by Alexa Wilder
The change hadn’t hit me until she’d tried to leave that morning. At the sight of her, teary eyed and edging for the door, panic had seized my chest. Fuck that. I never panicked, not over business, not over my life. Not the time Axel, Sam, and I were caught in a flash flood camping in the desert. And not ever over a woman.
Yet there I’d been, commanding her to stay while my heart pounded at the thought that she’d walk out. What the hell was wrong with me? Leigha was different; I’d figured that out. And she was a seriously hot fuck. No question, the best I’d had despite her lack of experience—or maybe because of it, but it didn’t matter. She was just a woman. There were thousands of those, beautiful and available, right outside my front door.
Why was this one so important? She thought I was a cheater? Fine, then get out. That’s what I should have said. Instead, I’d soothed her, kissed her, and taken her to breakfast. All the while refusing to give her back her purse. Keeping her purse was edging into stalker territory. She didn’t need her wallet since I was paying for everything. Ditto on her keys, since we were taking my car. They were all excuses. Stealing a woman’s purse and holding it hostage to keep her from leaving was nuts.
That brought me back to everything being upside down. Normally it was a challenge to scrape these girls off. I’d trapped Leigha so she couldn’t leave me. Because I needed time for what? To fuck her until I got her out of my system? Or to convince her to stay?
19
Leigha
I’d love to say that seeing my sisters’ jaws drop at the sight of me didn’t give me a rush. To say that I was mature and confident all on my own, without the dress and jewelry, without Dylan on my arm. That I didn’t need to feel, for just one night, like I had the upper hand after years as the butt of their jokes. But I’d be lying. I’m not Mother Theresa.
Knowing that I was wearing more than they’d ever be able to afford, and I looked fantastic in it, felt like a victory after years of their cruel taunts. Never mind that I couldn’t afford it either. My heart was getting all tangled up with Dylan, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate that the point of our arrangement was working out better than I’d hoped. I didn’t just have a date for the wedding, Dylan had turned me into a princess.
A princess who had her mind in the gutter. While I was greeting the other guests, nodding along to introductions and shaking hands, I was acutely aware of Dylan’s hand on my back, the heat of his palm occasionally dipping low enough to cup my ass. The dinner was a moment of triumph and all I wanted was to get back to the room and peel away every scrap of Dylan’s tux so I could get my hands on the man beneath. Now that I’d gotten to know him, I didn’t want to waste our time together on this stupid wedding. Knowing my sister, she’d be getting married again in few years. I’d never get another chance at a man like Dylan.
The cocktail hour was a blur of cheek kisses and polite hugs until we made our way over to Christie and Peter. They stood in the back of the room beside my mother, holding court as if they were visiting royalty. I smiled at my mother when she caught sight of me. Her eyes went comically wide before she called out my name and rushed forward, enveloping me in a tight hug. We were so different, my mom and me. She was bright colors and exuberance while I was understated and quiet. But wrapped in her tight embrace, the strong and familiar scent of her perfume in a cloud around us, my eyes got wet.
“You look so gorgeous, baby. Like a dream.” She pulled back to cup my face in her hands, her eyes on mine, beaming with adoring love. “My beautiful girl.”
Yep, no matter that we might be total opposites, I loved my Mom. Leaning in to kiss her cheek, I said, “You look great, too, Mom.” She really did. Her little black dress had an emphasis on the ‘little’ and her cleavage was the opposite, but she looked great, especially considering she was the mother of three grown daughters.
She tugged me to her side, separating me from Dylan, who was promptly claimed by Christie and Cathie. He sent me a wink before turning to them. Oddly, I wasn’t worried about him being alone with my sisters. From the things he’d said earlier and the night before, he despised them and liked me. Nothing those two harpies could say would change that.
