by Alexis Angel
She smiles softly and walks to me.
She eyes the space, and I notice a sparkle in her eyes.
My nerves settle when I see her pleased expression, though it’s quickly replaced with my desire to rip that dress off her.
I need to calm the hell down. If I don’t, this dinner will be excruciating.
“Elsa.” I nod, remaining as cool and collected as I possibly can.
I gesture towards the table in the center of our private area, and she strides over to it.
“You look stunning,” I say, greedily taking in every inch of her.
“Thank you,” she replies curtly. I can tell my compliment makes her nervous.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I ordered before you got here. A bottle of their best Cabernet Sauvignon and two filets. You’re favorite.”
She looks up at me and purses her lips.
Ah, there we go. I smile at her, loving the fullness of her mouth and that expression specifically.
“You remembered?” she asks, surprised.
“I always remember how a woman likes her meat,” I wink at her.
She shakes her head and mockingly laughs. “And to think I thought you were being sincere.”
“Me, sincere? Angel, have you forgotten everything about me?”
I reach for the already opened wine bottle, thanks to the waitstaff, and pour two heavy glasses for the both of us.
She reaches for hers, almost immediately.
“That was the goal. It was in my best interest to forget most things about you.” She smirks teasingly and takes a large gulp of her wine. “Hmmm. It tastes delicious. Also, this veranda…” She pauses, looking around at it, amazement in her eyes. “It’s breathtaking.”
“I thought so myself. It’s rather fitting, given the circumstances.”
She tilts her head again and laughs unexpectedly.
“This,” her hands gestures in a circular motion, “does not reflect our circumstance. Who’d you pay to do it?”
“I have people. But tell me, how would the Angel decorate this space in reflection of our situation?”
She places her glass down and stares at me challengingly. It drives me crazy when she does this—test and question me.
Most girls would be drooling, probably already on their knees, thanking me for this affectionate, opulent display of flowers. Not to mention, the restaurant is five-star and has a month’s long waiting list.
But not Elsa. She must criticize me, forcing me to see another aspect or side that I didn’t notice. Or didn’t want to notice.
And this is just a goddamn dinner. Imagine a whole fucking relationship with her.
Though it’s one of main reasons how she can affect me so intensely.
She chuckles menacingly and brings her wine glass to her lips. Her eyebrows rise, and she leans back, crossing one leg over the other.
I’m surprised that dress has enough room for her to do that.
I lean forward, intrigued with what she is about to say.
“I see…brown, yellow, with tints of black and the occasional red.”
“That sounds hideous.” I grimace, unable to control my impulsive reaction.
“Well, that’s what our arrangement is…it resembles a shit show.” She smiles barely and sips her wine, feeling confident about her insult.
“Now, now. This—we—can’t be all that terrible.”
The waiter distracts us for a moment, pulling us from our conversation and placing our filets in front of us.
We cut into them in silence, exchanging a few pleasantries and compliments regarding the chef while we eat, finishing it rather quickly.
I order us another bottle, not wanting to get rid of this relaxed feeling and conversation.
We’re both finally feeling good, and the weird first-date jitters—despite this being far from our first date—has washed away.
“Tanner, I’ll admit, not everything about this is so terrible.”
I eye her up and down, concerned with what she really means by that. “Wait, are you admitting you’re wrong?”
I’m shocked. This might be a first.
She laughs loudly. “You’re funny. I’m never wrong. I’m just admitting that first impressions aren’t always indicative of the full picture.”
She moves closer to me, folding her hands on the table and straightening her shoulders—it’s Business Elsa time.
“I never trust first impressions. I only trust logic and reasoning.”
She rolls her crystal blue eyes, and a genuine smile spreads across her face, lighting it up.
I smile back, enjoying the sight. She’s pure magic.
“Not your gut? What does your gut tell you?” She says, relaxing a little.
“If I trusted my gut, my reputation as a gentleman would be tarnished.” I glare at her, then her lips, and inch my body closer to hers.
She shimmies her shoulders, and her cheeks blush.
“Gentlemanly reputation? Hardly,” she giggles and rolls her eyes yet again.
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard on it, and she swivels the red liquid around in her glass.
“If I did everything my body told me, we would be consummating our engagement on this table.”
Her smile fades, and her eyes fill with desire as she stares at me. Her lips part and her breathing shallows.
“Is that so? And how would that happen?” She asks, moving her hair to one shoulder. It’s her go to move when she is hot and bothered.
I lean closer and move our wine glasses out of the way. I reach for her hand and hold it in mine, massaging it gently with my thumb.
She stares down at my work and then looks back up at me. Almost begging me to kiss me.
“I can show you.”
Inches away, I can feel her breathe on me—it’s hot and tastes sweet.
I lean over…
“Look who it is! My favorite couple.”
Lis Langely appears out of fucking nowhere.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Elsa immediately retreats from me, taking her hand in her lap and interlocking it with the other. Now sitting straight up in her seat.
It’s as if she’s been chastised for doing something wrong.
