Hot Mess (Messy Love Series Book 1)

by R. Linda

  The makeup artist ushered me to one bed and Wren to the other before placing a divider between the two beds.

  “Strip,” she said with her strong accent.

  “Excuse me?” Wren gasped, and I chuckled before removing my jeans and shirt. I’d been through this enough times to know what was expected, particularly from someone as prominent as Giovanni. He had clauses in his contracts that gave him full control over hair, make-up, and personal grooming. I’d read the contract and it stated very specifically that everything would be taken care of the day of the shoot.

  “Strip,” the makeup artist repeated again.

  “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?” Wren asked. “Or maybe tell me your name at least.”

  I barked out a laugh.

  “She’s a funny one.” Giovanni chuckled. “This is Innes. She doesn’t speak much English, so you’ll have to forgive her, caro.”

  Wren sighed, and I heard the rustling of her clothes as she stripped too.

  We received the full treatment. We were primped and preened, waxed and plucked until everything was perfect in Giovanni’s eyes.

  “Oh my gosh. You do this for a living?” Wren’s voice called from the bed on the other side of the divider. “Ahh,” she screamed before I could answer. She hissed out a breath and panted, “I think you just ripped my vagina off.”

  I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing, suddenly grateful I was a male and only needed to make sure my chest was smooth. That was until Luciana, Innes’s helper, pointed to my boxer shorts and signaled for me to drop them.

  I shook my head. She nodded.

  I broke out into a cold sweat. Guessed that’s what I got for finding Wren’s discomfort amusing.

  Maybe she’d just tidy things up. That I could handle. That I’d done before when I modeled for an underwear company. I closed my eyes because I couldn’t watch.

  “Wren,” I choked out, barely able to talk. “Tell me a story.”

  “Kind of busy over here being mutilated,” she bit out.

  “And I’m about to be. Come on, I need a distraction. Right now.” I peeled open my eyes. Luciana stood beside me stirring the wax pot. Shit. “Please.”

  “What do I get out of it?” Wren called thoughtfully.

  “Anything you want. Just distract me.” I squeezed my eyes shut again and covered my junk with my hands as if that’d stop the sadist from torturing me.

  Wren was silent. Luciana had stopped moving beside me. Yet I was too afraid to open my eyes. I held my breath and waited. Why was nothing happening? Had they decided not to go through with it? Material—a towel, maybe—was draped over my hips and I flinched on instinct thinking it would be hot wax.

  The scent of strawberries and coconut filled my nose. Wren? And warm hands cupped my face before her soft lips captured mine. Her breath was hot as her fingers slid into my hair, pulling and tugging on the strands. My hands found her waist through the silky robe she was wearing and pulled her as close as I could without physically dragging her on top of me.

  She was the perfect distraction.

  I barely noticed when Luciana removed the towel from my waist. Didn’t even flinch when she covered my junk in hot wax. All I could focus on was Wren’s taste and how desperately I wanted to slip my hands inside her robe, and then...

  “Motherfucker!” I tore my mouth away from Wren and screamed. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

  Not even Wren’s perfect mouth and sweet taste was enough to distract me from the fact my balls had just ripped from my body. I sucked in a breath and grit my teeth as the sadist spread more wax.

  “God no.” I cringed, and Wren laughed softly. I opened my eyes and was pleasantly surprised to find her hovering over me, smiling. I wrapped a hand around the back of her and pulled her down to me while Luciana continued extracting my manhood from my body one strip at a time.

  Wren

  I WAS BEAT. Physically and mentally exhausted. After spending the entire day in Giovanni’s studio being waxed bare from head to toe, not to mention the makeup and hairstyle changes; my scalp hurt, my face burned. All I wanted to do was sleep for a week, but we still had to get back to our hotel.

  The photoshoot was long and stressful. My art looked beautiful on display in the background, though. Giovanni had it set up to look like an art gallery. Tate looked like a god modeling the suits. He looked every bit the art connoisseur posing in the mock gallery.

