The British Knight is a brand new contemporary romance from USA Today bestselling author, Louise Bay. Read an exclusive excerpt from the novel here.

About ‘The British Knight’ by Louise Bay:

When I’m offered the chance to leave New York to live in London for three months, I can’t pack my suitcase fast enough.

As soon as I touch down I’m obsessing over red telephone boxes, palaces and all the black cabs.

But my favorite place is the tube. It’s wall-to-wall hot British men in suits.

When I’m offered a temporary job working for a barrister, I say, sign me up.

On my first commute into work, it’s a total accident when I lose my balance and fall against the most handsome Brit alive. He’s as charming as James Bond and as suave as Mr. Darcy. I want to lick tea from his hard abs and listen to his accent all night long.

Turns out Mr. Handsome is my new boss. And his attitude isn’t as hot as his gorgeous face, broad shoulders and tight ass. He’s brooding, short-tempered and the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.

As we’re fighting, out of nowhere he kisses me. And I’m pretty sure I see fireworks over Big Ben and hear God Save the Queen.

I wasn’t looking for the fairytale but I might have found my knight in shining armor. The problem is he lives an ocean away.

‘The British Knight’ by Louise Bay exclusive excerpt:

Violet

A seasoned New Yorker, I was used to subway face. There were certain rules you had to abide by when taking public transit—a zipped bag, no eye contact, and an impassive expression. I was pretty sure the tube used the same rulebook, but today, I couldn’t hide my grin. I wanted to share my good mood with everyone.

The train arrived as soon as I stepped on the platform. That had to be a sign—everything was going my way. I stepped on, being careful to Mind the Gap as I was told to do by an electronic voice, and spotted a seat in the corner, but a man who’d got on the train with me was nearer. I watched as he spotted the seat and then turned to me. He had bright blue eyes and a jawline so sharp I wanted to reach out and stroke my fingers along it. He wasn’t my usual type—suits weren’t my thing—but I’d make an exception for someone so tall and handsome. Someone who wore his suit that well.

“Please,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat.

A hotter-than-hot guy offering me a seat? This really was my day. “Thank you.” I went full throttle on my grin.
He paused, our eyes locked for a second, and he nodded and turned away, pulling out a newspaper. My heart was beating a little faster from his stare, and I watched as he shook out the paper, then folded it in sharp, deliberate movements. Was he as concise and deliberate in bed? Would he study my body the way he studied that paper, be as focused? I sighed and took a deep breath. I’d never know.

I turned back to take my seat and saw someone who hadn’t been as distracted by a hot guy sit down in the space that had been meant for me. Apparently, the politeness of the British only lasted so long. I sighed and glanced around, trying to find somewhere to stand where I wouldn’t topple over. I tucked myself in by the door, holding on to the bright yellow handrail that five other hands were also grasping. I also just happened to be wedged right next to my handsome stranger, who was managing to read his newspaper despite the train being so tightly packed. I looked up at him. His fingers were half an inch from my shoulder. I glanced down. His foot was almost touching mine. It was so weird to be so near to a complete stranger. He was close enough to lick.

This dry spell I was experiencing was having me fantasizing about strangers on the tube. Although, I suspected the man I was transfixed with would probably have me thinking wicked thoughts even if I’d had an orgasm five minutes before I’d spotted him. He was delicious.

I hadn’t even kissed a man since coming to London two weeks ago. In New York it was easy to pick up a guy, or respond to a man picking me up. Too easy. And just like waitressing had lost some of its appeal, so had the dating scene. I was bored with it in New York. There was no point in doing the same thing in London; after all, I was here to try something new, to start again. Instead, I’d watched a lot of British TV, practiced my English accent, and walked around exploring the city. Anything to pass the time until my temporary visa came through.

The tube stopped, and I leaned forward, trying to read the name of the station. I was sure I had two more stops to go before Holborn, but I didn’t want to miss it. The stop was Piccadilly Circus, which I’d been to last week and had been disappointed when I’d found neither animals nor acrobats. Just a statue of Eros surrounded by electronic billboards. It was like Times Square’s eccentric but less wealthy cousin. As I straightened out, my hair skimmed the newspaper of the blue-eyed stranger and he glanced down at me. “Whoops,” I said and smiled. He just stared at me, unblinking, and I couldn’t look away so I just stared back. It was almost as if he was trying to communicate with me without words, but what was he trying to say?

Can I kiss you?

Let me take you to dinner?

I’m fantastic in bed, can you tell?

Yes, yes, and a double yes please with whipped cream.

He blinked three times in a row as if he’d been shaken out of a trance, frowned slightly, and then went back to whatever he was reading. I continued to check him out. Even without that jaw and those piercing eyes, he would be attractive. His thick dark-brown hair, the broad shoulders, and the expensive suit—it all just fit together perfectly. His skin was bronzed and smooth and it took a ton of self-control not to reach out to see if it slid against mine the way I imagined it would. His hands were large with long, strong fingers and neat nails that had been trimmed but not manicured. Manicures had become a thing for men in New York, particularly Wall Street types, and it was another reason why I rarely dated suits. Manicures should be a woman-only activity.

Finally, the doors opened on the Piccadilly Circus stop, and I was proven wrong that the train was full because about three thousand more people squeezed into the carriage. I shifted so I was closer to my fantasy man—my foot was in between his and I stared at his chest. We’d been close before but now the sleeve of his arm was brushing my hand and if I took in a deep breath I smelled leather and woods—not strong enough for cologne but too expensive to be just deodorant or soap. Carefully chosen body wash, maybe. The doors beeped and shut, and the train started again, aggressively lurching its way forward. If he hadn’t moved at the same time, I’d be flat against his chest. We adjusted ourselves and the train picked up speed, continuing to see-saw along in an almost hypnotic rhythm. If my stranger noticed me staring, he didn’t say anything and even if he had I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to stop. Then, out of nowhere the train screeched to a halt and my hands flew up to stop myself from falling. Lucky for me they connected with my blue-eyed stranger’s broad, hard chest. For a second I was frozen, unable or unwilling to move, then he gripped my upper arms and put me back on my feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his British accent wrapping around me like silk as I removed my hands from his chest.
I wanted to collapse again, just to feel his strength. That was it. His scent, his stare, his voice, and his touch had a thread binding them all together. They all exuded strength—of mind, of body, of character.

“Yes, sorry, not used to the tube, I guess.”

“Keep your legs a little further apart. You’ll balance better,” he replied.

Had he just asked me to open my legs? I grinned and nodded.

The British Knight by Louise Bay is available now! Order from Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, or Barnes & Noble. And don’t forget to add it to your Goodreads!