Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister 1)

“You know how drunk I got last night? And being here—it was all a little overwhelming. And at some point, I might have lunged at Beck.”

“Lunged?”

Lunging wasn’t really my style. Not that I had a style with men. There had only ever been Matt. “Yeah. It was horribly embarrassing and if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you—”

“But he was down for it?”

“No, he politely declined.” My insides began to curl up in shame as I remembered last night. Despite him kissing me today, I still wished it hadn’t happened.

“But then today?”

“You know as much as I do. He said that he wanted to kiss me.”

Florence took a deep breath. “Well, he’s obviously crazy for you,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s so nice that he didn’t kiss you when you lunged but did just now in front of everyone. He clearly couldn’t wait.”

Florence was a hopeless romantic. “He’s not obviously crazy for me. It was just a kiss.” One that I’d felt in my bones and gave me goosebumps just remembering it.

“You’re together for the next week. Sleeping in the same bed. Something more is bound to happen.”

I rolled my lips together. It was just a kiss. But what if Florence was right and he kissed me again? Wanted more?

Obviously, someone had to come after Matt. Unless I was going to check in to my local nunnery for the next fifty years, there would be another man. I knew that somewhere deep down, I just hadn’t gotten to the point that I wondered who that someone was or wanted a particular someone to be next.

Not that I could have ignored Beck and his handsomeness. It hit you in the face like a freight train.

And he’d been so nice to me—confident, reassuring, and concerned.

There was a reason I’d lunged at him and not the bellboy.

“You’re clearly both attracted to each other, and if he still likes you post-lunge, then that says a lot,” Florence said.

“Post-lunge? Really? Can we not focus on the lunging? It’s humiliating enough.” But Florence was right—if he could see me drunk and emotional and not be running for the hills, perhaps Beck was the next someone. The problem was I didn’t know which way was up and I didn’t trust anyone enough to tell me.

“He has a vested interest in being nice to me,” I said, my mind whirring with doubt and distrust. “He was probably worried about me abandoning him after his rejection last night and kissing me was his way of trying to keep me happy.” Was that what his kiss had been about? Had he just been

protecting his own best interests? He seemed genuine enough but if he’d wanted to kiss me, was he really such a gentleman that he’d held back last night?

“Stella, I witnessed that kiss. There was nothing fake or forced about it.”

But she didn’t know Beck.

I didn’t really know Beck. And even though what I did know of him I liked, the fact that I was at the wedding of the man I thought I was going to marry told me my judgement wasn’t to be trusted.

No, I was here for business—fighting for my future. I wasn’t about to get thrown off course by a man’s showstopping kisses.

No way.

Seventeen

Beck

I was sticking out like the sorest of sore thumbs. I was wearing a navy-blue Tom Ford shell jacket in a sea of green and brown Barbours and tweed. It said everything you needed to know about me and the people here—I was new money versus their old.

But fuck it, I was a better shot than most of them. Shooting clays was so fucking boring. I didn’t understand the appeal. It was no better than shooting cans at the back of the abandoned garages with an air rifle. And I’d mastered that around thirteen.

In any other scenario I would have just gone back to the hotel. My emails were piling up, and I had a thousand missed calls, but nothing, not even clay pigeon shooting, was going to drive me away. Henry Dawnay was ten meters away from me, and I wasn’t going anywhere until I’d introduced myself.

Obviously, I didn’t want to stare, but out of the corner of my eye I could see he was standing with three or four other men, one of whom was Stella’s ex-boyfriend. We hadn’t been officially introduced but I’d caught Matt’s eye a few times, first at the engagement party and then last night. It was strange. He’d obviously moved on because he was getting married, but I got the distinct impression there was some unfinished business with Stella from his perspective.