  My heart beat out of my chest, and I could envision my art on display in my own gallery one day.

  The shoot itself was harder than it looked. The clothing changes, the ridiculous poses. Tate was a pro, though. He didn’t complain once. He twisted and turned and contorted his body any way Giovanni asked him to. He smiled. He scowled. He smoldered.

  Holy cow did he smolder.

  It was a look I’d never get out of my head. The photographer had told him to make love to the camera. I snorted at the incredibly cliché line, but Tate’s eye locked onto mine, and I just about burst into flames. There was no making love to the camera, but I felt it in his gaze.

  He was making love to me with his eyes.

  And the photographer and Giovanni loved it.

  That was the moment they decided to shoot me with Tate.

  I was nervous enough just putting on Giovanni’s gorgeous designs, let alone attempting to pose and look sexy. I couldn’t smolder or make love to the camera like Tate could.

  I just looked constipated.

  Having Tate there helped, though. He eased my fears, talked me through it, had fun with me, and before I knew it, we were laughing and joking and not at all paying attention to the photographer’s request, but Giovanni ate it up.

  “Pure gold,” he said as he walked us out to the driver who was waiting for us. “You two are magic together.” Then he shook Tate’s hand and whispered in his ear.

  Tate nodded and smiled. “I will,” he said and stood back for Giovanni to kiss my cheeks.

  “You are an angel.” He released me and opened the door for me to slide into the car.

  Once I was in, I slumped back in my seat and waited for Tate to climb in next to me. I yawned and rested my head on Tate’s shoulder.

  “So, no exploring tonight?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding?”

  He lifted his shoulder. “No.”

  “I want to sleep for eternity after that. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Used to it I guess.”

  I stifled another yawn.

  “Get some sleep,” he said, and he didn’t need to tell me twice. I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep before we’d even left Giovanni’s incredibly long driveway with Tate’s fingers tracing circles on my knee.

  I woke to darkness. Sitting up, I felt around me for Tate. I was no longer resting on his shoulder. Nor was I being jostled around in a moving vehicle. I was in a bed. Reaching over, I fumbled around until I found the light switch.

  I was in my room.

  When did that happen? How did that happen? I didn’t remember getting out of the car or walking through the lobby.

  Had Tate carried me?

  I located my phone and checked the time. Two a.m. It was too late to call him now, wasn’t it?

  Yes. It was definitely too late.

  As I placed my phone down on the nightstand, I saw the notification for a text message. Pulling it open, I read the message from Tate.

  Tate: Text me when you wake up

  I couldn’t text now. I didn’t want to wake him.

  I stared at my phone. Chewed my lip.

  Got up and grabbed a glass of water.

  Walked out onto the balcony and looked up at the stars in the cloudless sky.

  It was a beautiful, clear night. Still warm.

  “You didn’t text.” I jumped out of my skin at the sound of Tate’s voice.

  “I didn’t want to wake you.” I turned and walked over to the barrier between us.

  He was sitting there, shirtless again, in nothing but gray swea
tpants and a whiskey glass on the table beside him.

  “I’m awake.”

  “I can see that.”

  “You should have messaged.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked back inside. If he wanted a message so bad, I’d give him one.

  Me: I’m awake.

  Tate: Thank you.

  Me: Happy now?

  Tate: Yes.

  I grabbed my pizza t-shirt and got changed.

  Tate: How was your sleep?

  I poured myself a wine and settled back onto my bed to respond.

  Me: Wonderful. Did you carry me to my room?

  Tate: Yes.

  Me: Why didn’t you wake me?

  Tate: You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.

  Me: Thank you, and thanks for today. I appreciate it. And I’ll never be able to repay you.

  Tate: I can think of a few things.

  Me: Like what?

  Tate: Why don’t you come over and find out.

  Were we flirting? This felt a lot like flirting.

