Wild Temptation (18 page)

“Okay,” I say, breaking the tense silence. I screw the top back on my mascara. “I’m ready. Where are we going first?”

“Seraphina Bridal,” Dayton replies without missing a beat. Our previous conversation is tucked away. Both of us know better than to push each other on sensitive subjects.

“Then let’s go.” I give Angus a scratch on the head and follow Day down to the parking lot. Her annoyingly clean, white BMW stands out from the myriad of dirty cars around her, and I see her cast a glance at mine.

“Baby needs a clean.” She gets in her car, and I pull open the passenger’s side door.

“You know,” I say, sitting in the car, “your car would look really good with some mud on it.”

“Dirty my car, Liv, and I’ll dirty your ass.”

I laugh as she pulls out. The easiness is back, even if she is dragging me to ten stores.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for dress shopping—finding her dress was the single best day out of all of this planning crap—but I can’t help but feel that ten stores is a little excessive. I’ll probably find one in three.

We arrive at Seraphina Bridal and enter the store. My eyes are assaulted by a range of puffy, white marshmallow wedding dresses and bridesmaid dresses that resemble a stick of cotton candy. A quick look tells us that this is a no-go.

We leave as quickly as we came and move on to the next. By the time we reach the fourth store, I haven’t tried a single thing on. None of them seem right. They’re too short, too blocky, the neckline isn’t right, the skirt cut is wrong… I’m starting to think that ten stores isn’t all that ridiculous.

Thankfully, this store looks more promising. I immediately zone in on a floor-length, mermaid-style dress. The pale pink is the perfect shade and the bow that sits beneath the bust isn’t too much. It’s simple and elegant.

“Try it,” Dayton squeals.

I’ve never heard her squeal in my whole life. This wedding thing is, quite frankly, making me a little scared of her. One minute, she’s Bridezilla. The next, she’s all excited bride-to-be. It’s giving me a headache.

Good thing I love the panties off her.

I slink into the dress in the fitting room. Reaching around, I tug the zipper up halfway, but past that, it won’t budge. “Can you zip me up?”

She pushes open the door and gasps. “Oh, Liv! It’s perfect.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can you zip me up now?”

She rolls her eyes but pulls the zipper up to the top. She’s right. It’s perfect. It needs taking up an inch at the bottom and pulling in at the waist, but those things are easily altered.

“This one. This one!” She claps her hands and grabs the tag. She winces but shrugs a shoulder and undoes the zipper.

“You winced.” Gold star for stating the obvious, Liv.

“I’m still adjusting to Aaron’s…ease of spending,” she says uncertainly.

“We don’t have to get this dress.” I grab the price tag. Two thousand dollars? Holy shit! “Okay, we definitely don’t have to get this dress.”

“No, we do.” She sighs. “Aside from the fact this dress is fucking perfect for you, I was given a preapproved list of wedding boutiques.” She purses her lips.

A bubble of laughter bursts from me. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish. He gave me six stores to find you a bridesmaid dress. I added the other four. He said, and I quote, ’Baby, I don’t give a shit how much you spend on a fucking bridesmaid dress. What matters to me is that you have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of—regardless of the cost. So go to these stores and shop up a storm with Liv. And don’t come back until you have the whole fucking thing sorted out.’”

“That’s adorable in a demanding kind of way.”

She scowls. “And then he added, ‘And book a wax while you’re out.’”

She leaves me in the fitting room to get dressed again. I laugh into my hands. I can’t think of anyone better for Dayton than Aaron. Then again, they were always made for each other. Put two strong-willed people together and sparks will fly.

A bit like me and Tyler.

Except our sparks are very, very sexual.

I join her at the counter as she buys the dress. Since her dress is being handmade in Paris, she’s getting it delivered to her apartment. Then she is forwarding the package onto a seamstress for fittings.

Why the hell she can’t just give it to the seamstress in the first place, I don’t know.

“You found one then.”

I turn at Tyler’s voice. “You’re like a little jack-in-the-box, aren’t you? Just keep on fucking popping up.”

He laughs. “Aaron asked me to see if you were sticking to his list.” He looks at Dayton and raises and eyebrow. “And believe me, next time I’m going to tell him what to do with his list. This is the fifth bloody store I’ve been in.”

“Tell my darling fiancé I’ve stuck to his list and, if he doesn’t believe me, to check with his accountant.” Dayton smiles at him sweetly. “And also inform him I’m going to get the wax he requested, and I’m taking Liv with me. Right after we go lingerie shopping.”

We’re going lingerie shopping?

“You’re going lingerie shopping?” Tyler’s question might be directed at Dayton, but his eyes are on me.

“Did I or did I not just say that, Tyler?” She sighs. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going. I’ve had quite enough of you Stone men for the afternoon.”

I chew my lip to hide my smile. Tyler follows us from the store, and as Dayton gets in her car, he tucks something in my back pocket.

“Make sure it’s blue.”

I spin around to ask him what the hell he means by that, but he’s already halfway down the street and getting into his car. I dig my hand into my back pocket and pull out two fifties.

He just gave me money to buy lingerie. In the middle of downtown Seattle.

I get in the car, the money still in my hand.

Dayton glances at it. “Did he just give you that to buy lingerie?”

“Blue lingerie, if you want to be specific.” My jaw tightens.

“Wait. You’re not dating.”

“Correct.”

