My glare was icy enough to freeze lesser men. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Too late,” Jareth said with a wink as he headed for the door. “Don’t worry, your little secret is safe with me. But I’m going to need an invite to this wedding. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I can’t wait to see your idea of romance in action.”
The door clicked shut behind him. I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers under my chin as I stared into the middle distance.
Jareth was sharp—sharper than I liked sometimes—but that was what made him indispensable. For now, I needed him, irreverence and all. But trust was a slippery thing. Even the best weapons had to be handled carefully, and Jareth was no exception.
I leaned against the doorframe,my patience wearing thin with every tick of my watch. Thirty goddamn minutes. How long could it possibly take one woman to get ready? I wasn’t accustomed to waiting for anyone, least of all a woman who seemed to make it her life’s mission to defy me at every turn.
Yet here I was. Waiting.
My fingers tapped against the gold band of my watch, each beat echoing louder in the silence. I told myself it this was nothing more than irritation at her defiance and audacity to make me linger outside her door.
But it was more than that.
The creak of the bathroom door snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. I raised my head, my pulse quickening despite myself. Vivian stepped out, her glasses perched on her nose, arms crossed over her chest in that defensive stance she always used, as though she could ward off my presence with sheer force of will.
Her dark eyes locked onto mine, sharp and defiant, a challenge simmering in them. “Where to?” she asked, her flat tone laced with deliberate disinterest.
I pushed off the doorframe, straightening to my full height. “Follow me.”
She sighed dramatically, but she followed, trudging along behind me.
The mansion was quiet this morning. Sunlight filtered through the towering windows and cast golden streaks over the polished wood and marble. The stillness should have been calming, but her presence electrified the air, sharpening my senses in a way that was both exhilarating and infuriating.
Finally, we arrived at a set of double doors. I pushed them open and stepped inside without waiting for her reaction.
The room was awash with natural light. Sheer curtains framed the large windows. Mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the golden glow and amplifying the space’s elegance. The polished wood floors gleamed like glass, and the air was infused with the faint scent of lavender from a vase of fresh flowers in the corner.
“What is this place?” she asked, her voice tinged with cautious curiosity.
“It’s been used for different things over the years. Dance rehearsals. Private gatherings. Today, it’s a fitting room.”
Her brows knit together in confusion until I whipped a drop sheet off a rack of wedding dresses. The pristine white fabric shimmered in the sunlight.
She stared at the dresses, her lips twitching as though she were suppressing laughter. Then, it erupted—sharp, incredulous, and grating.
“You expect me to try those on?” she scoffed, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “And you want me to wear awhitewedding dress? Don’t you think black would be more appropriate?”
“Shut the fuck up and get undressed,” I snapped, my patience already balancing on a knife’s edge.
Her laughter cut off, replaced by a glare so icy it could’ve frozen the sunlight. “You’re joking,” she said, though her tone betrayed her uncertainty.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” I dragged a chair into the center of the room and dropped into it, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate ease. My posture was casual, but inside, my pulse pounded in anticipation. “You’re going to try on each one. I’m picking your dress.”
She stared at me, her jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought she’d refuse. But then, with a defiant lift of her chin, she stepped closer.
Stopping just a few feet away, she slipped her glasses off and held them out. “Here,” she said flatly.
Our fingers brushed as I took them, and a spark shot up my arm, hot and unwelcome. She didn’t look away, her gaze burning into me before her hands slipped to the hem of her shirt.
I sucked in a breath as she began to inch it up slowly.
Fuck.
The fabric rose, revealing smooth, pale skin and the curve of her black bra. My throat went dry, my body tightening with a visceral need I had no business feeling. I forced my gaze to the floor, fixing on a knot in the wood grain. But when the shirt hit the floor and she reached for the waistband of her shorts, I couldn’t stop my eyes from darting back to her.
The tiny black thong. The long legs. The perfect curve of her hips.
