Home > Dirty Wedding

Dirty Wedding
Author: Crystal Kaswell

 

Chapter One

 

 

Indigo

 

 

I am not picturing Ty naked.

I am not picturing Ty naked.

I am not, under any circumstance, picturing Ty naked.

"Ms. Simms." A perky assistant greets me with a smile. "It's so wonderful to meet you." She leads me through the wide open office.

Steel fixtures, glass walls, cherry desks.

Everything intense, sleek, expensive. Like him.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" She moves past an empty conference room. "Coffee. Tea. Champagne?"

Champagne?

I haven't spoken to Ty in three years. Why in the world would we share a bottle of champagne?

"Ms. Simms? A drink?"

Right. I need to accept the gesture. As if this is a normal business meeting. And not a what the fuck does Ty want from me call. "Tea, thanks."

"Mr. Hunt tells me you prefer Yunnan Hong Cha. Will that be all right?"

He's already told her my tea preference.

He remembers my tea preference.

I swallow the questions that rise in my throat. "Perfect. Thanks."

She stops in front of the office in the northwest corner. "Mr. Hunt will be a few minutes."

I step inside. Ignore the sturdy desk in favor of the soft leather couch.

It's long enough for a mid-afternoon tryst.

If Ty wanted, he could let the curtains down, order me out of my clothes, demand I come on his hands, face, cock.

I won't.

And he won't ask.

But memories still flood my mind.

The rough edge of his voice.

The soft pressure of his lips.

The sweet warmth of his body against mine.

I cross and uncross my legs. Focus on my inhale. My exhale. My confidence.

Sure, I’m in a cheap dress and leaky boots, but he called me. He wants me here in his luxurious, expensive world.

Ty steps into the soft light surrounding the silver doorframe.

Is he an angel here to save me?

Or a devil in a designer suit?

I can never tell with him.

"Indigo." He moves through the door.

God, he's so handsome. Even more so than the last time I saw him.

I'm not sure what it is. Age. Experience. Heartbreak.

Or maybe it's the three years. Maybe I forgot the magnetic attraction between us.

My heart thuds against my chest. My toes curl. My thighs shake.

My body doesn't care about practicalities. It's already lost in memories. His hand on my throat, his voice in my ear, his cock—

"You look gorgeous." His voice is the same. The deep tone. The British accent. The complete lack of insight into his intentions.

"You too."

"Gorgeous?"

I nod, even though it's ridiculous. Ty is incredibly handsome in the most masculine way possible.

Deep eyes, dark skin, body of a soccer All Star. And under his suit, all those tattoos. The pieces of him I can't see.

The pieces of him I want to trace, study, commit to memory.

Or I did. Three years ago.

Now, I don't know. I don't know what he wants. How he feels. If I can trust him.

If I can trust myself around him.

I keep my voice soft. "Is fetching a better fit?"

He almost chuckles. He's at ease. Or he's good at pretending.

It's hard to know with him.

"Sure." He turns to the hallway as his assistant arrives with a tray.

A cup of coffee for him.

A tea set for me.

Both in clean white ceramic.

"Thank you." He waits for her to lay the drinks on his desk.

Then she leaves and he closes the door and we're alone.

My body begs for his. It screams touch him, taste him, kiss him, fuck him.

But that's not right. I'm not the one who fucks him.

He's the one who fucks me.

And not anymore.

We spent a summer together. It was a fling. That's all.

He hasn't spent the last three years missing me. Or dreaming of fucking me.

He's not asking me here to fuck me.

But what else could he want with me? I don't fit into his big, beautiful world.

Ty pours. Watches as I bring my lips to the pristine mug.

This is good tea. Expensive, perfectly steeped, fresh. But I can barely taste the notes of caramel and fig.

I'm too nervous.

Too in need of him.

I sit.

He takes the spot next to me. Turns his body toward mine.

The wool of his slacks brushes my bare skin. Only one layer between us. One layer too many.

I close my eyes. Focus on the taste of my tea. Try to stay in control.

"You like it?" Need slips into his voice. It matters to him that I like his offering.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Thank Paloma."

"She isn't here. You'll have to pass on my gratitude."

He nods of course. Turns a few more degrees toward me.

Enough my breath catches in my throat.

He smells the same. That earthy soap.

Three years and I recognize it.

Three years and the scent takes me back to his bed.

"You wanted to talk. In person." I try to keep my voice even.

He stares back at me with a perfect poker face.

"I'm here." I fail to find the confidence to sell aloof badass. "What do you need?"

If this was a normal offer, he'd put it on paper. In an email. Something.

If it's not…

His brother is former Mi6. They co-own an information company. He knows how easy it is to find secrets.

He needs me here for a reason.

But what?

He's rich, handsome, charming.

Then there's the British accent.

Rich, beautiful, powerful women fall at his feet.

What does he want with me?

"I have an offer for you." His eyes meet mine.

I finish my last sip. Suck a breath through my teeth. Force a steady exhale.

I can stare back at him. I can mirror his power and presence.

Sure, he's a billionaire with the contacts to ruin me. And I'm a cocktail waitress in a cheap dress.

And I, uh…

God, he's so handsome.

And I'm so out of my league. "What kind of offer?"

"I need something. And I want you, Indigo."

Okay…

"I want to marry you."

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Ty

 

 

Indigo's deep blue eyes fill with surprise.

Her wine lips part.

She stares at me for a moment, then she turns to her mug.

"Would you like more?" I ask. "I'll call Paloma."

"Would I like more tea?"

"Yes."

Her eyes flit to mine. "You want to marry me? And you're asking if I'd like more tea?"

"Yes."

"But…" Her chest heaves with her inhale.

She's torn between her desire to fuck me and her desire to tell me to fuck off.

Who do I think I am, calling her after three years of radio silence, asking her to marry me?

It's ridiculous.

I do realize that.

But it's also the only thing that makes sense.

I stand. Take her cup. Fill it with the tea left in the pot.

Her fingers brush mine as I hand her the mug. She looks up at me as she brings the clean white ceramic to her lips.

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