It’s a dizzying performance. One that is good enough to almost make me believe he means it. My hand slides up, and I scrape my nails through his hair.
He groans and lifts his head. His eyes are dark on mine, and I’m dimly aware of applause ringing out around us. The smattering of cameras and the heavy presence of over a hundred people.
He leans in, lips against my ear. “Well done, darling.”
The praise is as unexpected as it is sincere. A breath escapes me. The first part is done. He grabs my hand, and we turn to the cheering crowd. I smile widely at them all.
But my pulse is racing for all the wrong reasons.
CHAPTER 32
RAFE
It’s long past midnight when the party winds down. In hidden corners of the villa, people are still going, drinking, talking, dancing. But Paige and I bid them all good night and laugh at thegood lucks called our way.
Too many people are staying here, and too many staff, to let down our guard for even a moment. We walk up the stairs and toward my side of the house.
I pull the door open for her, and she steps inside first. It shuts behind us. It should feel like victory.
We’ve done it. Pulled it off.
And yet this feels like a trap. Just one bedroom, and one wife I can’t stop wanting. I lean against the door and watch her walk through my bedroom.
Her wedding dress is shorter now than it was earlier. Sylvie had performed some kind of miracle to remove the train.
She looked like an angel in it, walking down the aisle to me.
Clad in ivory and striding through the gardens, her long hair loose, glossy and golden, and eyes on mine.
“You already know your way around,” I say.
“What’s mine is yours!” she says, and walks into my closet, the place she’s been in before to steal shirts and blazers. She stands in front of the mirror and tries to reach for the buttons along the back of her dress.
One direction doesn’t work, so she tries another, her arms behind her. “Damn it,” she mutters.
There’s been a lot to drink tonight, and my tongue’s looser than it should be. “I’m right here, you know.”
“I haven’t asked for help,” she bites out, and it’s so frustrated a sound that it makes my lip curl.
“Of course not. Because Paige Wilde doesn’t need help from anyone,” I say. “I’ve undone them before, you know.”
“We agreed not to talk about what happened in the kitchen.” She turns so her back is to the mirror and looks over her shoulder to try to see what she’s doing.
I need a better look. I walk up to the closet and lean against the doorframe. “This will be fun to watch.”
“I’m just barely…there… no.” She tries again, this time trying to wiggle the straps down her shoulders before reaching back. “It’s just too tight.”
Itistight.
The front is fitted snugly across her chest and down to her narrow waist. It’s clearly been tailored for her. The deep V of her cleavage is visible along the draped silk.
I shouldn’t notice that. But the image of her perfect tits is seared into my mind, as permanent as the tattoo on her skin, and I can’t get it out. It didn’t sate my curiosity. It only stoked it, made me want to touch her, to suck on those perfect nipples.
“Turn around,” I tell her.
She gives me an annoyed look, but she does what I’ve asked. I come to stand behind her.
The line of silk-covered buttons along the back of her dress is familiar by now. I undo them, one by one, my knuckles brushing against her skin.