“Did he take you shopping?” my Mom half-whispered into my ear. She’d backed us a few feet from the crowd so we could talk in relative privacy. I knew what she was getting at. Barbara Carmichael (I still couldn’t get my brain to adjust to any of her more recent last names) knew clothes. Depending on her current husband, she didn’t always have the budget to shop as well as she’d like to, but she always knew the latest collections. So I wasn’t the least bit surprised when she said, “I know that dress. De la Renta, from two months ago. And those sandals are Rene Caovilla’s. I tried them on at Saks. He’s not shying away from spending money on you.”
“Mom, this isn’t what you think. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Leigha, no man spends twelve thousand dollars on a woman’s clothes if he’s planning on walking away. Trust me.”
I choked on my champagne. Twelve thousand dollars? I’d known the dress and shoes had to be expensive, but that was insane. And she didn’t know about the jewelry. As if she’d read my mind, she said,
“My guess is that necklace and the matching earrings and bracelet are his work as well. I’d give you an estimate on those, but I don’t want you to pass out in the middle of your sister’s rehearsal dinner.”
“Mom,” I whispered, “Stop. Seriously. You’re freaking me out. I don’t want to think about this.”
“Well, you need to. That man looks at you as if he wants to protect you from everyone in the world except him. Pay attention and don’t let him get away.”
“Mom, really -” I stopped when she raised her hand in front of my face. Did she just give me the hand?
“Leigha, just keep your eyes open. That’s all I’m saying. Men like Dylan don’t come along every day. I should know.” She glanced across the room at Christie and Cathie. “Now I’m going to go save your man from your sisters before they scare him away. I swear, he looks like he wants to kill them already. I love all my girls, honey, but your sisters could try the patience of a saint.”
With that, she walked away, her perfume trailing behind her. I meant to follow, but I was still reeling from everything she’d said. Twelve thousand dollars. Not counting the gold I wore around my neck, my ears and on my wrist. I’d been agonizing about Steven stealing ten grand and Dylan had dropped more than that in one day, just on clothes I didn’t even need. Adding in the other evening dress, shoes, dresses, and lingerie, I didn’t want to even want to try to guess how much he’d spent. It was probably enough to pay off half my mortgage. I didn’t know what to think about that. Was my mother right? Was he planning to be with me past the weekend?
It would make sense. A man didn’t head a corporation worth billions by being careless with money and throwing away this much cash on a weekend fling would be crazy. Still, the thought of being with Dylan longer term was hard to take in. Things like that didn’t happen to me.
I was so distracted, an arm slid around my waist before I noticed anyone nearby. I didn’t have to look up to know it wasn’t Dylan. The bad cologne was enough to clue me in. Peter. I tried to ease away without causing a scene, but his fingers tightened on my waist.
“You’re looking uncharacteristically sexy tonight, Leigha. Who knew you had it in you? You usually dress like an accountant.”
“I am an accountant, Peter.” I pulled back on his arm, trying to move away. His arm didn’t give. Dipping his head to my cheek, he said,“Once the new guy gets tired of you, I’ll be here. I can take care of you too, Leigha.”
“You’re marrying my sister,” I hissed, leaning back. This guy was disgusting. How could my sister be marrying him?
“Christie is a practical woman. As long as I can keep her credit card bills paid, she doesn’t ask questions.”
I didn’t want to draw attention, but I couldn’t take another second of his slimy hands. As
subtly as I could, I jammed the spike heel of my sparkly gold sandal into Peter’s instep. His arm loosened, and I stepped away, trying not to cringe at the trail of his fingertips along my waist. Yuck.
“Don’t be so rude, Leigha,” he chided, only slightly favoring his foot as he stepped back. “When this guy dumps you, you’ll be on your own. I could be a good friend.”
“Fuck off, Peter.”
Not an original come back, but I was too grossed out to be witty. I whirled around, just wanting to get away from him. The sad thing was, I believed him about Christie. Not that she’d be cool with me being her husband’s mistress, but that she didn’t ask too many questions. I wondered how many late meetings and business trips he had. I was betting it was a lot. The thought depressed me. I didn’t really like my sister, but she was my sister. A marriage of convenience with Peter wasn’t a happy prospect.