I look at her, feeling a pinch of sadness and pain as I continue to reel from the sudden distance of our bodies.
No, Angel, everything about that was so right.
I stay as I was, leaning over the table, and turn my head towards our annoying pest.
“Ah, Lis. Can’t say it’s a pleasure.” I’m seething as I speak, and I place my hands underneath my chin, lifting it up at her.
“Now, why would the two feuding lingerie designers be together? In this luxurious and romantic spot?” She waves her hands around like a mime, gesturing towards things that make no sense.
“We’re hungry,” I say, nonchalantly.
“Are the two now lovebirds? Canoodling behind close doors? What will happen to their competing brands? Will they mesh as one and live happily-ever-after as a Pretty Little Angel or Dirty Little Vixen?” She continues to speculate, and I see Elsa cover her mouth, hushing a sudden burst of laughter.
“Clever, Lis,” she manages.
I shake my head and grab Elsa’s hand, forcing her from the table with me.
“Looks like we need to get going. Excuse us, Lis. Have fun bullshitting.” I wink at her, and maneuver Elsa and I through the crowded restaurant.
I spot our waiter on the other side of the dining room and stride towards him.
After taking care of the bill, making sure to show how much I appreciate the display and our service generously, we continue towards the exit.
“Tanner, what the hell? Where are you taking me?” Elsa demands.
I turn back to her, and grab ahold of her waist, pulling her against me.
“Follow my lead and trust me, angel.”
Chapter 7
Elsa
Trust him? Follow his lead?
That’
s fucking rich.
The last time I trusted Tanner—well, let’s just say, I’ve avoided doing it ever since. Nothing good ever happens once you put your trust in him to lead.
But I see no other way of getting out of this restaurant, so I do, albeit reluctantly.
Pulling me to him tightly and weaving through the crowds of people and waitstaff, it catches the attention of more than a few patrons.
Of course, he’s making a bigger scene than this needs to be.
He’s always been good at making a show out of something, including his asinine stunt that got us in this fucked up arrangement in the first place.
As we stroll by, some of the interested people are bold enough to point and gawk.
I roll my eyes and laugh. It’s amusing how little they care about looking like assholes.
Before we make our way out the exit, I see Lis at the other end of the restaurant—where we were less than a minute ago—typing away at her phone and smirking peevishly.
This will definitely be making the Chronicle tomorrow.
Maybe it’ll look better for us and our engagement—fake engagement, that is.
I try to recall everything that happened in the short hour or so after I arrived, but it all happened so quickly. This whole damn thing has been a whirlwind.
One minute, I’m inches away from him, ready to jump him, and the next, I’m blindsided by Lis.
Honestly, though, I’d never thought I’d say this, but thank god for Lis. Without her cockblock, more than just my hand would be on Tanner right now.
A heated tingle vibrates under my skin once I realize how close I was to consummating this engagement. I was almost panting and already dripping with desire for him.
Like, I was nearly begging him to touch me.
It’s fucking ridiculous how fast he can mess with me. He can unravel all the hard work I’ve done to distance myself from him with only a few words.
It’s pathetic, but I refuse to be a cliché. And like my lingerie, I’m not a worn-out trope.
So I’ll be damned if I fall for any of his charms again. I need to keep reminding myself that though he is my pretend fiancé, he is still really my enemy.
I’m hit with a gush of fresh air as we exit out the front door.
Fortunately, it slowly melts away the sugar-coating Tanner laid on thick tonight, with those goddamn lights and flowers.
It was a beautiful, romantic display, but not appropriate for what we are and what we agreed to be.
“Tanner, stop! Why are we still running?” I tug at his arm, wanting him to answer me.
But he doesn’t budge; instead, he keeps holding onto my hand, pacing forward.
Suddenly, he turns down a dark alley way on the side of the building.
He pushes me up against the wall and barricades me in, placing both arms on either side of me.
“What are you doing!?” I hit him on his hard chest.
He brings a finger to my lips in a shushing gesture, and I push him away.
“What the fuck, Tanner?” I scowl at him, now fuming.
Leading me down a dark alley is one thing, but then telling me to be quiet—I don’t take that lightly.
Don’t get me wrong, though, both are worthy of a slap.
“Be quiet. We’re hiding,” he looks down at me, and his eyes fall to my lips.
I writhe underneath his gaze, feeling an unexpected pulse of desire vibrate though my body.
I know I should protest and call him an ass, but with his body above me and his magnetic grey eyes staring, he dominates me.
It clouds all my better judgement.
Shit.
He moves closer to me, pinning me against the wall, and our breathing becomes erratic.
The heavy pants echo in the alley, and the anticipation thickens in the air around us.
My hands linger on his chest, browsing the hardness of his pecs and his abs, and I leisurely peel them off him.
I feel his muscles tense beneath me as I do.
But like the smart woman that I am, I place my hands behind my back away from him.
I promise, it was an innocent mistake. And I look up at him, with my best virtuous and ‘oops’ expression.
But what I’m met with shakes me to my core.
