by Parker Swift
I could feel her pulse within her, and my own was beating like a goddamn marching band in my head. Getting through this dinner was going to be torture.
For another hour, we took turns provoking each other. I “dropped” my napkin and grazed her bare thigh with my teeth after picking it up from the floor—she didn’t even flinch or miss a beat in her conversation about fashion commerce with the American finance arse. A moment later she looped her foot around my ankle and pulled, forcing my leg towards her just as her hand landed in my lap. My balls were so fucking tight, my jaw tense, and my fingers itching to explore every inch of her. There was something about being secretly bound to this woman, being the only one to know that she was mine, that was better than goddamn Viagra. Doctors should bottle that shit.
We finally left, politely declining the offer for another round of post-dinner drinks and dodging more inane questions. There was no goddamn way I was waiting until I got her home before getting inside her. I’d been hard for an eternity, and I needed to get my girl under me, against me, whatever.
I had Lydia’s hand firmly gripped in my own as I pulled her closely behind me, down the stairs of the house, and onto the sidewalk. She was laughing, giggling at her success in having worked me up, and fuck me if I wasn’t laughing too. I felt sorry for my pathetic younger self—I’d spent a decade not understanding how fun it could be to love someone. But then again none of the someones had been Lydia.
She tried to move towards the car, logical little thing, but I pulled her past it and against my side. She obviously had no idea just how serious I was about getting my hands on her, and I didn’t want to be inside that confined space with our driver, Lloyd, just a few feet away. I was feeling too goddamn randy for that.
I could hear her heels hitting the cobblestones beside me, could feel her palm warm in my own. I eagerly dragged her around the side of the building, down some darkened cobblestone mews, and lifted her little body up against the brick wall behind her. It was a cold night for April, fucking freezing actually. But I didn’t give a shite, and thankfully neither did she.
For a moment, I just held her there, against the wall, my palm on her face, her eyes fixed on mine. I swept her long hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, really just another excuse to touch her. She was smiling, and I knew I was too, but she was also as primed as I was. Then she was kissing my neck and unbuttoning her coat, and I was hiking that evil skirt above her hips. Because apparently neither one of us could wait another second.
Christ, I fucking loved this woman.
She was muttering her delightful sighs and eager little pleas that did nothing to calm my greed. She wrapped her long legs around my waist, her arms around my neck with a desperation that matched my own. I could feel her breaths get shallow the way they always did when she was turned on, little gasps that had me ready to come on a dime. Had there been enough light, I’d see her cheeks flush and the pink spread across her chest.
Taunting me had ripened her.
I reached into her coat, held her where her back met her perfect ass, and I slid my free hand between her legs, stroking her with my fingers.
“You like provoking me, don’t you, damsel?” I whispered, knowing I sounded needy as fuck. To be fair, I was. I wanted nothing more than to remind her who she belonged to. To sink into her. To remind her just how engaged we were.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she panted, playing dumb in the sexiest possible way. Steam came with my breath and met with the steam coming from hers.
Our faces not a hair apart, I kissed her. I kissed her to remind her, to show her. Our first kiss flashed before my eyes—the deepness, the desperation of that moment on a moonlit path in Canada flooding my mind. Fuck, how had we gotten from there to here? And how had I not seen how utterly perfect for me she’d be?
“One of these days, damsel, I’m going to put my ring on that finger of yours, make it official, show the whole goddamn world…,” I whispered as I unzipped my trousers and lifted her onto my cock. She panted deeper, gasping for breath, and I knew she was already close. I only regretted that I couldn’t see her clearly. When she came her face was fucking majestic. “And there’ll be no denying just how much the ‘marrying kind’ we are.” I barely recognized my own hushed demanding voice.
We fucked as quietly as we could against that brick wall—our harsh exhales and desperate inhales the only audible hints as to what was occurring tucked away in that mews—and it was thrilling as hell. Fucking was never just fucking anymore. It would never be “just fucking” again. It was simply the most feverish version of what we did to each other. Lydia was strong, willing, and she trusted me to know when we could take risks like that one, me bringing her to the edge of getting caught.