  Tate: ;-)

  Me: Are you flirting with me, Tate Montgomery?

  Tate: Do you want me to be?

  Me: Yes.

  Tate: Then I am.

  Me: Okay.

  Tate: Okay. That’s it? That’s your response?

  Me: Fine…

  I thought about it for a few seconds before typing something out.

  Me: What are you wearing?

  Tate: Ha Ha Ha. Nothing but a towel.

  I knew that was a lie.

  Me: Prove it.

  I sipped my wine and stared at the screen. The three dots bounced around then stopped. I waited. Crap. Maybe I pushed things too far. The three dots bounced around again, and I sucked in a breath.

  Tate: (download image)

  I bit my lip and tapped the screen to open the image.

  There was Tate laying on his bed, wearing…

  Nothing.

  But.

  A.

  Towel.

  Holy smokes. He was all firm abs and large… Was he naked under that towel?

  Like a creeper, I zoomed in.

  He was.

  He was naked.

  At least it looked like that.

  I swallowed. My throat was suddenly dry and the wine wasn’t enough.

  Tate: Your turn?

  Me: My turn for what?

  Tate: What are you wearing?

  I glanced down at my pizza t-shirt and smirked.

  Me: Nothing but a t-shirt.

  Tate: Prove it.

  Tate

  MAYBE I PUSHED too far. I don’t know what came over me, but I wanted to see how far she’d take this flirting thing. I needed to know if she was feeling things I was feeling.

  The tension.

  The attraction.

  Desire.

  I wanted her. Did she want me too? The way her eyes focused on me whenever I was around said yes. The way she licked her lips and eye-fucked me every time I had my shirt off said yes.

  Her kisses screamed yes.

  I waited for a response from her, but none came. At least not in the form of a text message or photo like I’d hoped. The second she asked me to prove what I was wearing, I ran inside, stripped out of my clothes and wrapped a towel around my waist, careful to hide my growing erection, because just fucking talking to her turned me on.

  I was so screwed.

  There was a soft knock at my door.

  I jumped off the bed and glanced down at my towel. There was no hiding that fucker now. Not unless I wanted to hold a cushion over my crotch.

  I opened the door, and Wren was standing there in nothing but her pizza t-shirt that said ‘eat me’.

  She raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. “Happy?”

  I smirked and snaked my arm around her waist, pulling her into me and into the room before kicking the door closed behind us. “I am now.”

  Wren laughed as I backed her into the door. “Tate,” she whispered, her fingers moving into my hair.

  “I didn’t expect you to knock on my door.” I pressed my face into her neck.

  “Do…Do you want me to leave?” Her voice trembled.

  “Fuck no.”

  “This is… Is this…” She stopped talking as I pressed my teeth in her neck softly. “A bad idea?”

  “No,” I growled into her neck as she arched into me. “But the ball’s in your court.”

  We were enveloped in darkness with a single flick of the switch.

  The usually confident, bold, carefree Wren that I had come to love was gone. In her place was this new insecure, timid, and anxious Wren that I didn’t recognize.

  What happened to the woman that hung from the rafters in her underwear and poledanced for fun? Or the woman that didn’t give a damn what the skinny-ass models thought of her sexy-as-fuck fuller figure in a swimsuit. The woman whose best comeback was ‘I hope you step on a Lego’. Where was the woman who wanted her cake and ate it too while sticking her middle finger up at anyone that dared say anything? The one who saved the pizza shop in her phone as lover, and me as bastard? The woman with no filter on her yet refused to curse.

  Where was the woman I fell in love with?

  A breath trembled. The sound almost deafening in the dark. And I couldn’t tell whether it was mine or hers. My nerves quaked as the realization sunk in.

  I was in love with Wren Keller.

  The wild, crazy woman with a doll’s head cookie jar for a bank account.

  She was fucking sexy, in the least sexiest way possible. She snorted when she laughed. She always seemed to have spaghetti sauce on her clothes. Well, more likely pizza sauce. She was an enigma that I was desperate to understand.

