Playboy Prince

The other one—

She doesn't talk marriage. She doesn't use the word girlfriend. She doesn't faint when people ask about her fake engagement ring (she still wears it, supposedly to ward off douchebags, but I like to believe a part of her loves the idea of marriage and commitment), but she doesn't rush to discuss it either.

She might never come around on making it official, but she's figuring out her shit, on her own time, in her own way.

She even wants to go to Los Angeles this Christmas.

For three days, staying in a hotel, driving a rental car, yeah—

But she's still willing to spend the day with her parents. That's fucking progress.

It's not as fast as I'd like, but—

Who the fuck am I kidding? Preston was right. I'm all in. I want to fly to Vegas and marry her tonight.

I can wait.

I don't fucking want to wait, but I can. I will. I'll wait a thousand years if that's what it takes.

This, what I want to do tonight—

Well, what I want to do tonight, after I do her—

Will she say yes?

I don't know.

I check the bottom drawer. It's still there, adorned, ready, waiting for my question.

And there's something under it, something I haven't seen in weeks—

My folder of info on Simon. The secrets he's hiding. The skeletons in his closet.

All sorts of shit that isn't any of my business.

It's been sitting here for months.

I want to know, I do, but not like this.

I don't forgive Simon for keeping secrets, but I understand. I appreciate his intentions.

Sometimes, I even admit he has good intentions.

Not out loud. Not to anyone else. Certainly not to Simon.

But I see it. I do.

Simon respects me enough to leave this with me. He respects me enough to offer me the truth.

My older brother actually respects me. I've always known he loves me, but this?

It's hard to wrap my head around it.

And I respect him, respect his intent enough to wait.

I'm going to ask, talk to him, trust him when he says I'm better off not knowing.

Soon.

Really fucking soon.

We're not there. Not yet.

But we're on the way. It's going to be a long fucking journey, but this is a big start.

Now, why the fuck am I still thinking about my brother?

I grab my gift for Briar. Put it in the top drawer. Do one last check of the room.

Lights.

Music.

Action.

I open the door a crack. My signal to her.

I want this for her, to make it happen for her.

But it's not in my hands anymore.

It's up to her.

Briar

A familiar melody floats into my ears. A soft guitar riff. Steady drums. Moody vocals.

The second verse, already.

How long have I been standing here, in the bathroom, staring at my reflection?

My makeup is in place, my hair is neat, my outfit is fire.

There's no reason to wait. I don't have an excuse.

I apply another coat of lipstick anyway. Moshpit. The perfect plum.

Liam's favorite.

Not that he can tell the difference between plum, berry plum, berry, and wine.

He sees purple-red and his thoughts go straight to the gutter. I need your lips on mine, baby.

It's my signature. I guess that will make it hard for him to have an affair. I'll catch the shade on his collar like that.

Not that I think Liam would cheat. I know he wouldn't. I do. I trust him.

It's just the word marriage still sends my thoughts straight to affair.

Not as fast as it did a few months ago. But fast enough.

The whole commitment thing—

I swallow hard.

I'm not here to contemplate forever. Or discuss marriage. Or think about the future.

I'm here to drive him out of his fucking mind.

And I'm doing it.

Liam pushed for this. And he was, well, pushy. In a Liam kind of way. But it wasn't for him.

It was for me. It is for me.

He wants me to feel free and uninhibited and completely in touch with my inner freak.

I'm ready to do this.

Mostly.

I take a deep breath. Exhale slowly. This is it. As soon as the song ends.

The chorus fades into the outro.

For a moment, the hum of the air-conditioning fills my ears. Then it's the slow, sultry intro.

Deep breath. Steady exhale.

I step into the hallway. Slip through the open door. Into Liam's bedroom.

The room is every bit the club scene he promised. Red-purple lights, silk sheets, mirrors everywhere.

And Liam, sitting in a plush chair, staring at me like I'm the only thing he's ever wanted.

Fuck.

My heart thuds against my chest. My stomach flutters. My sex clenches.

How can I be turned on, nervous, and impossibly in love with him at the same time? It defies explanation.

But that's Liam.

"The room." He barely forces the words from his lips. "Good?"

"Good." Somehow, I'm less tongue-tied than he is.

It's strange and wonderful, leaving silver-tongued Liam Pierce speechless.

Fuck.

The desire in his eyes—

I'm going to burst into flames.

I suck a breath through my teeth. Take another step toward him.