The Wedding Rescue, Book Two (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance) (4 page)

I
’d been checking
my messages on my phone when I heard the handle turn on the dressing room door. Looking up, I got my first glimpse of Leigha in the second dress. I froze, my usually razor sharp brain on lock down. She stood there, in fairytale crystal heels and a fantasy of a dress, her eyes as open and vulnerable as I’d ever seen them. I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I needed to say something. She was insecure about her looks. That was easy enough to figure out, and a little nervous about letting me buy her expensive clothes. Most women would be trying to see how much they could get out of me, but not Leigha.

She stood completely still, waiting for my reaction. I didn’t know what to say. Every word in my vocabulary was inadequate to describe the picture she made. Beautiful would be true, but not enough. She was grace and elegance, lovely and sexy at the same time. The luscious curves of her tits and ass combined with her clear, intelligent, grey eyes and her smooth, creamy skin, all wrapped in that amazing dress. She was mine. She had to be. I couldn’t let something this precious get away from me.

Lola’s low murmur brought me back to my senses, and I noticed Leigha’s open expression beginning to falter. She thought I didn’t like it. Clearing my throat, I said,

“We’ll take both of them. And we’d like to see a selection of daytime and cocktail dresses. Lingerie as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lola and her assistant disappeared, leaving me alone with Leigha. It had only been a few hours since I’d fucked her in the shower. It felt like an eternity. If she was a different women, I’d already be backing her into the dressing room, stripping off that $10,000 dress and fucking her from behind against the full length mirror. I’d let her keep on the fairytale shoes. It would be like fucking an angel. Having been in that pussy, I knew it would feel like fucking Heaven.

Sadly, Leigha was not that woman. Pushing her boundaries was one thing. I planned to do a lot of that. But in her heart, Leigha was a good girl. Trying to fuck her in what was essentially Lola’s office would not go over well. I resigned myself to waiting until we got back to the hotel. My original plan had been to take her to one of the high-end lingerie stores and play with her in the privacy of their dressing rooms. Not anymore. I didn’t want to wait. Lola’s selection was good enough. We could save the trip to Agent Provocateur for another day.

“Dylan?” I heard Leigha whisper. Turning to face her, I reached out for her hand. “Is it okay?” she asked.

I still had no idea what to say. Taking the easy way out, I closed the distance between us and took her face in my hands. Her lips were soft under mine, yielding sweetly to me as I kissed away her doubt. Not trusting myself, I kept my touch isolated to her face, holding her still as our kiss went wild.

I’d meant to reassure her, but once I had her taste it wasn’t enough. Her mouth, the tiny whimpers in her throat as my tongue tangled with hers, it all drove me to the edge. I couldn’t remember the last time a kiss was enough to get me this hard, this fast. I kept her there, teetering on her heels, her mouth feeding from mine, until the scuff of Lola’s shoe betrayed that we were no longer alone. I broke away and whispered in her ear,

“You’re more beautiful than I imagined a woman could be. Try this stuff on fast so we can get back to the Delecta and I can fuck you until you can’t walk.”

After a moment of silence, Leigha fell into me, her body shaking with giggles. She gasped for breath, her shoulders trembling, tits jiggling in the strapless bodice in a way that did not help my cock go soft. When she finally had herself under control, she whispered back,

“That is both the most romantic and the crudest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“If that was the crudest thing anyone has ever said to you, we’re going to have to expand your horizons.”

T
he glint
in his eye when he talked about expanding my horizons made my knees weak. Before I could think of what to say, Lola was ushering me back into the dressing room. The next hour was a whirlwind of rattling hangers, zippers, and quick trips into the lounge to show Dylan what I was wearing. Cocktail dresses, their fabric fine, colors dark and dramatic, each dress with shoes to match. Day dresses, not unlike the one I’d worn earlier in the day. My head spun. I lost my nerves about Lola seeing me in my underwear, giving in to her relentless urgings to try this and that. Dylan wanted us to move quickly, and it seemed Dylan got what he wanted.

I lost track of how many things I’d tried on or what Dylan liked. I never even saw most of the underwear. Lola had me try on one bra, made of the thinnest pale pink silk, before whisking it off and calling “thirty-six D” to her assistant. I caught sight of the letters ‘erla’ on the bra and knew it had to be La Perla. I swallowed hard. I had no idea what the dresses I’d tried on since the ball gown cost, but I knew about La Perla. I’d drooled over La Perla. Dylan was crazy to be spending this kind of money on a woman he’d never see again after this weekend.

I, on the other hand, was not crazy. Exchanging my body for a wedding date notwithstanding, I wasn’t a fool. He was a billionaire, and he wanted to shower me with a ridiculously expensive wardrobe. I wasn’t going to say no.