  She was incredible. Beautiful. Funny. Smart. And more talented than any of the stuck-up rich fuckers around here gave her credit for. Her methods were madness, but the results she yielded were phenomenal, and I was…

  In.

  Love.

  With.

  Her.

  I’d never loved anyone before except my parents. Rachel was a charade from the get-go. I’d never had a serious girlfriend or someone that I could trust. Rely on. Depend on. Someone I couldn’t wait to see and spend all my time with.

  Wren was that person.

  Most days I found myself staring out the window looking at the pool house hoping to catch a glimpse of her beautiful smile. Her gorgeous face. Her sexy ass in her leggings or lace underwear.

  I dragged my hands down her sides, the heat from her body warming me through, and suddenly my nerves were shot.

  She was everything.

  Everything.

  And I wanted to be worthy of her.

  My hands brushed her hips, tickled the skin across the bottom of her stomach as I peeled her t-shirt over her head. I didn’t even know if this was what she wanted, but when she failed to stop me, I continued letting my hands trail across her shoulders and down her back, pulling her closer to me.

  Our bodies brushed when I leaned forward to switch the light on. Her arms crossed over her chest. And she was staring at the ground.

  “Tate,” Wren gasped before flicking the light off again. Insecurity was getting the better of her. I knew her better than that, or at least I hoped I did. She wasn’t insecure. She was confident and proud.

  And that was who I wanted right then.

  That was who I fell in love with.

  “Fuck, no.” I flicked the lights again. “They stay on.”

  Her eyes darted around the room as if looking for an escape, before settling on my face.

  I dipped my head and pressed a kiss to her collarbone. Her body shifted, and I knew she was reaching for the lights again, so I grabbed her waist and spun her around, walking her to the center of the room. “Lights stay on.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. You’ve done nothing but tease and taunt me with that smart mouth since the day I moved in.” I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip. “And
your body, your smile, these curves.” I ran my hands down her waist and around her hips. “This ass.” I squeezed her cheeks and pulled her against me. She gasped and used her hands on my shoulders to brace herself. “You’ve strutted around in swimsuits, hung your goddamn lacy thongs from the ceiling, pole danced in nothing but those thongs, my t-shirt and a pair of stilettos. You’ve eaten pizza for breakfast while doing yoga. Downward dog is my favorite pose by the way.” Her eyes widened at my admission.

  “How long have you been watching me?” she asked.

  “I’ve enjoyed watching you work out in the mornings since that first time I walked in on you with your ass in the air. The pole dancing was a one-time thing. I came into the basement looking for something, but you were there. Fucking stunning in my shirt. So, you do not get to be self-conscious and shy on me now.”

  “But…” She was shutting down. Pulling into herself, and I didn’t want that.

  “Wren. I’ve watched you for months. This isn’t you.”

  “That’s because I didn’t know you were watching. And you weren’t waiting for me to get naked.”

  I grinned. “Well, I always hoped you’d suffer a nip-slip or something.”

  “Tate,” she scolded and slapped me across the chest.

  “It’s true. I’ve been dying to see what you’ve been hiding under all this lace.” I cupped her breasts and dragged my thumbs across her nipples. They tightened beneath the flimsy fabric as her head dropped to my shoulder, and she took a shaky breath.

  Grasping her chin between my finger and thumb, I tilted her face up to mine, and the conflict in her eyes was jarring. She was fucking nervous. And she had no reason to be. She was beautiful. Every part of her.

  I brought her hand to my chest. “My heart is beating a million beats a minute. I’m so fucking nervous.”

  “You are?” She gasped, arching into me slightly as I reached around and unfastened her bra, letting it drop to the floor. “Why?”

  “Because you have my stomach in knots.”

  Her soft hand splayed across my chest and her fingers tapped lightly against my skin in time with the rhythm of my heart.