I wrap my arms around her, pull her body into mine, bring my lips to hers.
The softness overwhelms me.
Honey shampoo.
Lemon soap.
The mint of her lipstick.
And Briar.
My hand finds her ass.
Her hand knots in my hair.
She kisses back with that same fervor. Groans as my cock brushes her stomach.
I'm too fucking hard.
And I don't fucking care.
I need to have her here. There. Everywhere.
Where the fuck is the zipper on this dress? I need her clothes gone. I need her naked, under me, groaning my name.
"Mr. Pierce." Bree clears her throat. "I have your tie ready."
Shit.
"And a pocket square. Unless you'd prefer I return later." She shoots me a cutting look. "The room is booked at seven."
Briar blushes as she steps backward. "We were just, uh…"
"You are engaged, aren't you?" she asks.
"Yes. We are," Briar oversells it. "Very engaged. Practically married already."
Bree looks to me. "And you didn't tell me." She raises a brow I know something else is going on, but I know better than to press. "I'm disappointed."
"You're the first to know." Kind of.
"In that case, congratulations." She smiles. "How did it happen?"
"Huh?" Briar asks.
"How did he ask?" She looks to Briar. "Or did you ask? I love hearing about women who propose, don't you?"
"I do," Briar says. "But, it was Liam's idea. He, uh—"
"I begged her," I say. "It was pathetic, honestly."
"Yeah. On his knees and everything," she says.
"Both of them? Or just the one?" Bree asks.
"You know me." I wink. "One to start. Then both."
Bree smiles ah, Liam, what a silly boy. "The way you talk about her… I've always wondered if there was more." She turns to Briar. "He adores you."
"He says that?" Briar asks.
"In his way." She winks at me. "Really, Liam. Congratulations. Your fiancée is a wonderful woman."
"She is." I try to find my footing. I need to get used to this. I need to play my part. "And she's got a fantastic ass too."
Bree chuckles, not buying the story I'm selling. "You have five minutes to clear the room." She lays the accessories on a display table and nods goodbye.
"Thanks," I say.
"I got it." Briar folds the pocket square and slips it into my pocket. She looks up at me as she fixes the tie. Slides the knot into place. "I haven't done that in a long time."
Again, my stomach churns. It's ridiculous, but, apparently, my sense of jealousy is as unreasonable as my dick. "You ready?"
"Are we really telling them we're engaged?"
"Yeah."
"What if they don't believe it?"
"They will."
"If they don't?"
"We'll have to convince them." Adam isn't as close to Preston as I am. And he's not suspicious to the degree Simon is.
But he's plenty close and plenty suspicious.
These two will be the easiest to convince—Danielle already believes I'm secretly in love with Briar—but they're still a fucking hurdle.
And they're only the first hurdle.
I try to think up strategy as I call a car, but my thoughts stay tuned to my Briar. Her wine red lips. Her soft skin. Her sharp nails.
The sweet feeling of her body melting into mine.
It's pretend.
I'm not even capable of this kind of affection.
I'm certainly not capable of falling in love.
So why the fuck am I so concerned I'm going to fall in love with her?
Chapter Seven
Briar
"That dress is gorgeous." Danielle throws her arms around me. She squeezes tightly, releases me, looks me over slowly.
Not as a friend adoring another friend's style. Not as a concerned future in-law.
As a photographer.
She drifts into artist mode. Focused, dreamy, somehow here and somewhere else at once.
I'm flattered she's considering me as a subject—she's talented—but I'm terrified too.
Danielle mostly photographs naked people.
A few months ago, Adam fell in love with her self-portraits, found her, won her over. He claims he fell for her when they met in person, before he ever saw a picture of her naked, but I'm not buying that story.
Adam spent the last year locked in the Pierce manor. He had plenty of time to search for babes online. He met almost no one.
It's clear which is more likely.
I'm glad he found someone, however he did it. A year ago, he and the youngest Pierce, Bash, were in an accident.
Bash died. Adam was in critical condition.
He spent months in recovery. Then more months locked in the Pierce family manor. He barely left the house. He was too afraid to face the world.
Because he couldn't survive without his brother?
Because he couldn't take the whispers of foul play? Sure, there were rumors, and some people suspected Adam, but no one who knew him like I did. Adam adored Bash. He'd die before he hurt his kid brother.
Maybe it was the physical scars that kept him home.
They're not that bad—soft pink lines on the left side of his face and body—but they're not the Disney prince thing he had going before the accident either.