I turn in his arms, feeling all sorts of fluttery, but he doesn’t release me.
‘All I’m trying to say is I don’t know what to expect. My bag was in here, so I thought you wanted—’
‘What I want is you. In here, in that bed behind you, in the other bed, against the chair. Did you see the dining table?’ I nod dumbly, my lashes fluttering, though not for effect as he adds, ‘I want you there, too. Bent over the end or spread out against the wood like a feast while I sit between your legs and eat you like the glutton you make me.’
‘I didn’t make you anything,’ I whisper, rolling in my lips as all my plans for good behaviour fly out of my head.
‘Did you like the shoes?’ I nod, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking down at my feet. ‘Good. Because I’m going to fuck you in those, too.’
My heart begins to race at the pictures painted by his words. As if I can see it all before me, my body begins to tingle as it anticipates the path his lips will take and the ways he’ll touch me. Take me. But one thing is for sure, I won’t be passive. I think I might need this as much as he does.Maybe for different reasons.
‘I wanted you in the back of the car on the way here from the airport, with or without the driver watching. Because, my darling Olivia,’ he growls, his words such a visceral kind of compliment, ‘I just want to fuck you. Why do you think I didn’t follow you into the hotel?’
And he was doing so well...
‘Probably because you had Mr Braunstein waiting.’
‘I would have kept him waiting downstairs all day, and his billable rate is fifteen hundred dollars an hour.’
‘All day? You’re sure you’d need all that time?’
‘Don’t start,’ he replies in that languid, taunting tone of his. ‘In fact, you go on. Make your assumptions and your little jokes. We’ll see who can’t walk tomorrow morning.’
‘Hmm, these shoes are a little high,’ I say, ducking my head as though to look down at them. But really, I’m just hiding my smile. When was the last time anyone made me feel like this? Their main focus. Their absolute desire. Probably never.
‘We’d better get going.’ His hands slide from my body with a slow kind of reluctance, his trailing fingers not quite interlacing with my left hand.
‘Let me just get my purse,’ I murmur, moving towards the sofa.
‘Don’t forget your flowers.’
‘Sorry?’ I turn, though my gaze immediately follows his to the side table.
‘I’m assuming those are for you.’
‘What? How—you ordered me flowers?’ I almost squeak. That is—that is so unexpected. And a little... un-Beckett-like, maybe?But the shoes, my mind whispers. Maybe I haven’t seen all sides of him. Like the physical parts of him I haven’t yet seen but already promise so much. I’m so banking on more than just viewing tonight.
‘Too sentimental?’ he asks evenly.
‘Absolutely not. Flowers are always a treat.’ Lifting them from the small vase, I admire the lush greenery. Their unusual colour—not quite cream and not quite pink—is the perfect complement to my dress. I inhale their fragrance, and when I look up to express my thanks more appropriately, he’s already left the room.
Something old.My dress
Something new.My shoes. My flowers.
Something borrowed.My purse.
Something blue... Spying the ribbon wrapped around the shoe box, I grab it quickly, wrapping it around the base of my bouquet.
My wedding, my way. Right?
As we reach the Office of the City Clerk, I stare up at the imposing building. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t arriving in a chauffeur-driven Bentley. My surprise is almost visceral as Beckett takes my hand at the bottom of the stone steps. I almost ask if we’re acting already but sense it wouldn’t be welcome or appropriate.
‘Wait!’ I call out, pulling him back before he begins to climb. ‘Don’t glare at me,’ I sort of hiss. ‘This is important.’
‘What is it?’ he asks, that fierce expression hardening. If I’m not mistaken, his grip on my hand tightens.
‘Do you have a name? I mean, you must have because your lawyer called youMrBeckett, meaning Beckett isn’t your given name. What if they ask me in there?’ I gesture to the building, aware my quiet tone might have passed into the realms of mildly hysteric.