I loved it, respected it.
“But in the meantime, this is pretty fun,” she whispered as she kissed my neck, coming down from her high.
“I love you,” I said, because, fuck me, I really, really did.
“I love you too.”
Chapter 3
Lydia
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My back against that brick wall. My legs wrapped around Dylan’s waist. The cold night air skating across my bare sex moments before he plunged into me. I felt that rush of electricity across my skin at the memory. The previous night was hotter than engaged sex had any right to be.
“Lydia? Helloooooo? Lydia?” Emily’s voice snapped me back to attention.
I’d taken the morning off, and Dylan’s sister and I had met up for coffee and a quick mani-pedi at her insistence. She’d said my nails looked like I’d been in a fight with a cheetah and a gorilla. I didn’t even know what that meant, but I knew it wasn’t good. Also, I knew the real motivation was so she could hound me about wedding planning. My nails were now painted something called Fire in Fiji and we were, predictably, standing outside Vera Wang on Brook Street. Emily had known about our engagement since January, and she was certifiably obsessed.
“Are you ever going to look at wedding gowns?” she sighed, glancing longingly from the gown in the window back to me with an irritated look of defeat. I could practically feel her thinking up outlandish yet tasteful centerpieces and creating a “concept” for the whole affair. She was like a dog with a bone, only we’d demanded she keep the bone a secret.
Emily was one of those women who would have you believe she was a brainless socialite with her big sunglasses, shiny dyed-to-perfection locks, and of-the-moment handbags, but the truth was she was sharp as a tack. If I let her, she’d probably have our wedding planned according to the highest standards within days, and all with an efficiency that would boggle my mind. She was amazing. She was also the only person in London we’d actually told we were engaged. Or she was supposed to be. The day we told her, we also ended up telling Dylan’s best friend, Will.
I’d told Dylan that even though the engagement would be a secret, we had to tell Emily. She would somehow be able to smell it on us whether we told her or not—she was like a bloodhound that way—and wouldn’t he rather it come from us than she figure it out? Plus I knew we might need an ally if we expected to keep it an actual secret for any period of time. So we’d taken a Saturday and visited her at Cambridge, where she was getting her degree in art history. Sometimes I forgot Emily was only twenty-two and still in college. She always seemed much older than that.
We’d driven up mid-morning—Dylan had wanted to show me around, do the whole memory-lane thing from his “uni days.” He’d recounted stories steadily from the moment we left London straight through till we arrived at the town center. Stories about him and Will and their band of mischievous aristocratic friends. When the two of them got together and began reminiscing, it was as though a film reel of all their memories was playing live before their eyes. So maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised when we’d stopped for a drink before our dinner with Emily and the man himself, Will, walked through the door. Apparently he’d been up for the weekend too, giving
a talk about entrepreneurship to a group of young students—he’d become something of a local celebrity since the restaurant he ran and co-owned with Dylan had been given its first Michelin star.
So what we’d planned to be a quiet dinner in which we told Dylan’s only sibling became something more boisterous, more joyous, closer to a mini engagement party than a close-knit family conversation.
“It’s just as well you’re both here,” Dylan had started, and Will and Emily exchanged confused looks. “Lydia and I want to talk to you about something.” Dylan gripped my hand under the table.
“Dylan—” Emily had started, reaching for her wine, but Dylan raised his hand to stop her from speaking. I knew this look—he’d gotten a similar look of determination on his face when he’d proposed, like he had started and he couldn’t brook interruption or the whole thing might fall apart. He squeezed my hand under the table once again, but instead of holding it and stroking my thumb there, hidden under the table as he normally would, he raised our entwined fingers and placed them on the table between our glasses.
“First, you must swear to me. Swear on all that is holy. Swear on your goddamn shoe collection. No, no.” Dylan interrupted himself and got a look of total mischief on his face, the kind of delighted cunning you only see between siblings. “Swear on Miss Midgy—” Emily gasped and looked horrified all of a sudden.