His eyes send a jolt of electricity straight to my cunt. They’re heated, intense, and dangerously erotic.
He bends his elbows, and lays his body on mine, our sensitive skin burning into each other.
I melt into the wall, grasping onto it, hoping that it’ll keep my weakened legs up.
My body reflexively quivers in response to his overwhelming presence.
I’m afraid of what will happen when I give in, but I’m also aching for the pleasurable release for when I do.
“I think this is a good hiding spot,” he whispers sensually, and his breath tickles my skin.
“Hiding? Don’t we want them to see us?” I ask, trying to taunt him but also genuinely curious.
I bend my elbows and push my chest forward, and I rock my hips against the wall, wanting the movement to relieve some of my built-up pressure.
He bites his lips and stares down at body, arousal and excitement flashing through his eyes.
Taking one hand, he grabs my waist and pins me even closer to him, our bodies now molding together.
I gasp faintly, not expecting a direct touch.
Instinctively, I grab onto his shoulders and spread my fingers across his broad and large muscles, feeling the crevice they create from their hardness.
Fuck, this is exhilarating.
“Oh, you’d like to give them a show?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting playfully and his eyes twinkling.
“Well, you are the best at that.” I smile and force myself to remain unaffected.
He feels so amazing, and every part of my body wants to give into my need for him—fall into him, touch him, and for heaven’s sake, let him touch me!
But I need to use my head.
My body can play tricks on me, clearly, but my wits have never failed me. At least, they haven’t yet.
He pulls away from me—painfully—but his eyes never veer from mine.
Without another word or a response, he grabs my hand and pulls me forward, putting a finger to his mouth to shush me again.
“Excuse me?” I screech. How many times is this man going to tell me to be quiet?
“Trust me.” He winks.
Fucking hell. Here we go again with that damn trust.
Before I can respond, we’re running towards the other end of the alley.
Reaching the opening, he peeps his head out to see if there are any cameras.
He nods towards the few paparazzi standing at the other end of the street, and I look to verify.
Yep, that’s them. They look like vultures, swarming around a dead carcass, preparing for their attack.
We casually make our way out to the sidewalk and pretend to act like any other pedestrian.
But they notice us seconds later, which I’ll blame on Tanner’s height, as it is unusual for an average person.
God, why does he have to be model-worthy attractive?
We’re able to manage a sizable head start, providing a decent buffer between us and the paps, but we still make a run for it.
He grabs my hand again, and we run together as the vultures scream and chase us.
“TANNER!”
“ELSA!”
“IS IT TRUE? ARE YOU LOVERS?”
“WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO DIRTY LITTLE ANGEL?”
“WHAT ABOUT PRETTY LITTLE VIXEN?”
Fucking Lis, she must’ve tipped them off already. She’s quick—quicker than a fucking jackrabbit in heat, I swear.
We swerve in and out of traffic, dodging cars and slow ass walkers.
Adrenaline surges through me, and the excitement of our cat-and-mouse game makes me giddy. I find myself smiling like a kid on Christmas morning as we weave through the city.
Again, I know I’m
being ridiculous, but it’s surprisingly fun! It’s most likely the intrigue and deceitfulness that adds something extra to this adventure.
I feel myself getting lost in it, and I flashback to a time when Tanner and I had this much fun.
Or to when I had this much fun.
Even if this isn’t something we or I have done regularly—or at all for that matter—it’s a feeling that I know I can easily become addicted to.
Entering Central Park, we run along the path and make our way into a hidden, more obscure spot.
Finding a shaded bench—though, really they’re all shaded at night—we sit down and try to catch our breath.
I clutch my chest, feeling more winded than I should be, and start to laugh.
Maybe I should do more cardio.
He looks back at me, his elbows on his knees, heavily breathing.
“Having fun, angel?” he smiles, and I smile back, feeling free at the moment.
“Who would’ve thought?” I say, slowly regaining my composure and breath.
“I think we’ve gotten away from them, though.” I observe our surroundings, making sure my instincts are correct.
“No, we didn’t,” he says in all seriousness. “Don’t look, but he’s to the left, behind the large, overgrown bush.”
I avoid looking directly at the photographer as he instructed, but I still notice a shadow behind the bush, moving ever so slightly.
“He has no idea that we can see him,” Tanner whispers, and a small chuckle escapes him.
He must be having fun, too.
Slowly, he leans back and turns to me, his face free of any readable expression, though there is a hint of mischief in his stare.
“Do you trust me?”
I roll my eyes—extra hard this time. I’m getting really annoyed at him asking me this.
I open my mouth to object, but he grabs my face, cradling it in his hands, and kisses me passionately.
I tense, instinctively wanting to push him away, yet my need for him goes wild, and I give into my craving.
He breaks our kiss and thumbs my lips, staring at them.
“Do you, Elsa?”
Going against everything I’ve been fighting, I rely on instinct. I nod my head yes, unable to form words, and his lips crash back into mine.
He slides closer to me and moves a hand down my curves, angling my knees in his direction.
His hand stops at the hem and then begins to gradually slide underneath my dress.
