A Redo (The Sterling Shore Series #6) (11 page)

She frowns, and I look back ahead.

“I don’t need a fancy dress to feel good about myself, just so you know.”

I laugh while shaking my head. “Didn’t say you did, but no one wants to show up to something unprepared.”

She rolls her eyes, but I hand her my phone. “Pull up Sterling Shore Christmas on the web. Parties are hosted all over this time of year, but the big one—the one my mother is holding this weekend—goes from house to house. Someone at the top hosts it every year, and it’s her turn.”

With a begrudged acceptance, she does so. I know the second she finds it because her eyes go wide in shock and her mouth falls open as a small breath escapes her.

“Oh shit. I need a dress.”

Chapter 14

ALLIE

That’s not a Christmas party in those pictures. It’s freaking Gatsby’s era all over again. He’s right; I’d look like a sore thumb at a party like this wearing my cute little purple halter-top dress. These are gowns… extravagant gowns meant for royalty.

Who the hell is Wren Prize? And what have I gotten myself into?

“Wren, I think I’ve changed my mind about going to this party,” I groan.

No way can I splurge on a dress good enough for this thing.

Are those real diamonds? Oh shit. They are. That girl’s dress is trimmed with real diamonds.

“No. You’re going. And I promise you’ll fit right in after we leave Uncle Paul’s store.”

Paul Colton? There’s no way I can afford a Colton dress. Hell, I can’t afford a knockoff. But if I tell Wren that, he’ll just insist on paying for it. And I can’t take his money.

“Is there another store we could go to?” I ask, wondering if I could find a cheap dress that looks expensive. I’ve done that numerous times in the past.

“Not one good enough for this party or for you,” he says absently, but for some reason, I freaking blush. What is wrong with me? I’m too old to be blushing like a teenager, but there’s something about Wren.

I was supposed to hate him, dammit! Seven years—seven long years, I’ve hated him. How is it possible that just a few months has seemed to erase years of hurt?

Sighing, I lean back, trying to think of a way to get out of this. Maybe there are some huge sales in there. Like, ninety-nine percent off or something.

Dream on, Allie.

Wren pulls into the enormous, far-too-classy-for-me store parking lot, and I feel my stomach knot up.

“I can’t go in there looking like this,” I hiss, which has him laughing. I seriously think he loves laughing at me.

“They won’t care about how you look, Allie. I swear. I’ll be beside you. Come on,” he says through a lingering laugh, and my stomach flips again.

I wish he’d put that damn smile away. It really should be illegal.

His dark hair brushes over his brow, hanging in that way that makes him look like a bad boy, but I know now that Wren Prize isn’t the bad boy I hated him for being. And it’s making me my head hurt.

My eyes flit over the large silver “C” that is proudly displayed on the front of the stone-gray stucco store. I’m torn between hyperventilating and taking pictures for Bella. She’d die if she knew I was coming here.

My door opens, and Wren puts his hand out for me to take. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, I slip my hand into his without hesitation, and he pulls me out of the car before locking it. When he doesn’t let go of my hand, I’m thankful. I think it’ll be best if these people honestly believe I’m with him, because I might get kicked out for the way I look, otherwise.

He threads our fingers together as we walk into the store, and I run through the confusing thoughts of how at ease I feel with him. I stare at our hands, looking at how perfectly his holds mine, guarding it with care almost. It’s a simple gesture that could mean something so much more, or an innocent touch that means nothing at all.

I. Sound. Stupid. He’s just holding my frigging hand, and I’m really overanalyzing it.

“Mr. Prize,” a dark-haired girl says with dreamy eyes and a huge smile, snapping me out of my ridiculous reverie. “Were we expecting you?” she asks, her eyes unable to peel themselves away from him.

At least it’s not just me he affects. Apparently we all get stupid around him. Good. Now I don’t feel as bad.

“No. This was spur of the moment. I need something that is going to look stunning on her for the Sterling Shore Christmas party, and send me the bill.”