When I left him, I’d be walking away from the best sex of my life--amazing, life changing sex with a man who managed to be both domineering and sweet. Just the thought of him touching me got me wet. I knew dating other men after this would be even more of a letdown than dating had been before Dylan. That hadn’t exactly been anything special. At least I’d have an unbelievable wardrobe to console me.

Maybe there was a bright side to leaving Dylan so quickly. Eventually he’d show that he was an asshole. In my experience, most men did if I gave them enough time. A hot, brilliant, billionaire? It was too much to hope that he was as sweet and caring as he seemed. No, anything that seemed too good to be true always was. At least this way I’d be leaving before I saw the jerk hiding inside his perfect exterior.

We brought only the black and white dress and matching shoes back to the penthouse. Lola had arranged for the rest to be delivered later in the day. Dylan barely spoke on the ride back to the Delecta, his jaw tight, eyes on the road. I might have worried about his closed expression, but his hand on my leg, fingertips tracing circles on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, convinced me that he was just focused on getting home as fast as he could.

He held himself in check until we were behind the heavy doors of the penthouse. The second they shut, he tossed the dress to the floor and swung me around until my back hit the door. A breath later, his hands were under my dress, tearing off my panties. He lifted me, fingers gripping my ass as my legs wrapped around his waist. My head dropped back, thudding into the door as he filled me, the stretch of his cock more than welcome after wanting him all day.

It went fast, his face dropped into my neck, his breath against my skin, the pressure between my legs building with every thrust. I heard myself crying out his name as I came, the sound sobbing out as the pleasure overwhelmed me. I think Dylan came with me, but I wasn’t sure since he never really went soft.

Still inside me, he carried me back to the bed and lowered us down, pulling off my dress as we went. Needing to feel his skin on mine, I tore at his shirt until my breasts pressed to his warm chest. I reached for his face, wanting the connection of his mouth on mine. He gave me what I wanted, kissing me with hunger as he started fucking me again. I wouldn’t have thought I could come again so quickly. I would have been wrong.

Later, after drifting into sleep draped over Dylan, his hand possessively clamped on my ass, I woke to find myself alone in the bed. After a quick visit to the bathroom, I pulled on the button down shirt I’d torn off Dylan earlier and went looking for him. As he had that morning, he stood at the window, phone to his ear, this time bare-chested. Yum. When he wasn’t spending time with me, it seemed he was working. Catching sight of me in his shirt, his eyes heated.

He gestured to the room service cart in the center of the room. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but it felt like breakfast was days ago instead of hours. Lifting the lids on the trays, I saw a cheeseburger with waffle fries, a grilled salmon sandwich and fish tacos, all still steaming. They must have just been delivered. My stomach growled.

Dylan’s arms closed around me. “Hungry?” he asked, kissing the side of my mouth.

“Very,” I said, leaning into him. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“Don’t be. It’s my mission to wear you out.” I felt the heat hit my cheeks. He’d definitely done that. I was hoping that after we fueled up he’d be willing to do it again. “Which do you want?” He gestured to the food.

“All of it looks good,” I said.

“A little of everything?”

“That would be perfect.” He began dividing the plates. “Dylan?” I asked, nervous I was going to upset our cozy afternoon. He looked up at me, waiting, eyes narrowed as if he knew he wouldn’t like my question. “I need my purse back. I have to check my phone, see if my Mom called.”

“Then you just need your phone,” he said.

“Why don’t you want to give me my purse?” I asked, confused and a little weirded out.

“I don’t trust you yet,” he said, bluntly, his eyes meeting mine in a stare that left no room for compromise.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I protested.

“This morning, if you’d had your purse, would you have left me?”

I looked away. I would have. I would have run out of here as fast as I could and not looked back. Still, saying he didn’t trust me was harsh. Then again, clearly, I didn’t trust him either, or I wouldn’t have freaked when I saw the women’s clothes in his closet. We’d only known each other a day. Why was trust even an issue?

I could answer that question myself. Because we had a deal, and Dylan thought I was going to bail on my end. After my behavior that morning, I couldn’t really argue with his logic, even though keeping my purse was taking it a little far.

“Fine,” I said, not wanting to start a fight in the middle of our perfect day. “How about you just let me have my phone?” A long, intent stare. Then he nodded and set the plate he was holding back on the table.

“You eat. I’ll get your phone.”

He came back a moment later with my phone in his hand. I took it and clicked it on for a quick look. A few texts from a number I didn’t recognize, but no calls. I set the phone aside and sat down at my plate, waiting for him to join me.

