While her mom and Rhys are in town anyway.
Ringing the bell, I hear Piper’s thudding steps as she calls out that she’ll get the door, but Clara beats her to it.
Opening the solid wood door with her phone against her ear, a sudden look of surprise then relief washes over her features.
“… it’s okay,” she says almost cheerfully. “He’s here. Reeve just rocked up… Yeah. Piper called him,” she adds, flapping her hand in the air to usher me in before closing the door.
I figure she’s on the phone with Rhys, judging by her tone. Plus Rhys’s voice is so deep, it carries beyond the phone against her ear.
Looking down the hall I see Piper as her mom retreats back into the lounge, already shifting the conversation away from me and back to the caterers or flowers.
Whatever it is they need to re-arrange.
“I was gonna…” Piper says, looking wounded, it wasn't her that opened the door for me.
But I’m not bothered by that.
I’m already taken by the sight of her in sweat pants and a baggy white T-shirt that’s straining up top.
Her large chest fills it to perfection, giving me a perfect outline of her naturally faultless body.
“I’m here,” I tell her softly. More than anything I want to take in her scent and hold her close.
Take her tits in my hands and thumb her thick nipples through her shirt.
Tell her I’m taking her home with me.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
Even though every cell in my being as well as my balls is screaming out for her naked body pressed against mine.
It’s only when I move closer, my instinct to keep her closer, that I can see she’s been busy.
Makeup. Her hair’s different too. And some perfume I just know she’s borrowed from her mom.
Her face seems frozen, a half-question mixed with some embarrassment.
“You hate it,” she observes, telling me a half-truth that she’s been trying out her makeup and hair for the wedding.
But I know she’s done it for me.
Because she knew I’d be here.
“I don’t hate it.” I’m quick to tell her, moving even closer. But if I’m brutally honest, I don’t exactly love it either.
It doesn’t suit her.
I like Piper just the way she is.
No makeup or perfume, no hairspray required.
She’s already a perfect ten without all that stuff.
I can see the hurt in her eyes at my word and it hurts me too, but I’d rather be upfront with her than pretend she has to do this to make her more appealing to me.
“That coffee I can smell?” I ask, diffusing the moment.
Cutting the tension and giving her the out she needs.
“I just made a fresh pot, want some?” she chirps, sniffing back the hurt. Pretending that we’re just bridesmaid and best man for her mom’s wedding again.
Just for now.
Clara’s voice carries in and out of the lounge, rising and falling as her ‘talk’ with Rhys shifts from needs versus her wants.
Rhys will figure it out, and I actually am here to help if required.
But seeing as Piper has my full attention, I’ll gladly give it to her for now.
In the kitchen, she pours us both a coffee. “As if I need a third today, I’m already shaking,” she says, holding out her hands to show me.
I grab them by reflex, pulling her close, making her breath catch.
I let out a low groan of satisfaction.
Almost appeased that I can at least see her, touch her.
She chews at her lip but lets her hands go limp in mine.
“You do hate it,” she asks again, referring to her hair and makeup.
“I don’t hate you,” I murmur, gently pulling her closer.
Close enough for her breasts to scrape against my rock hard abs.
The sound of blood rushing in my ears blocking out everything else.
Chapter Eight
Piper
“H-How should I do my hair?” I stammer.
I’m closer to Reeve than I’ve ever been. His naturally ripped physique and manly, woodsy scent make me feel like a kid who’s dunked their face in my mom’s makeup drawer and thrashed their head around inside.
Which isn’t too far from the truth. Makeup and hair? Never my strong points.
He’s not laughing or making fun of me though. Not making me out to be as stupid as I feel all dolled up in front of him.
He’s just telling me in his own way that he knows what he likes and what he really wants.
And I’m guessing it’s not a girl caked in makeup and smelling like a drug store perfume aisle.
“Like this,” he rasps, lifting one of his huge hands just enough to grip my hair and pull it all back gently.
Like the ponytail I wore yesterday.
With his hand on mine, and his other holding my hair, I feel the gentlest pressure as he leans down, bringing his face to mine.
“Just be yourself, be mine,” he says softly.
I should close my eyes, but I wouldn’t miss a second of this for the world.