Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
She turns to me with a smile. Holds the sides of her dress. Twirls.
Her gown spins with her. The skirt is straight. It hugs her ample hips and just barely flares at the knee.
She stops. Raises an eyebrow, challenging me.
"You clean up nice."
"Don't worry," she says to the woman helping her pull dresses, "that's his idea of a compliment."
The woman, Bree, our long-time stylist, shoots me a warm smile. "I've known Liam a long time."
"How unfortunate for you," Briar says.
"Do you need me to pull a tie, Mr. Pierce?" She looks to me.
Briar raises a brow. Really, off your game today.
She's right. I forgot to put on a fucking tie. How is that possible? I've got ten years of boarding school training. Another half a dozen of corporate career.
Some guys complain about the monkey suit, but I don't mind. It's not as comfortable as jeans, but it serves its purpose in crafting an image.
Perception is everything.
I know that.
I know how to do this. I know how to convince people I'm a certain person who wants certain things.
Why is my heart thudding against my chest?
"Are you wearing that tonight, Ms. West?" she asks.
"Do I need something this fancy?" Briar asks me.
"If you want to outdress Adam and Danielle," I say.
Briar shakes her head. "I want to convince her to go dancing." She turns to Bree. "The short ivory dress. Since I can't wear it to the wedding festivities."
"Ah, I know just the tie." Bree beams. "I'll give you two a minute. Fifteen, to be specific." She winks at me. Use them wisely slash make it fast if you're fucking because I don't want to walk in on that.
She exits quietly.
Leaving the two of us alone.
Briar holds out her hand, asking me to help her off the podium. "I could do it in my boots. But these—" she pulls up the dress with her free hand, showing off a pair of silver sandals.
Her fingers brush my palm. Her hand closes around mine.
I try to hold her steady, but she still stumbles.
Lands in my arms.
She looks up at me awkwardly. "I guess we should get used to this."
"We should." She swallows. "And we still have fourteen minutes."
Right. "We need to practice."
"We do."
"Are you ready? Or do you need a minute?"
Chapter Six
Liam
Briar's grey eyes fix on me. Her fingers curl into my suit jacket.
Her nails are that same shade of wine red.
I still want to drink every drop. Feel her hands on my cheek. My back. My cock.
Shit.
The mental image refuses to leave my brain.
Blood rushes south.
Not the time.
So not the time.
I tell my cock to cool it. But the motherfucker doesn't listen to me.
"Let me change first." She releases me. Steps backward. Motions to the dressing room. "I'll be two minutes."
"Only leaves twelve."
"I need eleven to convince myself you're not the most annoying person of all time."
"It's going to be a challenge, yeah." I push an exhale through my teeth. Channel cooling thoughts.
"Actually." Briar turns so her back is to me. "Can you unzip me?"
Fuck me. "Sure."
"Thanks." She rolls her shoulders. Brushes a purple strand behind her ears. Her hair is cropped short. At the nape of her neck.
One of those trendy styles that follows the line of her jaw. Keeps her long neck on display.
"How many times have you done this?" She presses a hand to her chest, holding her dress in place.
I find the zipper. Pull it down her back as gently as possible. The sides of the dress spill apart. Leave her long, elegant back on display.
"Thanks." She steps into the dressing room.
The lock clicks.
Her dress hits the floor.
She slips out of her silver sandals. Into the boots she was wearing this morning. The heeled combat boots she wears everywhere.
The image forms in my mind immediately: Briar, against the wall, her legs wrapped around my waist, her wine red nails digging into my skin.
Fuck.
I scan the room for something, anything, to distract me. Mirrors. Closed doors. Ivory walls. Pink details.
All feminine and sweet. The opposite of Briar's style. Of her room. There's nothing soft and sweet about the wine red sheets on her twin bed.
Fuck, I need to see her naked in those sheets.
Tangled in my sheets.
The white cotton. The black silk. That perfect shade of wine.
That's what I need. New sheets. For her. Only her.
My thoughts evaporate as Briar steps out of the dressing room.
She's in a snug white dress. A one-shoulder thing, cut just above her knees, hugging her lush hips like it was made for her.
"You look fucking amazing," I say.
"That's one of your better compliments." She takes another step toward me.
"You like it?"
"The dress? I picked it out."
"Wearing designer?"
"It's a local designer." She smooths the stiff fabric. "Still out of my normal price range. But not—"
"Clashing with your ethics?"
"You pay attention."
"I like watching your lips move."
She half-smiles. "You don't fool me."