The Jacuzzi is in a hut tucked away at the back of the grounds, perfect for hiding. No one has used it since we got here because the lure of alcoholic bubbles is stronger.
I push open the hut’s doors and stop short when I see the last person I want to see sprawled out in the Jacuzzi.
The damn nipple ring twinkles, teasing me.
“Do you think I have time to clean up your mess?” Mr. Big Dick snarls down the phone.
I draw in a sharp breath. Jesus Christ, the man has me on edge within seconds.
‘I’ll come back later,” I mouth as he locks eyes with me.
I get a grunt in response. He shakes his head and beckons me with his hand like a king summoning a servant.
I start to leave.
“Bonnie, wait,” he says in his deep gruff voice.
“It’s fine. I’ll come back when you’re finished.”
His dark eyes flare with annoyance. “One minute,” he barks into the phone. “Do I have a contagious disease I’m not aware of? Get in the hot tub.”
I glower at him.
Bossy bastard. Somebody needs to put this guy in his place.
“You don’t need to leave because I’m here. You’re making me feel like an ogre. Give me two minutes and I’ll be off this call, okay?” His gaze falls to my breasts then abruptly he returns to his phone call.
My face heats as I tug my bikini top self-consciously. Walking out now will look like a snub. Probably not the best networking strategy.
Awkwardly, I remove my shorts, fussing with my bikini triangles to not give him an eyeful. From snippets I catch, he’s talking about his new hotel in Waterloo, central London. It’ll be the tallest hotel in Europe when it’s finished. At thirty-eight, he’s only ten years older than me, but with how he talks, it seems like fifty.
Whoever’s on the other end of the phone has fucked up or is in the process of fucking up. I’m nervous for them.
I’ve never seen Mr. Big Dick in work mode. Max and the other seniors have led discussions whenever we’ve worked for Lexington. Maybe it’s a good thing.
My crotch is directly in his line of sight as I step into the tub and I pray I have no stray hairs. My grooming regime slackened after the break-up. In the dark days of the split, I sported a full bush. Removing body hair seemed fruitless when there was no-one to admire the results. Yesterday was the first time I had a full bikini wax in six months.
A new beginning.
Water splashes up against his phone as I slosh into the Jacuzzi. “Sorry.” I wince.
He ignores me and keeps talking.
My eyes widen as I grasp the gist of his conversation. Jesus. This person is actually getting fired.
This isn’t the chakra-balancing calming haven I had envisioned. Leaning my head back, I wonder how long I could survive submerged.
Who’s in the right here? Okay, so he was in the Jacuzzi first, but isn’t this supposed to be a stress-free zone? Instead, the guy is taking up most of the space with his big bulky limbs while casually shitting all over some poor bugger’s life. Exactly like he did to Dad.
“My lawyers have issued contract termination. Remove your people from the site with immediate effect.”
Who are these poor people being terminated at 5 p.m. on a Friday? What a start to the weekend. To top it all off, they must hear the bubbles and realise Jack’s having a fantastic time.
My eyes flicker down to find him already staring at me with such an intensity I feel like I’m the one being fired.
And the alarming thing is I kind of like it.
I look away, examining a chipped tile on the ceiling.
He snaps his phone shut, and his face immediately melts into a crooked grin. “Sorry.”
Give me bloody strength. I’ve got whiplash.
“It must be such a pain sacking people. Doesn’t it bother you?”
He shrugs, unaffected by the wrath that must be spitting from my eyes. “Not if they deserve it. Can’t get the staff these days. I gave a small company a chance, only to find out they were stealing materials. I don’t work with guys who think they can pull a fast one because Lexington’s too big to care or notice.”
Fine. Maybe this company is in the wrong, but it’s not like I can empathise with Jack. I steal stationery from Bradshaw Brown, but those two cretins steal all my time. For all I know, the poor guys stole a few pens.
Regardless of what they did, I feel sorry for the company. If Jack gets pissed off enough, their mistake will be reputation-destroying. It’s likely they’ll go out of business.
“You’re always working.” But that’s because he’s got no qualms about doing business shaving or in a hot tub. “Don’t you ever stop?”
He flashes a grin, displaying a beautiful set of white teeth. The kind you want latching on your nipple. “I’ve no time to stop. Three big projects on the go right now. The Waterloo hotel, the apartment complex in Liverpool and the East London project.”
“Can’t you delegate?” I’m genuinely curious. “Surely owning the company means you get to relax and watch others do the work for you?”
He shrugs, running a hand through his thick, wet hair. “I like it. There’ll always be a part of me that’s still the sixteen-year-old brickie.”
I nod. “You’re very hands-on.”
Too hands-on. His fingers circle his nipple ring, mindlessly, as if it’s a habit he doesn’t even know he’s doing. Like hair-chewing.
How would he like it if I played with my nipples in here?
“Have to be. Particularly with the East London project. You know my nan lives in the patch we’re building on?”
I didn’t. “You’ll be rehousing her?”
His grin widens. “Like every woman in my life, she busts my balls when I don’t do exactly as I’m told.”
“Maybe you deserve it,” I mutter.
He lets out a deep throaty chuckle. “I probably do.”