This time when an arm wound around my waist, I relaxed into it, recognizing Dylan by instinct, even before his clean, masculine scent hit me.
“Sorry you got stuck with the evil twins while I talked to my Mom,” I said.
“That’s okay. You can make it up to me later.” The promise in his voice was enough to heat my blood. “What did Peter want?” he asked.
“Nothing.” No way was I going to tell Dylan what Peter had said. I had a feeling he wouldn’t take it well. And Peter wasn’t worth pissing Dylan off. I could handle Peter.
“I didn’t like him touching you,” Dylan said, his mouth moving against my ear in a whisper of a kiss.
“Neither did I,” I admitted.
“You’re mine. No one touches you but me. Understood?”
“Dylan,” I said, pulling away so I could face him. “I didn’t want him to touch me. I got rid of him as fast as I could.”
“I know.” Dylan took my hips in his hands and tugged me against him. Dipping his head to mine, he said, “I know you didn’t like it. And I know you were being polite. Next time, don’t be. No one touches you but me. Ever. That’s more important than being polite. Now tell me you understand.”
“What if I don’t want you to touch me?” I couldn’t help asking. Dylan nipped my ear, his teeth drawing a flash of pain that turned immediately into heat.
“If you don’t want me to touch you, we’ve got bigger problems than your fuck-head of a brother in law getting in your face.”
“Okay.” That was the best I could come up with. My brain had scattered at the touch of his teeth to my ear.
“Good. He touches you again, he answers to me.”
“Okay.” My brain clicked back into gear. “If it bothers you so much, why did you leave me with him?”
“I wanted to see what you would do,” Dylan said. I lurched back, suddenly pissed off.
“What?” I screeched. He’d left me to handle that pig as a test? Dylan’s arms tightened, not letting me move. People turned their heads to look. Dylan grinned down at me and pressed a kiss to my temple, whispering,“I’m buying you ten more pairs of heels just like that. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him leaving tracks of blood. You did a good job, sweetheart.”
I didn’t want to, but I melted—not just at him calling me sweetheart, but his praise. Testing me was high-handed and annoying. His being proud of me was hard to resist. Before I could think of what to say, Peter announced that it was time to go into dinner. Good. One meal, and hopefully not too many speeches to get through, and I’d be alone with Dylan again.
20
Leigha
Dylan and I checked the seating chart on an easel by the door and found we were seated in the far end of the room, furthest from the wedding party. I knew Christie had stuck us there to make a point. As her sister, I should have been sitting close to her, Cathie, and my mother. For the first time, I was thrilled she was a spiteful bitch. I’d rather be alone in a corner with Dylan than sitting near the wedding party any day.
Dylan pulled my chair out for me and helped me sit before taking his own seat. No one sat to his left. On my left was an older couple I didn’t recognize. After stilted introductions, during which Dylan neglected to mention his last name, the couple turned to face the rest of the table and ignored us. Perfect. If we drowned out the sound of one of the groomsmen getting ready to give a speech, we could almost pretend we were alone.
We both stayed quiet and ate our salad while the groomsmen droned on and on about his long friendship with Peter. About anyone else, it might have been sweet. But since I knew he was talking about Peter, it was mostly annoying. I zoned out a little, trying to enjoy the meal and wondering how long it would take, when I felt the weight of Dylan’s hand on my leg.
Trying not to be obvious, I looked up at him. Dylan’s eyes were on the speaking groomsman, his expression bland and vaguely interested. For all that anyone else could see, he was the picture of innocence. Beneath the table, his fingers slipped beneath my skirt and trailed along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
“Dylan,” I hissed. His eyes flicked to me and he winked, then went back to pretending to pay attention to the speech. That was my only effort at protest. Why bother? By now I knew Dylan would do what he wanted to. Whatever he wanted to do was guaranteed to be more fun for me than sitting here and acting like I cared about the rehearsal dinner.