“Miss Midgy?” I asked, looking between them.
“Swear on Miss Midgy that you won’t tell a soul what I’m about to tell you.” Emily was turning bright red, and Will started to giggle. And that giggle turned into full thigh-slapping laughter.
“Miss Midgy?” Will asked, barely getting the words out, following my lead in chuckling that was quickly turning into full-on hysteria.
Emily patted her reddening cheeks and spoke through gritted teeth. “Well, Lydia and Will, I do hope you’ve enjoyed being acquainted with my darling brother, because I am now about to throttle him, and it’s doubtful he’ll make it out alive.” Emily sighed, her fury brimming over the edges.
“Miss Midgy is Emily’s stuffed kangaroo,” Dylan explained formally, as though giving a recitation about a rare mammal species and trying to contain his gloating but failing miserably. “Apparently, the delightful Miss Midge actually came to life while we were at school and was a top-notch barrister in the animal world. And, if I’m not mistaken, I spotted her on Emily’s couch the last time I was at her flat. Isn’t that right, Em? Still sleeping with her as well?”
Emily’s face was in her hands, and her words were muffled as she said, “That is between me and Midge.” Then after a moment, when I swear steam was coming from her ears, she silently flung her balled-up napkin across the table at Dylan. “Fine, you petulant tosser. I won’t breathe a word. Some of us can keep important secrets.”
Dylan chuckled, but quickly resumed the task at hand. “And you,” he said, looking at Will, “you—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. No. Whatever bollocks you’re going to blackmail me with, just don’t. I swear on my career as a chef, on the entire bloody restaurant, I won’t breathe a word.” He was giving Dylan a look of death. Dylan must have some amazing dirt on Will—I was going to have to get it out of him later.
Dylan’s shoulders relaxed just a hint, and he looked at me. He smiled—not so much that anyone would notice but me, but I saw it, how the pride and excitement caught in the corners of his mouth as his eyes met mine. “Lydia and I are engaged to be married.”
I was looking back at Dylan so contentedly, taking him in, that it took a minute for me to process the shrieking happening on the other side of the table. I looked up to see Emily clapping her hands. Then she reached across the table for my left hand, pulling me halfway across the table as she searched for a ring.
“Ah, so you’re up the duff then, are you?” Will clasped his hands, rubbed them together and leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased. And Emily gasped, looking intensely from Dylan to me and back to Dylan as though we were a tennis match.
“Up the duff?” I asked, looking at Dylan.
“Calm down,” he said sternly to Emily, freeing my hand from his sister’s grasp. “First, William, no. Lydia is not pregnant. And, Emily, do you think if we want this to be a secret, she’d be wearing a ring?”
Oh lordy. It was clear that was going to be what everyone thought when they found out we were engaged after dating for only a few months. One more reason to wait as long as possible to spill the beans. Not that being pregnant would be a bad reason to get engaged, but I had a feeling that would be a tad more scandalous in Dylan’s world than it was in mine. As if we wouldn’t have enough media attention to deal with once the announcement was made.
“Oh, you’re no fun. Fine. Which ring are you giving her?” Emily asked, calming a bit and sulking a little at the realization that we weren’t embarking on an extravaganza quite yet, but she was now leaning over the table, her chin in her palm, with rapt attention.
“Yeah, Dylan, which ring are you going to give me?” I said, smirking, and grasping his hand just a little tighter.
He chuckled and squeezed my hand gently in return. “Cheeky girl,” he whispered in my ear as he moved in to kiss my cheek.
“You don’t think I’m going to tell her, do you?” he said, still smiling, directing his question to Emily. “You’re a girl—you should know how these things work. Isn’t it meant to be a surprise?”
