The Wedding Rescue, Book Five(13)

As he paced and murmured into his phone, I noticed the stylist devouring the sight of his ass in his worn, well fitting jeans. I almost cleared my throat to get her attention, then changed my mind. He did have a fantastic ass, and who was I to deprive the woman of the opportunity to appreciate it? I was the one who got to put my hands all over it. If I wanted a relationship with Dylan, I was going to have to get used to all sorts of women ogling his body.

Despite my shock at seeing my house on fire, I was pretty sure I’d even spotted Mrs. Carmody checking him out. I squirmed in my seat at the thought of all the things I could do to Dylan’s ass. Biting. Squeezing. Would he let me spank him? I doubted it. But it was worth asking. Abruptly, I put a halt on that train of thought. I didn’t want to get turned on while the stylist had a curling iron in my hair, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

My mind drifted as she curled and pinned my hair, then was replaced by the make-up artist who got busy working on covering my bruises. I saw a pair of long white gloves laying over the back of the couch and thought of Lola. I should get a good insurance settlement for the house. I’d called my agent on the way to the police station, and he assured me that it wouldn’t take long to work out the details. I’d have to replace all my clothes, but I’d covered the contents of my house generously. Most of the time, I tried to save money, but I’d sprung for the best homeowner’s policy I could get. It had been my first house, and I’d wanted to protect it.

Which meant I should have plenty of money to pay for a new wardrobe. I wondered if I’d be able to afford Lola. Not if she only did personal shopping for the kinds of clothes Dylan had bought me. But if she worked with all of Neiman Marcus’s inventory, I could make that fit my budget as long as I went with classic pieces that wouldn’t go out of style a few months after I bought them. Lola had been a genius for finding things that looked good on my curvy body. Imagining my new wardrobe, I barely noticed the time passing. Before I knew it, the make-up artist was done, and it was time to get dressed.

Dylan showed her out as I headed straight for the bathroom mirror. My hair was amazing, pulled smoothly back from my face and up into a high knot of curls and twists. It was both dramatic and fanciful; a perfect match for my strapless black dress and its silver embroidered flowers.

The make-up artist must have been a genius. Or she’d been packing industrial strength spackle. I saw no sign of the bruises on my face, only smooth, pore-less skin. She’d done something to bring out my cheekbones and shaded my eyes in a deep purple-blue that would set off the dress and made my gray eyes seem to glow.

If I had the time and budget, I’d have those two show up every day before I left the house. I knew I’d never have the patience to do it, even if I could afford it, but it was a fun idea. Shrugging out of my robe, I was wrestling with the black satin bustier that went under my gown when Dylan entered the bedroom.

Quickly, before he could see my awkward struggle to fasten the hooks, I got the last three done and wrenched the thing into place. When he saw me, standing in front of the bathroom sink wearing the satin bustier, matching panties, and the sparkly silver heels, he stopped dead.

“Please tell me that’s what you’re wearing tonight, and we’re staying home.”

I grinned. “Sorry. I wish we could. But if you behave and let me get dressed, I’ll let you take it off later.”

“You’ll let me take it off even if I don’t behave.” His devilish grin was enough to send a bolt of heat straight between my legs. Of course I would. Any smart woman would do whatever Dylan asked if he smiled at her like that. I already knew how amazing he was in bed. And I was a smart women.

Proving that he was an intelligent man, he leaned in to me and kissed my cheek, whispering, “I want to pin you to the wall and fuck you until you’re screaming my name. But that can wait until after the wedding.” Stepping back, he said, “I have something for you. I was going to wait until you were ready, but now I think I want to see you wearing it while you’re dressed exactly like that.”

He picked up a flat, black velvet box and opened it to reveal a sparking diamond necklace with matching earrings and bracelet. I gasped, taking a step back in surprise. The necklace was fashioned of diamonds arranged in the shape of flowers, intricately mounted so that the piece appeared to be made entirely of sparkling stones with no metal holding it together. Only a little longer than a collar, it would hug my throat in a very expensive embrace.

“Dylan, seriously, this is too much,” I said, looking at the open jewelry box with a combination of helpless avarice and exasperation. “You can’t buy me diamonds. You can’t. It’s crazy.”