Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée
“Even the name—Dollar Dance—sounds like something you’d find in a topless bar on the Strip in Vegas,” I add, thoroughly amused by the topic.
Until I look at Amanda for reinforcement.
And find her glaring at me.
“What?” I throw my hands up. “Don’t you find this insane?”
“I find your reaction insane.”
Uh oh.
“Have you really never been to a wedding with a dollar dance?”
Dec and I shake our heads.
“Not since I was a kid,” Dad huffs.
“If you slip a hundred in that purse, will the bride give you a lap dance?” Hamish asks, clearly intrigued by this topic, leaning in as he pops back another shot, a hopeful grin on his face.
Amy smacks his shoulder. “You’re disgusting.”
“Oh, I’m disgusting? You’re the ones talking about hooring out the bride for a purse full of cash at her own wedding!”
“WHORING!” Amy shouts. “It’s not whoring! It’s a lovely ceremonial dance that’s part of any normal wedding reception.”
Declan bristles. “Normal?”
“As if you can talk,” Amy shoots back. “Your wedding was anything but.”
“How would you know? You didn’t even attend,” Declan says.
Dude. Just…no.
“I, unlike you, attended all of your first wedding!” Amy shoots back.
Dec opens his mouth to say something, but Carol steps between them.
“Awwww, you did not just say that,” she says, her jaw tight. “You can’t pull that card on her. She had to work. You know—work. That annoying habit people in our class have.”
“Your class?” Dad snorts.
Eyes darting all over the room, Amanda looks like she’s about to throw up. I wend my way through the arguing throng and grab her hand, tugging lightly.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper.
“You’re saying that to my boobs.”
“That’s who I’m addressing.”
“WAIT A MINUTE!” Marie shouts. As Dad and Carol and Amy and Declan and God knows who else all argue over the ceremonial rituals of cash and brides, Marie’s managed to sit in a pile of wedding cards, and has opened a bunch of them. “So far, I count ten sheep and three cows as wedding presents to Shannon and Declan.”
“I really don’t want to listen to this,” I whisper. “We’ve gone from paying the bride for men to touch her to sheep, all in one minute. Do I have to pick you up and carry you into the other room?”
Amanda’s hand squeezes mine. “You couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t? Because yes, I can, and yes, I will.” I give her a very lewd once-over.
Excited terror fills her eyes. She chugs her drink and grabs my ass.
“You need to slip a dollar in my pocket every time you do that,” I inform her.
Her hand slides into my front pocket. I inhale sharply.
“Like this?”
“Exactly like that.”
“What if I don’t have any money?”
“I’ll take an IOU.”
“Can I get a lap dance if I give you an IOU for a hundred?”
“I’ll give you one hell of a pole dance for free.”
“I assume you’re the pole?”
I wink at her. “You’re quick. I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you.” I pull her close, grinding our hips together, her softness in contrast to my hard self. “Brains and beauty, all in one delicious package.”
“You’ve got quite some package, too,” she whispers, rubbing against me, hot breath on my ear.
“Want to unwrap it?”
Her kiss is a promise that rolls out like an introduction to the rest of my life.
“Get a room,” Terry says, his voice making us both startle. I look over to see him holding Spritzy in one hand, a shot glass in the other.
“How about a closet?” I whisper, as Amanda takes my hand and we slowly peel off from the edge of the crowd, most of whom now bicker about the finer details of social class and wedding traditions in twenty-first-century America.
We’re eloping.
Whenever she lets me marry her.
All that alcohol must have soaked into my bones, because by the time we find Declan and Shannon’s bedroom, all I can think about is sinking into Amanda. I push her against the wall next to the door and kiss her, hands sliding up under her skirt, pushing the fabric up to nirvana, where I find her bare as can be, smooth as silk.
“What a lovely surprise,” I say, with meaning.
“Great minds think alike.”
“You planned for us to sneak off and have sex in the walk-in closet?”
“I’m a fixer.”
“Fix this.” I take her hand and put it where I need a handywoman most.
“Declan is going to kill us if he finds out we actually came back and had sex in his closet,” she whispers as her hands work my belt, unleashing me. “Remember how angry he was at the rehearsal dinner when he caught us in here?”
“I don’t care.” She’s made this so easy I almost groan as I pull her down to the ground and she balances herself over me, her hair a wall of fire blocking out the light. All I see are her eyes, all I feel is her soft silk above me, mouth on mine, sweet wetness and warmth enveloping me as we reinterpret the very notion of a pole dance.
I like my version best.
Neither of us has any illusions about what we’re doing. This is a quickie. A check mark on a list of wrongs to be righted. A few months ago we were in here, on shaky ground, trying to figure out what we were to each other. As Amanda and I move in perfect rhythm with each other, my hands pulling down the neckline of her wrap dress, her body arching and curling in so my mouth can take one nipple in and give her just enough attention for her sex tell to emerge, I realize we’re being about as authentic as you can get, amidst Declan’s suits and Shannon’s shoes, the rumble-tumble of their domestic life surrounding us, witnessing the silly playfulness of a very serious lovemaking session that has one singular purpose.