His arms splay over the sides of the hot tub, revealing thick underarm hair, and a flash of unwanted lust rages through me. I must have a caveman kink.
I force my eyes up. “It makes sense why it’s a personal project for you.”
“Very personal. The area means more to me than bricks and cash. Especially since I need to honour my dad’s place of death.”
Of course. How could I forget? That’s why he’s so involved.
Jack’s dad was murdered by one of East London’s deadliest gangs, the Wicks family, not far from the factory. It must have been nearly a decade ago.
I don’t know what to say. Jack might be a bastard in business, but he didn’t deserve that.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “That must be hard. What are you planning . . . for the, uh, spot?”
He smiles sadly. “A boxing gym for young guys. It’ll be named after him. Dad was a semi-pro boxer, you know? That’s how I got into it. I almost went pro myself.”
“That’s really nice. I’m sure he would have loved that. Why didn’t you go pro?”
He pauses. “After Dad died, I never wanted to box again. Not if it wasn’t with him.” There’s a hint of pain. “I threw myself into work instead. By the time I started boxing again, I was too old to compete professionally.”
What the hell do you say to a guy whose dad was murdered, with the story splashed over the papers in gory detail? Jack was pretty famous back then so even though murders are a dime a dozen in London, it still made headlines.
“I’m sure your dad would have been happy to hear you’re boxing again. That must have been such a difficult experience to go through. I can’t imagine.”
He shrugs roughly, and I sense he doesn’t want to elaborate further.
Seems like we all have our demons, even billionaires. Maybe his tragedy is why he’s so ruthless in business today. I wonder how things would have turned out if his father were still alive.
I don’t want to feel sorry for the guy.
He looks at me for a long moment. “Are you okay? You seemed upset when you came in.”
My cheeks heat. He’s surprisingly astute for a guy who’d been in the middle of firing a company. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Tell me.” His voice softens. “Please.”
“It’s stupid.” I shrug, feigning indifference. “I just wasted time on something. Kate said she wanted something personal in the marquee for her wedding. We talked about displaying photos of her and Sean so I said I would make a mosaic. I got it printed to hang beside the top table.”
He gives a nod of recognition. “I’m not surprised to hear you made that. It took me about thirty minutes to take it all in. So much detail.”
“Oh.” I look at him, surprised. “You’ve seen it?”
“As soon as I walked in. How many photos did you use?”
“Over two thousand,” I admit.
He lets out a low whistle. “Where did you find over two thousand photos?”
“I’ve been secretly videoing them for years.”
He stares at me.
I smirk. “I’m joking. Social media, photos from when we were growing up. It’s frightening how many photos you can find on the internet. Friends and family. You even gave me some, Jack.”
“I did?” He frowns, confused.
“Your PA did.”
His frown deepens. “Did you contact me?”
I deliberated for hours over whether to include his email address. After all, he is a friend of Sean’s, and I asked Sean’s other friends.
In the end, I’d included him. And a lovely PA named Jess responded.
“I hope that’s alright. Jess was really helpful. I think she got the pics from your sisters or mum.”
“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 . . . sniff me?
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.
I swear I feel it in my clit. To my horror, my nipples too.
“Did you make this?” he asks in a rough voice. His fingers skim over the stone wrapped in silk threads resting above my breasts.
“Yes,” I say thickly as his hand drops. “It’s an amethyst crystal.”
“It matches your eyes.”
“It creates protection against negative energy and emotion.” I swallow, hating myself for the fact that if his hands accidentally found their way into my bikini bottoms, I wouldn’t have the willpower to stop them. “Well, it’s supposed to.”
“The wedding must be hard for you.”
“A little,” I reply tetchily. I let out an awkward laugh. “At least I know I won’t be getting lucky with a groomsman.”
His lips twitch. “I wouldn’t rule it out.”
A snort erupts from my throat. Not the sexy, husky type, more the type when you have a terrible cold.
Is Jack Knight flirting with me?
This tub is too hot.
Oh. Sean has three groomsmen. Max, Jack and Sean’s teenage brother. Maybe he’s talking about me getting back with Max.
“There you are.” The loud voice behind me makes me jump.
I turn to see Nisha, who stops dead when she sees Jack. “Oh! Eh, hi, Jack. Actually, you’re both wanted. Kate and Sean need to go over the order of service or something.’
“Ladies first, after you,” Jack says, gazing at me.
No fucking chance. Getting out first means exposing my fat bum to him.
“No,” I say firmly. “You go first, there’s only one changing room and I’d like to spend another minute or two in here.”
He exhales harshly and climbs out of the Jacuzzi awkwardly like he has a cramp in his thigh.
And that’s when I see the substantial tent in his swim shorts.
Oh my God.
He’s hard.
Not half-assed lazy hard either, he’s ready to buck. Either firing people gets Jack Knight off or . . . I did it.
A shiver snakes down my spine.
“Was that awkward?” Nisha says in a loud whisper the second Jack leaves the hut.
“A little. When I walked in, he was in the process of firing a squad of people over the phone.”
“Seriously?” Nisha groans.
“Yup. The guy’s a psycho.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “It must have been absolutely horrendous sharing a hot tub with him.”
“The worst,” I say with an edge in my voice. “Absolute nightmare.”
