Gretchen drummed her fingers on her lips. “Like . . . boudoir art?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be—”
“No, I like it! And Hunter would blush like a madman, which means it would need to go in his office. Will you ask Sebastian about it?” She fluttered her eyelashes at Chelsea. “Pretty please?”
“He’s really shy about the art for some reason, but I know he would do it if it was for Hunter. I’ll tell him about it and feel him out.”
“Or feel him up?” Gretchen wiggled her eyebrows and then flicked the crown. “You’re keeping him busy.”
Chelsea grinned. “I sure am.”
The sedan parked, and Rufus and the driver got out, opening the doors for the women. They headed into the tiny bridal shop, where they were greeted by a cooing woman and ushered into a sitting room full of dresses and books. Taylor and Greer sat in the chairs, looking uncomfortable. Taylor had her phone out and was tapping busily at the screen, while Greer had a plastic garbage can held to her chin, a greenish cast to her skin.
“Oh my god, Greer, are you still sick?” Chelsea asked sympathetically. She sat down a few seats away from Greer and shook her head. “We could have rescheduled.”
“Just the car ride,” Greer said faintly, then gave them a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine in a few.”
“Wait. I thought you had the flu?” Gretchen thumped into her seat and hauled a catalog into her lap. “You said you were fine now.”
“I am fine. I was fine,” Greer corrected.
The bridal shop owner came over and clasped her hands together, giving them a bright-eyed look. “While I think about it, ladies, we have some fabulous bridal cake samples if you want to try a few flavors? It’s from a partner bakery and I think you’d love what they’ve got.”
“Ooo, cake,” Gretchen said, sitting up straighter. “Now you’ve got my attention.”
Greer made a hurking noise and clutched the bucket closer. Taylor scooted her chair a few spots away from Greer.
“Oh, damn it,” Gretchen said, her hands going to her hips. “Not you, too?”
“Not you what?” Chelsea asked.
“Fucking Greer is pregnant, too,” Gretchen grumbled. “Are all of my bridesmaids gonna end up knocked up before I go down the aisle? Because then we’re really going to have to go with an empire waist, and those look like shit.”
Greer gave them a wan smile and then began to puke again.
* * *
Several hours later, Chelsea said good-bye to Gretchen, her stomach full of cake samples and her clothes rumpled from changing in and out of dresses all afternoon. She’d tried on at least twenty different gowns, since both she and Taylor had been volunteered to be the models for the “team.” Greer had miserably puked all afternoon and ended up lying down on a sofa in the back with a wet cloth on her head. It had been a weird afternoon, but a fun one. As she entered the town house, she heard the strains of classical music through the walls, which meant that Sebastian was probably upstairs in his art room, sketching. She tossed her purse aside, pulled off the silly crown that Gretchen had given her, and headed up the stairs toward his room, thoughtful.
She couldn’t get Gretchen’s earlier comments out of her mind. I’m still not entirely sure why you two jumped the gun.
Her doubts had compounded in Chelsea’s mind until it was all she could think about. Such an innocent comment had turned into an obsession. They were together because they were faking it. Except they weren’t faking it any longer, and now Chelsea didn’t know where they stood.
And she was having all kinds of lust-and-love filled thoughts in his direction, and she still wasn’t sure if he thought they were back to the old arrangement of “just friends.”
Just friends who were married and happened to have scorching, mind-blowing sex. No big.
She was probably making too much out of it, Chelsea chided herself. She should just enjoy his company and what they had and not worry too much about putting it in the right “box.”
The music was loud enough as she went up the stairs that she doubted Sebastian could hear her come in. She glanced at his closed door, her imagination running away with her. She thought of last night, and immediately her body flushed with excitement.
Instead of heading for his study, she went to the bedroom and put on her skates and derby gear. If that didn’t signal to Sebastian “I’m feeling sexy and need you,” nothing would. And she wanted a repeat of last night’s performance. She’d been thinking about it all day.
Now she was like a kid with a new toy, and she wanted to play. And she wanted to forget her doubts. And seducing him would ease both.
Quietly, she skated down the hall and paused outside his door. The music still blasted, strains of violins and French horns filling the town house. Good mood music, she decided. She knocked on the door, and then opened it, leaning in the doorway.
He was seated at his desk, sketching. She could barely make out a familiar set of curls and a hand sliding between thighs, and a tiny, short pleated skirt. Sketching her from last night? It sent a tingle through her body in response. He glanced over at her with a faint smile, then paused when he took in her uniform, pigtails, and skates. Then, he sat back, his eyes immediately going smoky as he devoured her with a look.
She skated the few feet across the room to him and moved behind his chair. Her arms went around his front and she hugged him, pressing herself against his back.
His hand slid up her arm in a caress. “Hey, baby.”
Her hands moved down his front and she kissed his neck, even as she slid a hand down to his cock and rubbed him through the fabric. “I’m feeling frisky.”
“Yeah?” His soft whisper was just barely audible over the music. “You wanna go to the bedroom?”
She thought for a moment, and then leaned in and nipped at his earlobe. “I want to stay here and play with you.”
He groaned, eyes closing as he leaned back against her. It was an invitation that she could do what she wanted to him, and it was an exciting one. Her hand slid into the front of his sport shirt, undoing buttons. He never dressed like a slob, even if he was puttering around the house. Always in khakis and a nice, crisp shirt. It made her want to do naughty things to him. To dishevel him.
Really, it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
She continued to kiss and nibble at his ear, and her hand moved under his shirt to one of his nipples. She scratched at it lightly with her nails, enjoying the hiss of air from between his teeth. She was feeling bold and sassy, and as another idea struck her, she decided to give in to it.
Chelsea skated around to his front and leaned forward, giving him a long, sultry kiss. Then, with a mischievous grin, she moved to his belt and began to undo it.
“Are you sure—”
“Shhh,” she told him, and then looked up with a grin. “I’ll be gentle.”
“You’re going to ruin me,” he said, burying a hand in her hair as she unbuckled his belt and then pulled down his zipper. “I’m going to start getting hard every time I see a skate.”
“I’m fine with that,” she teased. Her hand stroked along the front of his pants again and he felt erect. Nice. It didn’t take him long, which quickened her breath. Did her touching him arouse him so much? That was exciting. It made her pulse pound and heat pool between her legs. Touching him was turning her on, too. Almost as much as when he touched her.
She freed his cock from his clothing and took him in her hand. Definitely hard. Definitely big and delicious. She trailed her fingers over his length, teasing him, before leaning in and licking the head.
His hand knotted in her hair and he gave another wild groan. “Fuck, you’re amazing, Chelsea.”