Adjusting my napkin so that it more fully hid the movement of Dylan’s hand between my legs, I dropped my eyes to my plate and shut out all the other diners. He teased me, trailing his fingertips in figure eights up and down my leg, the side of his hand brushing innocuously against my delicate lace panties. I tried to act like he wasn’t driving me crazy, like I couldn’t feel the heat build between my legs with every pass of his fingers.
I just wasn’t that cool. When he brushed against my panties one more time, I barely caught myself before I moaned. The man beside me shifted, as if he was going to look at me, then my silence convinced him it wasn’t worth the effort. I sank my teeth into my lower lip and slid down a little in the high backed chair, opening my left leg toward Dylan.
No change. Only more of those teasing, light touches. I could feel myself getting wet. If I thought he would let me get away with it, I would have jumped out of my chair and dragged Dylan to the nearest coat closet. Somehow, I didn’t think I could pull that off. This was Dylan’s game, and if I didn’t play by his rules, I’d lose. Since winning with Dylan meant an unbelievable orgasm, I didn’t want to lose. But maybe I could get a little creative.
Curious to see what he’d do, I slipped my hand into his lap. Beneath the dark wool of his suit, he was hard. I closed my hand around his length and squeezed. He gave a slight jerk in his chair before calmly putting down his soup spoon and removing my hand from his lap. Tilting his head in my direction, he said, under his breath,
“No.”
“If you can, why can’t I?” A long, intent look, dripping with meaning. Okay, I knew why. But still…
“You’re making me insane,” I murmured. “Are you going to do this all through dinner?”
The thought was both enticing and horrifying. We were only on the soup course, and groomsmen number two was rambling on and on about some team he and Peter were on in college. Barring a natural disaster or foreign invasion, we could be here for hours. While Christie might not care if we snuck out, my mother would.
“That depends,” he asked. “Do you really want me to stop?”
“No. I want you to keep going.” At the aggravation in my voice, he grinned.
“Take off your panties, and I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was so low I barely heard him.
“Here?”
“Right here.”
I didn’t answer. How was I going to get my underwear off in the middle of the dining room? We were at the far end of the room. The light was dim. But, I had a man sitting just to my right. Dylan was crazy. He wouldn’t make me come unless I figured out how to get my undies off while I was still sitting here, with barely the edge of the tablecloth to cover what I was doing. My pride wanted me
to turn down his challenge. My body wanted the orgasm he would give me if I obeyed his ridiculous challenge.
“Excuse me,” I said under my breath to the man beside me. Fortunately, he didn’t spare me more than a quick glance.
Twisting in my seat so that I faced Dylan, I lifted my left hip off the chair and reached beneath my skirt. The high-low hem was my friend as there wasn’t much skirt to get out of the way. Tagging the edge of my panties, I hooked my index finger in the fabric and gave a sharp pull, dragging them down below my ass. A good start, but that was the easy side.
Pretending I hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, I took a spoonful of soup. I went to put the spoon down beside the plate and dropped it on the floor instead. It was too obvious, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Nudging my seat back a few inches, I murmured,
“Excuse me. Sorry.” I eased my seat back a little more and leaned forward as if reaching for the floor. The second my head was below the table, I lifted my rear-end off the seat and reached beneath my skirt for the other side of my panties, using my napkin to cover the sight of my hand going up my own skirt. From beside me, I heard Dylan clear his throat. My head popped up, and to my horror, I saw the servers coming to clear the soup course, starting at the ends of the tables.
In a panic, I gave the panties one more tug before sitting back up and scooting my chair into place. I made it just in time to sit back and let a uniformed server remove my bowl.
“Did you find your spoon, sweetheart?” Dylan asked, a devilish twinkle in his eyes.
I scowled back at him. I wasn’t actually all that annoyed. The potential disaster of getting caught taking off my underwear in public was turning me on. I’d wanted my orgasm before, but now I really wanted it. That pleasure was mine, Dylan was going to give it to me, and all I had to do was take off my underwear without leaving the table. I wasn’t going to get caught. I was going to do what Dylan told me to and then I was going to come.
