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Son of a bitch.I turn away as my cheeks catch fire. Deep breaths. It takes everything I have to school my expression into one that isn’t glaring or venomous. If he wants to play this game again, he can have it his way.
“So, let me get this straight? I participate in your ‘wedding day,’ and if I don’t willingly put on the ring by the end of the day, then we drop the topic once and for all.”
“Done,” he says, a little too quickly for my liking. I blink, caught off guard, as he approaches me in a few swift steps and snatches my selection from its hanger. “Ring this up,” he tells the sales associate who appears from nowhere to do his bidding. To me, he… continues to smile. God help the nervous swallow that contracts my throat.
I can do this, sans any unintended consequences. I’ve survived Graeme Bellamy’s antics up until this point. I can last a single day…
Can’t I?
“Let us not dawdle a minute longer, wife,” Bellamy says, his eyes reflecting a mischievous gleam. “The rest of the night awaits.”
“Yes,” I agree. Thank god my voice doesn’t shake this time. “Aplatonicnight.” One where nothing gets naked except my ring finger.
“Of course,” Bellamy says with a nod. “So, I suggest you change quickly, and then we’ll be off.”
Off? “Change?” Both questions seem equally as dangerous to voice. Does he intend to return to the suite? Perhaps he changed his mind about Adrian Riley’s party and wants me to wear another goddamn evening dress.
But no… That quick, devious flick of his lips seems out of place in either of those options. “Into your wedding dress, of course.”
When the saleswoman reappears with the white bit of lace draped over her arm, I can’t stop my mouth from falling open. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am,” Bellamy assures. I’ve never seen him so damn smug—and that’s saying a lot, all recent events considered. “I prefer that you just wear your ring instead, but if you insist…”
He raises a single eyebrow in what I assume is the closest thing he can get to a suggestive expression. “Then, by all means, dearest wife. My bride should wear something fitting as we celebrate our nuptials.”
Fitting, as in barely-there lingerie to only god knew where. “You’re insane…”
“And you have a choice,” he reminds me, that terrifying smile still in place. Slowly, his eyes drift down to his ring box. “Your choice, darling.”
A part of me screams to just give in. Put on the damn ring.
But lately, where Graeme Bellamy is concerned, all logic seems to take a back seat to stubborn pride.
“Fine.” I snatch the lingerie and head straight for the dressing rooms. Regret can come later. After all, I only have to last one damn night.
And this time, I intend to win.
* * *
When I leave the dressing room, I’m sure several pairs of eyes swivel in my direction—but I only notice one. A fiery blue gaze sweeps over me with an intensity that raises goosebumps over my flesh. Given how much of said flesh is currently exposed, that is no understatement.
“Bloody hell!” In two strides, Graeme lunges from his seated position at the back of the dressing room. Using his body as a barrier, he herds me into the narrow stall I’d just come from. The velvet-lined door closes behind him, trapping us both inside. “Are you mad?” He gestures with a wave of his hand toward my current ensemble. “Just put on the bloody ring!”
“But I’m just doing what my dear husband requested,” I counter with what I hope passes for an innocent flutter of my eyelashes. In the same motion, I lift my shoulder, straining the delicate bra cups that keep my nipples covered by sheer luck—and if I’m not mistaken…
He growls, a barely audible rumble that escapes his clenched teeth.
“If you don’t think my outfit is appropriate for public view,” I rush to add, “then maybe you should take me up on my offer.”
“To wear a ring?” His voice lowers to a guttural rasp that makes my breathing hitch. “And if I do, you’ll make sure that only your dear husband can see you in anything resembling this?”
The way his eyes ghost over me makes my belly quake. My skin heats, and I can’t stop myself from swaying as his hands capture my waist. Deliberately, one of his thumbs nudges a dangerously thin bit of lace, and I’m grateful for the seclusion. Needling him is one thing, but flashing the entire, exclusive boutique wasn’t exactly on my bucket list.
“Perhaps,” I say in answer to his question.
“Fine.” He leans in, letting his lips brush my throat as he says, “If you want me to wear a bloody ring, I will.”
“Good, then we can go now.” I shimmy out of his grasp and reach for my clothing.
“Yes,” Graeme replies, but he beats me to the punch and snatches up my dress before I can put it on. As I watch, dumbfounded, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. “But I would hate for you to lose your leverage before said ring is on my finger. You can wear your ensemble to the store.”
My upper lip quirks at the double-edged threat. “I suppose I’m not to remove this jacket.”
“Not unless you want me to add another stipulation to our agreement,” he says while guiding my arms into the sleeves of his jacket. Once I’m properly covered, he tilts his head, taking final stock of his prize. “I believe, Ms. King, that you and I will find this new arrangement suits us both.”
I lick my lips. Hoarsely, I point out, “Don’t you mean Mrs. Bellamy?”
His eyes gleam in a way that makes me suspect we won’t be leaving this dressing room any time soon. “As you wish, Mrs. Bellamy.”
* * *