My grip on his hand tightens, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The girl looks me over, and her smile falters, but she works real damn hard not to let him see it. She studies me with a shrewd eye, looking me over from head to toe, then she returns her attention back to him, now wearing a fake smile instead of a real one.

“Of course. I’ll go set up a fitting room. Any particular line?”

Wren shakes his head, pulling me closer when I try to back away. “Just make sure it’s one-of-a-kind.”

This time, her fake smile manages to falter noticeably, and I get a little nauseated. It’s not like a normal store. Hell, there’s a waiting area off to the side, and this is like a small foyer. Do you need an appointment to get in here normally?

Wren starts tugging me through a doorway, and I ignore the girl who is probably wondering what in the hell I’m doing in a place like this with a guy like Wren.

“I can’t let you pay for a dress,” I whisper harshly when I think she’s out of earshot.

Wren’s deep laughter catches me off guard, and I look up to see his hypnotic blue eyes staring down at me with flakes of humor.

“You really don’t have a choice, Allie. Consider this a groveling gift. I owe you at least a dress. And I won’t let you win this argument. Believe me when I say I can afford it, and trust me when I tell you that you’ll walk out of here with a dress.”

I don’t know whether to be pissed or turned on. I’m a little bit of both in this moment. I’ll add it to the list of confusing and conflicting emotions he always makes me feel.

There are several other people in here right now, and they’re all staring. Just staring at me—the girl wearing a baggy shirt, messed-up makeup, and destroyed hair.

“Stupid water balloon fight,” I mutter to myself.

“This way, Mr. Prize,” the fake-smiling girl with cold eyes says, completely ignoring me.

Wren moves his hand down to my hip, tugging my body flush against his as he guides me toward the back. This is a fitting room? It looks like a damn… There aren’t words.

Rows of luxurious rooms line each side of the walls, and there are sofas inside. Freaking sofas. Not cheap, tattered or even old sofas. White, beautiful, glamourous sofas rest in every room.

“She can take the first one,” the girl says, just as another girl practically runs in with four dresses on her arm, holding them like they’re priceless works of art.

I never even told them my size.

“Are you going in with her?” the fake-smiler asks while the nervous girl hangs the dresses inside.

“No. I’ll wait to be astonished out here,” Wren says, a smile in his voice.

He leans down to my ear, and my breath catches in my throat when his warm breath fans my neck, eliciting chills that I can’t hide.

“Let them think you’re with me. I’ll kill myself if I have to put up with too much flirting.”

I smile to myself, and he wraps an arm around my shoulder as the nervous girl runs out of the room. “I’ll—I’ll bring… back more,” she stutters, her voice cracking.

“Are people always so nervous around you?” I ask him, looking up just as he looks down.

He winks as a cocky grin tugs at his lips. “I’m Wren Prize. It happens.”

Cocky is a good look on him. So is sweet. Hell, even angry is a good look on him.

Trying not to melt, I walk into the fitting room, shutting the door behind me as Wren props up on the wall.

My fingers run over the fabric of the bright red dress that is hanging up, and I almost moan. What the hell is that? I think they figured out a way to spin heaven into fabric because I’ve never felt anything so smooth and soft in all my life.

“Mr. Prize, are you and your friend going to be needing more than a dress?”

Apparently the fake-smiler is making her move.

“Babe, you need anything else?” Wren asks, and my heart kicks my chest. Shit. Why does the sound of him calling me
babe
do anything to me?

Swallowing hard, I shake my head no. Ah, hell. He can’t see me shaking my head.

“No,” I squeak, immediately clearing my throat. Great. I’m an idiot. He knows it now.

“Shoes,” he says randomly. “She’ll need shoes to match whatever dress she gets.”

Shoes? I have shoes.

I start to voice that, when the fake-smiler speaks first. “Also on your tab?” she asks, her voice husky and definitely flirty.

“Of course. Whatever Allie wants. My money is her money.”

Even though he’s just trying to make her leave him alone, I can’t help but smile. I also can’t help but wonder what an idiot his wife must have been.