“So why is he giving you money for underwear?”

“That’s a very good question.” I tuck it inside my purse—in the back lining. There isn’t a chance in hell I’m spending his money on lingerie.

I’m all for him requesting what I wear. I’m all for him being completely specific. If he’s going to fuck me within an hour.

This, however, crosses a line for me. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m, in his words, his bitch. And that doesn’t give him the right to shove two fifty-dollar bills in my back pocket and demand I buy blue lingerie.

You know what? I think I feel like white underwear today.

I’m sore.

The skin above my vagina feels like it’s been massaged with sandpaper. And don’t even get me started on the skin by my butt. Goddamn stupid waxes.

I’d give it up if it didn’t make it nice down there.

I open the Victoria’s Secret bag lying on my bed and pull out the white bra, thong, and suspender belt set. A smile, not quite nice and not quite bitchy, stretches across my face. I strip off my clothes and shimmy into the set, adding the white stockings I wore for the shoot with Dayton.

He already said that he hates white. He’s about to see me in head-to-toe white.

I stand in front of my mirror and snap a picture. Adding it to a text message, I type,
Lingerie shopping was a success.

I drop my phone facedown and change again, this time into sweatpants and a tank top. The heating is on high in the apartment, so despite the rain and cold winds currently battering my windows, I can pretend I’m in the Bahamas if I close my eyes and try hard enough.

White?
is Tyler’s response.

I assumed I was spending your money on blue. Since I didn’t spend your money, I got white.

Why didn’t you spend my money?

Because we weren’t in bed.

What difference does that make?

Last I knew, your control doesn’t stretch to outside Bria’s Bridal Boutique in downtown Seattle. Prick.

My phone is quiet after that. I get Angus some food and a scratch on the head—to which I’m rewarded with a rumbly purr—and make myself a mug of hot chocolate. With marshmallows and cream, because I’m in that kind of annoyed mood.

I settle on the couch with my mug and switch The Big Bang Theory on. When it’s raining outside and men are being assholes, you just need a bit of Sheldon in your life. If only to remind you that even geeks can be a bit of a dick now and then.

When the episode finishes, I decide that I’m not quite geeked out and put the DVD box set on. I’m on episode four, with Angus lying on my stomach, asleep, when my buzzer goes. I have half a mind to ignore it, but I don’t.

I deposit my now-grumpy cat onto the sofa and pick up the phone. “Uh, hello?”

“Delivery for Miss Olivia Warren?”

I’m not waiting for anything… “Come on up.” I let the guy in and wait by the door.

He steps out of the elevator, and the logo on his sweater is of a local private courier company. I frown, sign for the package, and walk back into the apartment. I set it on my kitchen table and study it. The box is plain aside from my name scrawled on it.

Tentatively, I open it and push the tissue paper aside. And I stare right at a fucking blue lingerie set.

Close your eyes, Liv. Deep breaths. Deep brea—

Fuck this shit. I shove my feet in my Uggs and tie my hair in a knot on top of my head, barely stopping to grab a zipped sweater before swiping my car keys and flying down the stairs. That assuming bastard. That annoying, assuming, forceful bastard.

I call Dayton and switch it to hands-free, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Miss me already?”

“Fuck off. Do you know where Tyler is?”

“Already? Really, Liv.”

“Oh, believe me. He’s about to get fucked. But not in the way he’s hoping.” I grind my teeth together. “Well?”

“He’s at our place. Do you want to speak to him?”

“I will be in approximately five minutes.” I hang up and turn in the direction of their apartment.

By the time I arrive in the building’s underground parking lot, it’s been fifteen minutes, not five, I’ve beeped my horn ten times, flipped someone off twice, and cussed more times than I care to count.

I jab the code for Aaron’s private elevator in and get in. The ride is quick, as if it’s in tune with my anger. When we reach the top floor, I push open the apartment door and storm in.

Tyler’s leaning against the bar, laughing at something. The smile drops from his face when he sees me. “Liv?”

“Who the fucking hell do you think you are?” I walk up to him and shove his chest. “What, I don’t do what you want so you decide you’re going to make me do it anyway?”

“Whoa, calm down, babe.”

“No. I won’t calm down, Tyler. I don’t have to do anything you fucking tell me to because that’s not what we agreed.”

He grabs my wrists and stills me. “Don’t you think we should have this conversation in private?”

“Why?” I challenge him. “It’s not like they don’t know we’re fucking. Although they might be surprised to know just how much of an assuming asshat you are!” I snatch my wrists back.

“Okay. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Liv. It was a present. A gift. Okay?”

“Actually, I think you’re the one who’s got the wrong end of the stick. You buy a girlfriend, fiancée, wife, or someone you’re trying to romance gifts. You don’t buy them for no-strings. The only thing you buy for no-strings is fucking condoms.”

He rubs his hand down his face. “Bloody hell. You’re impossible.”

“I’m impossible? Says the one who’s crossing lines.”

“Crossing lines?”

I take his hundred dollars from my pocket, thankful I thought to grab it when I got my keys, and slap it into his hand. “Crossing lines. Crossing fucking rivers, Tyler. Keep it and go fuck yourself next time you feel so inclined.”

Leaving him, Dayton, and Aaron staring after me, I walk out the same way I came in. Quickly and in a loud burst. This time, though, instead of yelling, it’s the slamming of the apartment door.