Emily raised her eyebrow at her brother, and Will laughed at Emily’s defiance and ran his hands through his hair—clearly enjoying the sibling dynamic as much as I was. “Have you ever done anything as it’s meant to be done, Dylan?” his sister asked him skeptically. “For all I know, you intend to abandon the ring altogether and give her a Thoroughbred or a house in the Maldives.”
“Oh, now there’s an idea,” I said, enjoying feeding into this frenzy. “I mean no to a Thoroughbred, yes to the Maldives.”
Dylan looked slightly frustrated with our shenanigans, but Emily resumed before he could get a word in. “I mean I’ve always been able to count on you to not do it as it’s meant to be done. Don’t disappoint me now.”
I laughed out loud and Dylan gave me a look that said not you too.
“Oh, trust me, when the time is right, there will be a ring, you pain in the arse.”
“All right, all right, my turn,” said Will, who was rising from his chair. He rounded the table and slapped Dylan on the back. “Finally, mate, you’re finally making something of yourself. You’ve been such a disappointment in the love department,” he said jokingly.
“Oh, really?” said Dylan, looking up to his best friend. “Well, maybe it’s time you start reining in whatever it is you have going on—”
But Will cut him off. “Now, now, bridegroom, don’t go casting stones. There’s more important business to attend to,” he said, halting Dylan and moving in my direction. At this point, assuming there were no serious skeletons in Dylan’s closet, I realized I no longer cared about his colorful sexual past. I just knew, under my skin, with total certainty, that I was different to him than any other girl had ever been. This realization was floating through me when I found myself being lifted into the most joyous encompassing hug in Will’s arms. He was literally shaking me. I couldn’t help but laugh and hug him back.
As he put me down, he said quietly, so I was pretty sure only I could hear, “Smartest decision that dolt has ever made. Welcome to the family, you wee yank.” I smiled big and hugged him back again—it felt like after years of being mostly alone, my family was expanding rapidly, and it was incredible. Will was the steady force of true friendship in Dylan’s life. They’d opened a business together, and anyone who knew Dylan knew he wasn’t good at sharing control, so that spoke volumes of the trust between them. And Will was the one guy I’d seen who’d ever made Dylan truly laugh. When Dylan had been ready to go public with our relationship the first time around, to announce to the world he had a girlfriend for the first time in nearly a d
ecade, Will was the first person he’d introduced me to. And now, the guy was holding me tightly in a firm hug, one that said more than words could about how happy he was for us.
“Thank you,” I whispered back.
When Emily was done sulking that she had to keep things quiet, she fully embraced this new reality. I showed her my non-engagement engagement ring and told them the PG parts of Dylan’s proposal. And Dylan and Emily exchanged some sibling look that I’d probably never understand, but looked to me like the end of a conversation they’d been having, like Emily wholeheartedly approved of our decision to get married.
So, while telling Emily had been planned, telling Will was a surprise. But now, after those drinks and the boisterous dinner that followed, I was glad they both knew. If for no other reason than it meant that in those rare moments when we didn’t want it to be a secret, we had friends we could talk about it with. But sometimes, like that moment standing in front of Vera Wang, it could also be downright annoying.
“I’ll look at gowns when I’m ready,” I finally replied to Emily, hands on my hips.
“Well I’m ready,” she said, “and have been for years—”
“It’s only been five months!”
But Emily waved her hand in dismissal. “If you dare even think about trying on gowns without me, I will disown you as a sister-in-law,” she said, on the verge of shouting indignantly at me.
I grabbed her hand and dragged her past the store as I looked around for paparazzi. “Emily!” I whisper-shouted. “You can’t say that in public!”
She huffed, “Oh, please. No one heard me. Although, I am half hoping someone does. Then we could get the show on the road, as you lot say.”
I raised my eyebrow at her. “You are shameless, you know that?”
“I do,” she said, smiling, and I threw my hands up in the air as we walked towards the coffee shop on the corner.
“Besides,” I said, smirking, “having it be a secret is so much fun, I’m not sure I’ll ever want to plan the wedding.” I knew I was blushing, but I didn’t care.