Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister 1) - Page 47

He chuckled as he stood and unbuttoned his shirt. I needed to get the hell out of there. The way he was going, he’d soon be naked, and I couldn’t guarantee I would be able to keep my hands to myself. “No need to have a discussion? I thought women liked to talk about these things.”

“It may have escaped your notice, but women aren’t one large homogenous group of people who all think and act the same way.”

“Ahhh,” he said as he peeled off his shirt, and I came face-to-face with his hard, bronzed chest. At least he didn’t wax. A man as good looking as Beck had every right to be vain, but there was something distinctly un-masculine about bare chests in my book. “That’s where I’ve been going wrong.” He began to unbuckle his belt, and I turned and headed to the door. Someone had turned the heating up and I was trying to keep my cool. “I’ll see you later,” he called after me as I headed out into the corridor.

I suppose I had half an answer to my wondering what was going to happen next between us—no change of heart from Beck and a follow-up kiss.

Beck and I were supposed to be pretend. But the constant flip of my stomach and the way my heart sped as if I were running the hundred-meter final in the Olympics whenever he was around were undeniably real.

Nineteen

Beck

I was prepared. I’d tweaked my strategy of how to approach Henry about the Mayfair property. I’d just tell him how I hadn’t made the connection earlier, but that he must be the Henry Dawnay who owned the Dawnay building and go from there.

I was ready to see him again.

Primed to make my move.

But he wasn’t bloody here.

I checked my watch for the seventieth time that evening. It was almost ten and this thing was supposed to be over by ten-thirty. He was a no show. I’d kept my ears open all night, but I’d not heard anyone mention him. I swirled the tonic water in my glass, keeping the door to the reception room in my eyeline as it had been all evening, hoping he would make a last-minute appearance.

It was useless. I might as well go back to the room. I drained my glass and headed out. Maybe I’d check the car park to see if Henry’s car was still there. Although, that wouldn’t tell me much—he might have simply done something else for the evening. I kept telling myself to be patient, but I didn’t have an infinite amount of time. There was just over a week left.

As I turned the corner, laughter from the conservatory caught my attention. Through the small-paned glass, I saw Stella chatting to Florence amongst the other women of the wedding party.

I paused and just as I did, she turned and saw me watching her almost as if she knew I was there. She looked stunning, her hair scraped up into a ponytail, her face slightly flushed. Without thinking, I grinned at her, and she smiled back before dipping to say something to Florence and then heading in my direction.

“Hey,” she said as she got closer. “You okay?”

I shrugged. “I thought I’d head back to the room and catch up on emails.”

She blinked a couple of times as if she were waiting for me to say something else, to tell the truth.

“I’ll come too,” she said after a couple of seconds.

“You don’t need to.” I needed to catch up with work but at the same time it would be good to have some company. Someone to ruminate with on where Henry was. Someone I could run my newly tweaked strategy by.

She looked up at me as if she were peering into my brain, wanting to know if what I said and what I meant were matching. “I know. But I want to. Let me just get my bag.”

As Stella went to leave, the bride caught up with her and Stella visibly stiffened when she pressed her hand on her arm. “You’re leaving?” Karen asked, all smiles.

Stella smiled back, but I knew her well enough now to distinguish a real smile from a fake one, and there was nothing genuine about the smile Stella wore. “We want to save some energy for all these different events,” Stella replied.

“Yes, it’s spectacular, isn’t it? It was Matt’s idea to make a week of it—a real celebration. And I love Scotland, as you know, although I’d not been to the castle until Matt brought me up here to convince me that this was where we needed to get married.”

Karen continued to chatter on, but Stella didn’t say a word—she just nodded and gave intermittent tight smiles. It was a side of Stella I hadn’t seen much of, like a deer caught in the headlights. She seemed vulnerable and . . . stuck.

I stepped forward, taking Stella’s rigid hand. “I’m dragging her away. I hope you don’t mind,” I said as Stella’s palm melded against mine.

“Of course not,” Karen said. “I’m so delighted you’re here to celebrate with us. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Stella’s fake smile faded, and she turned to me. “Thank you. I always get tongue-tied around . . . her.”

I’d seen a very different Stella to the one holding my hand. One who was determined and unafraid to ask for what she wanted. Someone confident. Sure of herself. What was it about Karen that made Stella lose her ability to speak?

We made our way toward the stairs, still hand in hand. “You went out with Matt for ages, right?” I asked.

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