going to confess.”

“Have you talked to him since . . .”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I demanded to talk to him for years. Threatened him with everything I could. Nothing worked.”

He throws one final vicious punch at the bag then stalks towards me, taking my face in his hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” I say softly, placing my palms on his bare tattooed chest. His heart hammers. “I’m not scared.”

His dark eyes lock onto mine saying something unspoken.

“You make everything better, you know that?”

I give him a small smile. “Do you want me to come as well? To the prison?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s fine.”

I bite my lip, not feeling comfortable. “Are you going by yourself? What if you do something you regret?”

He laughs softly. “The guy’s in a high-security prison, Bonnie. I don’t think I’ll be able to get at him.” He kisses my forehead. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Can I ask questions?” I ask tentatively.

“You can always ask whatever you want. Don’t forget that.”

I nod. “Do you know why he did it? I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”

His eyes close for a moment as he exhales heavily. “Dad was a bit of a player. He fooled around behind Mum’s back.” His jaw tightens. “Wicks found out he was sleeping with his wife. It was a quick stupid meaningless fling. Dad thought he was invincible because he was a semi-pro boxer. But fists don’t help you against a knife.”

His lips press into an angry line as he struggles to continue. I have no words to take his pain away.

Then he looks me dead in the eye when he says, “I hired a hitman.”

“What?” I whisper, staring at him in horror, waiting for him to tell me he’s joking.

“I’m not proud of it.”

“Did you call it off?”

“Wicks went to prison. It’s harder to kill someone in a high-security prison if you don’t have the right contacts.”

“You would have killed him.” I don’t know whether it’s a statement or a question.

“Maybe. Probably not. I don’t know.”

I blink, trying to understand. “Who knows? Sean?”

“Danny and Tristan. That’s all. And now you, Bonnie.”

“Why did you tell me?” I squeak.

A soft smile crosses his face. “Because I trust you.”

My heart skips a beat. “Are you always this trusting?”

“No,” he says gently, running a finger down my cheek. “But I’ve always gone by my instincts. They haven’t let me down yet.” He tilts my head so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. A frown creases his forehead. “I don’t want any secrets between us, Bonnie. Do you still want me to be my girlfriend, or have I scared you away?”

For the first time, I see the demons hiding behind Jack’s cocky demeanour.

“Of course, I do,” I say quickly, smoothing the worry lines from his forehead. “Your dad didn’t deserve to go that way. I wish I could take away your hurt.”

He pulls me close and sighs against my forehead. “It’s okay, darlin’. You being here is all I need.”

He kisses my head.

The funny thing is,” he says quietly, “I’m called a player just like Dad. But the difference is I don’t fool around with attached women even if they do throw themselves at me. Maybe if Dad hadn’t had so many affairs when I was younger, I wouldn’t haven’t thought twice about going after you when you were with Max. God knows I wanted to.”

“I wish you had. All along, I thought Max was the nice guy and you were . . . the dick who fired my dad.”

“The dick?” His brows quirk. “You need to be punished for that.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

He pushes against me so that I’m forced to walk backwards then cages me against the wall.

“On your knees, darlin’.”

***

I wake up, gasping for air, a heavy arm lying across my stomach.

Jack’s black lashes flutter open. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says in a deep groggy voice. Concern fills his eyes as they adjust to the sunlight. “Are you okay?”

“I just had a nightmare,” I breathe. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He lifts his head. “What was it about? What’s going on in your head?”

“I had a dream that I was getting married to Max. Everything was going wrong. Stupid things, my hair, the shoes. I couldn’t walk in the dress.”

Jack’s face darkens.

“No, wait,” I cry, lifting my head. “It was a nightmare not a dream. I was suffocating and screaming in my head. Then I woke up and saw you beside me and the feeling of relief was enormous.” I laugh, shakily. “I’m so glad Max called off the wedding.”

He pulls me against his chest.

Exactly where I need to be.

“Spend the day with me.”

“I can’t.” I groan. “I have to help my dad pack up his house. They’re being rehoused. By you, remember?”

“I’ll help.”

“Don’t be silly.” I laugh. “You don’t need to do that. He’s a hoarder. It’s going to take me all day ploughing through stuff he doesn’t use trying to convince him to throw it out rather than taking it with him. It’s fine,” I say firmly. I visualise the state of my dad’s house and feel embarrassed.

Then immediately guilty.

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’ll help. Why would I give up an opportunity to spend time with my girlfriend?”

Seriously? What a contrast to Max.

My heart is going to explode.

I stare back at him, wondering how the hell I’m so lucky to hit the jackpot.