While tugging my shirt over my head and tossing it aside, my mind starts wandering. My jeans drop to the floor, and I start thinking about what life would have been like if he hadn’t been a snake that night.

Wife… I’ve never asked him about her, and now the thought is nagging me. Did she get the princess treatment? Did he love her the way he seems like he would have? And why did he marry her after she cheated on him with his brother?

It’s not a commonly known fact. But while we were moving, several of the girls clued me in on his history with Erica. I can’t help but be curious. Yet no one knows Wren’s personal life fully outside of his friends, and it’s not like I can pry with them. Hell, I barely know them.

Staring in the mirror, I wince and do the one thing I always tell other women
not
to do—I compare myself to Erica Prize.

She’s fit, and her waist is so small that I swear it’s not possible for her to eat. My stomach is flat enough, but it’s nowhere near firm. I’m a mom who works full time. It’s not like I can spend all day in the gym.

Her hips are narrow, mine are curvy. Her breasts are small, mine… not so much. Maybe Wren is a boob guy.

Seriously… I have to stop this. I have to stop thinking about him in that way.

Silence falls outside until I hear a phone ringing, while I continue staring at my flaws versus Erica’s perfection.

“Allie,” Wren says, “I have to get this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

My eyes widen, and I jerk the door open. “Don’t leave me alone with fake-smiling girl,” I hiss quietly.

He looks up from his ringing phone, and his eyes widen on me until his gaze heats. The sweet look he normally carries is replaced by something… different. Raw, hungry, primal… I don’t know, but it’s hot as hell.

He walks forward, pushing through the door, and I stumble backwards. The mirror reflects me, and I gasp. I’m. So. Stupid. I’m in my damn underwear!

The door shuts, prompting me to look back just as Wren’s jaw ticks.

“Sorry. Didn’t want everyone out there seeing you,” he says in a strained voice.

We’re alone. In a fitting room. Just him and me. And I’m in pink lacy underwear.

His hand comes up to my chin, tilting my face up until our eyes are locked, and he stares down at me like he’s about to do something crazy. I swallow hard, silently beckoning him to make the first move, even though we both know exactly how reckless and stupid it would be—not to mention selfish.

“We can’t do this,” he finally whispers, but I think he’s talking more to himself than me. He curses, but suddenly he shoves me against the wall roughly, and my hands fly to his shoulders to steady myself, while his hands move to my hair, tugging my head back as he stares into my eyes.

Yep. That’s definitely hunger in his eyes. I know it, because that’s the same way I feel right now. I’ve never wanted someone to kiss me as badly as I want him to kiss me right now.

The second my body presses against him, he groans, clearly struggling with some internal war—the same one I’m facing. An ache forms between my thighs, and since I’m apparently mute, all I can do is breathe hard, hoping, waiting, silently begging. I. Can’t. Move. I’m frozen to this spot.

“Oh!” the nervous girl stammers, and Wren jumps back like he’s just been burned. “I’m so sorry.”

Wren curses while moving aside, and he clutches the door as the nervous girl scurries around to hang up the newest dresses she’s brought in. And I just stand here in my underwear because my heart is barely staying encased by my chest right now.

“I need to make a call. I’ll be right back,” he says, and then he abandons me. This time, I don’t try to stop him.

What the hell am I doing? I can’t fuck Wren Prize in the fitting room of a regaled store.

He’s Angel’s father. He’s Angel’s father. He’s Angel’s father.

I keep repeating it in mantra, reminding myself why I can’t touch Wren Prize. But touching Wren Prize… No. I can’t. I can’t dream about having him touch me, hold me, and take me in the ways I fantasize about, because it would ruin
everything.

Turning around, I pick out a dress, completely ignoring the nervous girl as she runs out and leaves me alone. Staring in the mirror, I take in the blush on my cheeks, the hair that looks like it’s been in a windstorm, and hunger in my eyes that matches the look he had.

I’m so screwed.