“So, what do you do?” I asked, curious what had him on the phone all the time. Sitting across from him and his bare chest, my mind was trolling the gutter. I wanted to make an effort at an actual conversation before we fell on each other again. “I know you run the Delecta and oversee the rest of the company, but what does that mean?”

My job was interesting to me, but fairly routine. I was curious to know what being a billionaire CEO really meant. In between asking me questions about my own work, I found out that being Dylan meant a ridiculous amount of responsibility, making decisions that affected millions of dollars and thousands of people’s jobs every day. He took his company seriously, seeing it as a family legacy he shared with a brother and cousin, all of whom were based on the east coast. Kane Enterprises had holdings in a wide range of areas, from hospitality, to precious metals, to hospital equipment. How they stayed on top of everything was beyond my brain’s ability to process. I handled my clients’ sometimes-complicated financial affairs, and I did it very well. However, what Dylan did was another world of complexity. When I asked how he managed it all, he said, “I hire the best and I pay them very well. Never underestimate the value of a good team. Without my people, Kane Enterprises wouldn’t be what it is.”

He was making it hard to keep my heart distant. He could be overbearing and bossy - my missing purse case in point - but when he said things like this, I melted. So many men in his position would take all the credit. Instead, Dylan deflected it back to his employees. We sat there so long, asking questions and trading stories, I lost track of time. If my mother hadn’t called to ask if I knew where the rehearsal dinner was (I did), I might have missed forgotten it completely.

Looking at the time, I jumped out of my chair. “I have to start getting ready,” I said, eyeing his chest again. I’d been planning on wearing my hair up that night, since the black and white dress demanded it. But getting my long, thick hair curled and pinned in place would take some time. If I did what I wanted and got my hands all over him, we’d be late. Very late.

Dylan glanced at the clock on his phone. “Fine,” he said. “First, come here.” I did as commanded, mostly because I didn’t want to say no to him. When I was within reach, he yanked me close, wrapping his arms around me. His mouth hit in a rush of heat, his lips opening mine. I sank my hands in his hair, kissing him back, loving the taste of him, the consuming way he kissed me as if he wanted to absorb everything I was. He was addicting. All too soon, his arms loosened and he let me go. My knees wobbled.

“Go,” he said, turning me toward the bedroom. “Get ready for dinner before I call your mother and cancel.”

Blindly, I walked away, wondering how mad my Mom would be if we didn’t show. Mad. So mad her head would explode. And, as annoying as my sisters could be, I loved my Mom.

An hour later, I was showered, wearing a hotel robe, my hair dried and pinned in sections, ready for the curling iron. As I lifted the iron to wrap the first section of hair, my phone beeped with a text. I put the iron down and reached for my phone.

Don’t ignore me, you bitch
.

What? I stared at the number, then flipped back through the day’s texts. When I’d seen the unfamiliar number earlier, I’d assumed it was a mistake. The texts started at eleven that morning.

Call me
.

Where are you? Call me back
.

This isn’t over. Call me before I come find you.

And then the one from a minute ago:
Don’t ignore me, you bitch
.

They had to be a wrong number. No one I knew would send me texts like this, and I’d never seen this phone number before. It was local to Vegas, but so were millions of other numbers.

Only one person had ever talked to me this way, and he was gone. Long gone. Besides, I didn’t have anything Steven could want. He’d already cleaned out my savings. I didn’t have anything else for him to steal.

Putting the phone back down, I lifted the curling iron and got to work. I only had tonight and tomorrow night with Dylan. I wasn’t going to waste them worrying about some stranger’s drama that had ended up on my phone.

Doing my hair took almost an hour, but it was worth it. I’d curled each section, then twisted it up and pinned in in a pattern that looked like a mess to start, but ended up an elaborate pinwheel of twists and curls. I rarely had an excuse to get dressed up, but I’d had long hair my entire life, as well as an addiction to watching styling videos on YouTube. I’d been dying to try this one since I’d seen it months ago. It looked as good as I’d hoped.

Paired with the Oscar de la Renta dress and glittering gold heels, my elaborate hair and evening make-up looked exactly right. Hopefully, Dylan would agree. I couldn’t help feeling a little smug at the thought of what my bitchy sisters would say when they saw me. I wasn’t a skinny Minnie, but in this dress it didn’t matter. Even my critical eye thought I looked awesome.

On my way out the door, I glanced at my phone, considering. Lola had sent along a selection of evening purses. I needed one for my lip gloss, but I didn’t need my phone. Everyone who might call would already be there. As I reached for it, preparing to put it beside the bed, it beeped with another text.

Call me now, you stupid whore
.

Another beep. Then,

Don’t make me hunt you down, Leigha
.

A bolt of ice froze my spine as I sank down to sit on the side of the bed.

Whoever this was, they were after me.