The Expert’s Guide to Driving a Man Wild (Bluebonnet #3)(71)
Author: Jessica Clare

She clung to him, her skin stuck to his, and gave a long, drawn-out sigh of pleasure.

Grant kissed her one last time, breathing hard. “Did you mean it?”

She blinked at him, still dazed from her own wild orgasm. “Mean it?”

“That you love me?”

“Oh.” Her eyes got soft and she smiled at him. “I do. Is that so bad?”

“It’s not bad at all. I love you, too.”

She snuggled closer to him, pulling off his now smudged and completely askew eyeglasses and tossing them on the nightstand. “It freaks me out a little, I admit. I’m still scared to be in love.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he told her, stroking a hand down her arm. “I’d never hurt you.”

“It’s just . . . vulnerable.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But it’s also incredible. When I’m with you, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? You used to hate working with me.”

“Oh, I still hate working with you,” Grant said, grinning. “You’re a shitty employee. But you make an incredible girlfriend.”

“So much for just pretending. I guess we’re not very good at that.”

“Nope. I’m not complaining.”

She gave another blissful sigh. “Me either.”

Grant stroked her hair. She was so beautiful after sex, all sleepy and tousled. Purple strands of her bangs stuck everywhere. “I still want to marry you.”

Brenna considered this for a moment, then tucked her head against his shoulder. “Would I have to wear a ring?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

She thought about it, and then shrugged. “Make it a shitty ring, so I won’t feel bad if I lose it.”

“I . . . can do that. Is that a yes?”

She gave him a mischievous look and then licked his chin. “It’s not a no.”

“I’ll take that,” Grant said, and leaned in to kiss her again. “One shitty ring, coming right up.”

FIFTEEN

You’re going to have to take that piece of crap off for the photo shoot,” Miranda told her. “It doesn’t match your outfit.”

Brenna protectively held her hand close to her breast, scowling at her friend. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my engagement ring.”

“It came from a candy machine,” Miranda pointed out. “I can’t believe that Grant’s a millionaire and he cheaped out like that on your ring.”

“I asked him to,” Brenna said, beaming as she extended her hand and admired her ring again. It was a cheap piece of crap, but it was her cheap piece of crap. They’d gone out to dinner to celebrate, just the two of them on their first official date. As they’d entered the restaurant, they’d noticed a candy vending machine full of plastic bubble packs with a toy inside. Grant had stopped in his tracks and started to search his pockets for change.

“What is it?” she’d asked, and he’d pointed at a small play ring at the front of the vending machine. And he’d sank a quarter in and tried to get it for her. Three quarters later, and he’d had to go inside for change. Twenty-seven quarters later, they’d handed out the extra toys to kids who passed by with their families, and Grant had finally retrieved the ring. It was a total piece of junk—the back was a plastic c-clasp obviously meant for smaller fingers, and the purple stone was more of a gaudy bead.

But she’d loved it, and she loved that he took her hand and slipped it onto her finger as if it were the most important thing in his life. And he’d told her he loved her all over again.

Brenna had told him that she wanted a cheap ring because it wouldn’t bother her if she tossed it. But now that she had her ring? She loved it, and she’d be damned if she switched it out for anything. It made her happy just to see it.

“Elise, tell her that ugly ring is going to ruin the shot,” Miranda insisted. She leaned out of her chair, the huge pink curlers in her dark brown locks sticking up wildly. In front of her, Beth Ann wielded a can of hairspray, enveloping her in a cloud of fine mist and then waving a hand to dissipate the smell.

Her name called, Elise dutifully came over to the other side of the salon, where Brenna and Miranda sat. They’d volunteered to be the test subjects for the pin-up photo shoot, and had arrived for an early morning of pampering. Brenna’s hair had been curled and pulled back on the sides in a mimic of Bettie Page’s hairstyle from an old photo, and she wore a pink and black diner T-shirt and a short, pleated black skirt that barely covered the frilly, pink ruffled-rump panties she was wearing underneath. Her legs were clad in pink thigh highs and she wore black high-heeled Mary Janes. Atop her head, a paper diner hat had been artfully perched, and her makeup and nails had been perfectly done, thanks to Beth Ann’s ministrations. Looking in the mirror, Brenna had to admit that she did look a lot like a pin-up model.

At her side, Miranda sat in a tight white sweater with a blue peter pan collar and matching blue poodle skirt. Her hair was being carefully teased into several large rolled pin curls atop her head.

Elise studied Brenna’s ring for a long moment, then shrugged. “It’s whimsical. It’s not like it won’t fit the theme. If she wants to keep it on, she can.”

Miranda made a face at Elise. “Party pooper.”

Brenna stuck her tongue out at Miranda, then grinned and hopped out of her chair. “Are we ready now? All this lipstick’s driving me crazy.” For the shoot, Beth Ann had slicked Brenna’s lips with a bright red gloss that looked gorgeous, but tasted awful. And of course she kept licking her lips by accident.

“We’re ready,” Elise told her. “I need you to go stand in the center of the sheet.”

Brenna trotted over to the area that had been staged for the photo shoot. Beth Ann’s tiny salon had been temporarily transformed. Pale beige sheets had been draped over the windows and across the flooring, creating a neutral area for the shot to be set up. The barber chair had been pushed to one side, and a white stool sat in the midst of the sheets. On the far corners of the room, lamps had been set up on tripods to make sure that the room would have the best lighting possible.

“So do I just sit on this stool?” Brenna asked, dusting her hands over the ruffles on the backside of her panties. They were so ruffly and her skirt so short that it kind of stuck out in the back, almost like she was wearing a crinoline.