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“There’s no balcony on this one.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, blinking. Yeah, I heard him correctly. He’s definitely going to stand guard at the door. Fucking perfect.
Turning my back on my new guard and shadow, I walk inside the room, the last vestiges of my slight champagne buzz fading as the door shuts sharply behind me.
It’s a generic hotel suite. I’m standing in a small sitting room with the minibar near the door. The curtains are drawn back, Boston is lit up and displayed in front of me. Niall was right. There’s no balcony. I bet the windows don’t even open.
I turn away from the stunning view, moving through the doorway into the bedroom. The plush queen-sized bed sits there, turned down and taunting me.
The small overnight bag I packed this morning is on an armchair in the corner of the room near the bed. Thank god. I don’t want to sleep in this dress. I cross the room, open it, and my lips twist into a wry smirk. Of course.
All my carefully packed items have been rummaged around. Jumbled messily there. They obviously searched the bag. My phone is gone too. Oh well. That was always going to happen. It was stupid wishful thinking to pack it.
I pull out the lacy nightgown with a grin. I’m definitely going to be a pretty bride on my wedding night. Who am I kidding? I’ll be blushing like a tomato too. Turning to the bathroom, I realize my dilemma. Shit. Dropping the nightgown on the bed, I cross back to the door and open it.
Niall is standing there, lifting his eyes from his phone and glaring at me as I open the door. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him.
“Relax. I’m not about to run away. I need your help.”
His eyebrows raise, but his green eyes remain impassive. I’ll take that as ayes, of course, I’ll help you, Tiggy. Whatever you need.Turning my back on him, I twist my arm around to where I can reach, about halfway down.
“Can you undo the zipper until I can reach it?”
There is a slight intake of breath. “Ye want me to undress Seamus Fitzpatrick’s bride for him on his wedding night?”
Huffing a sigh, I roll my eyes at the wall in front of me. “I have a nightgown I want to wait for him in. I need to get out of my dress, and you’re my only option. Unless you want me to go downstairs and ask my husband myself?"
A growl rumbles out of him. Yeah, he’s not happy with this. Neither am I, but my options are limited. They are literally this, or I march my ass back downstairs and demand Seamus do it.
Wedding dresses aren’t exactly made for you to be able to get out of them by yourself. Usually, your husband doesn’t send you to bealoneon your wedding night.
Finally, the zipper starts to move. Niall is clearly being extra careful not to touch me. Probably a good thing. Seamus would have his head. Both our heads. Loyalty is a one-way street in the mafia, and Seamus is above us both on the food chain. He wouldn’t even stop to hear any explanations.
The zipper stops, and I reach over when I’m sure his fingers have dropped away. The small metal point of the zipper pokes my fingertips. I throw a “thanks” over my shoulder as I stroll back into the hotel room, letting the door slam shut behind me.
Now, I need to get out of this dress, do my hair and face, put on the nightgown, and pose in the bed. I have no idea when Seamus will come upstairs, but eventually, he will have to. I’m going to get the wedding night orgasm I deserve.
Chapter Four
TIGGY
I remove my heels, dress, and veil, taking my time to shower away the careful makeup and the hairspray the hairdresser liberally used this morning in my childhood bedroom at my father’s house. My last time there.
I didn’t live there or anything, but my father still had it made up for me. I wonder what he will do with it now.
I blow-dry my hair until not a hint of dampness remains and shimmy into my sexy little nightgown, all white lace with a cream satin bow underneath the bra cups. Seamus still hasn’t appeared, so I turn down the bed and crawl in.
Lying there, I focus on my breathing, and I’ve managed to drift into an uneasy sleep before long.
“Shit.”
I jerk awake at the muttered oath. I’m about to scream at the sight of a man standing over me when it occurs to me that it’s Seamus. This is it. The moment I dressed up for. I’m going to get my mind-blowing orgasm.
He’s standing beside the bed, having discarded his navy suit jacket at some point, and he’s holding the bedcovers back, staring down at my body.
The heat of desire in his eyes does funny things to my body. Seamus Fitzpatrick, legendary silver-tongued ladies man, is turned on by the sight of me sleeping in my nightgown. I’m so glad I stopped and bought it.
I’ve never worn a nightgown for a guy before. I’m more of an awkward fumble under cover of darkness kind of girl. Of course, if I’m attempting to seduce my reluctant husband, beingseenis kind of required.
