Chapter 22
We come out onto the street where the limo is waiting for us and it’s much later than I realized. The sun is low and golden, resting on the purple haze of just-off-twilight.
The thing about me is that, once I’ve made a decision, I tend to run with it.
And I’m not myself. I’m some unrecognizable version of it.
One that lives in Lila Bailey dresses that fit like a dream.
One who rides in helicopters and limos like she belongs in them.
One who laughs easily and doesn’t seem to have a damn care in the world, like they’ve all just evaporated into thin air because Dallas Wilder has the magic touch.
He somehow just—poof—forces them to fade out.
In this moment, my body and my soul have distilled themselves into only the good parts. The happiest, sexiest parts. The parts that are both carefree and brave.
The driver opens the door. Dallas slides in next to me, lifting me onto his lap as the door closes with that soft, sealed thunk that only very expensive cars make. The partition is closed so it’s just the two of us again in the amber quiet of it.
Dallas looks at me in the low light and he’s just so damn sexy I can’t possibly second guess him.
Any sensible reason I might have had for keeping my distance has been steadily and methodically obliterated over the course of one extraordinary day, and what’s left without sensible reasons is just the truth.
The truth is I want him badly.
His lap is—oh my god—mostly a hot, gigantic ridge.
The softness of my body cradles him intimately, and somehow perfectly.
Like I was made to do exactly this. I squirm a little, to try to get more comfortable, maybe, or to get closer—I can’t be entirely sure.
The champagne and the dress and the particular alchemy of Dallas Wilder have reassigned my center of gravity and demolished any willpower I have (not much at the worst of times and right now, absolutely zero).
My hands are on his shoulders as I writhe lightly.
My clit rubs against the hard heat of him and I gasp.
It’s happening again. If I keep moving I’m going to come.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers. He holds my face in his warm hands and he kisses me.
Oh god. He tastes so good.
It happens again. Like that first time he kissed me, I go a little crazy. His tongue licks into me and all I want is more. I open to him, my tongue gently tangling with his as I arch against his solid chest. My nipples strain against the delicate fabric of my dress.
“Fuck, Amelie, you get me so fucking hot,” he groans.
Somewhere outside our little bubble of slowly losing all control, there’s the muffled sound of my phone buzzing.
Once. Twice.
Shit. It must still be in the pocket of my work pants, which are still somewhere in this car.
I ignore it but it keeps on buzzing. Dallas slows without stopping entirely, which I appreciate, and I tip my forehead to his and breathe for a second.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should probably see if that’s Sadie. We made a promise a long time ago that we’d always answer.” When our lives were both imploding and we needed one reliable thing. Like we both still do.
“It’s okay. I get it. I always answer my brothers too.” His voice is low and a little undone and I love this. I love that he’s as desperate as I am.
I reach for my discarded work pants without fully relocating from his lap and pull out my phone. “Hey, Sade.”
“Hey. Where are you? Your bitch of a boss told me you took the day off. Are you okay?” Sadie’s voice, at full volume, requires no speakerphone. It fills the limo. Dallas, to his credit, looks out the window, giving me as much privacy as he can.
“I’m fine. I’m good.”
“Are you in your room? Are you sick?” She’s concerned and I can’t blame her. I’ve never—ever—taken a day off.
“No. I’m …” What to say? “I just had lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah. You know, that meal between breakfast and dinner?” I can’t help it. I’m buzzing.
Sadie is thoroughly stunned. “Where are you having lunch?”
“At Maison Rêve.” Like it’s no big deal.
“You’re having lunch at Maison Rêve.” As though I just told her I was having lunch in Atlantis, which I swam to with a school of mermaids.
“Yes. Just finished, actually.”
“Who are you having lunch at Maison Rêve with? The man?”
“What man?”
“When I stopped at the hotel, your boss said you’d taken off with some man.”
I don’t know why I’m being cagey about this to my best friend. It just feels so fast and so … life-changing.
Actually, yes, I’m on my way to his hotel to throw all caution to the wind and, with any luck, finally cash in my V-card with an ultra-hot stranger.
Not that he’s a total stranger. And not that Sadie would have any problem whatsoever with any of the above. So I just blurt it out. “His name is Dallas. He came into the bar last night and this morning he invited me on a helicopter ride and then to lunch.”
“Dallas? Dallas who? You met him last night? How do you know this guy’s not a total psycho, Amelie?”
I happen to know for a fact that Sadie often—okay, not often, but sometimes—picks up men she’s met the very same night and takes them home for “a good time.” According to her, there’s nothing wrong with letting off some steam every now and then.
A girl needs what a girl needs, I believe were her exact words.
And some of those guys she had one night stands with did turn out to be psychos. Or close enough.
I glance at Dallas, who’s sitting there innocently—or at least as innocently as someone as extremely rock-hard and well-hung as he is can be, and I can feel every freaking inch of it, pressing against me.
“His name is Dallas Wilder.” While I don’t really follow social media and whatnot, Sadie very much does.
“Dallas Wilder? The Dallas Wilder? The billionaire? Apollo Wilder’s brother?”
“Um … yes.”
“Holy shit!” exclaims Sadie. “Well, hell, girlfriend, in that case, I don’t want to hold you up from doing whatever it is you’re about to do. But let me remind you, Dallas Wilder or no Dallas Wilder, we are leaving on Monday morning. You said you’re in. Are you packed? Have you told your boss?”
“Um …”
“Amelie. I can’t believe you. You said you’re coming to New York with me!”
“I don’t know if I actually confirmed—”
“You did. Come on. At least try it for a couple of weeks, Ami. There’s nothing left for you at the hotel.
I’ve got enough money to get us there, a shitty car I can sell upon our arrival and a free place for us to stay.
Plus, my sister’s never home and I don’t want to do this alone.
She’s got a double pull-out couch and she said we can help ourselves for one month and then she might have to start charging us rent after that. She said it’s fine if you come too.”
“But—”
“The only thing the hotel is doing for you now is holding you back, dragging you under and stopping you from living your best life. It’s time to let it go and you know it.”
I look out the window. We’re moving slowly through the Quarter and I know every building we pass, every alley, every particular way the afternoon light falls across the ironwork balconies at this hour. I know this city the way I know the back of my own hand.
I also know she’s right.
I’ve been saying no to Sadie’s New York plan the way I say no to most things—quickly, reflexively, with the efficiency of someone who’s learned that wanting things you can’t have is an indulgence you can’t afford.
No to New York, no to leaving, no to any future that requires me to step off the particular patch of ground I was born into because it was my home, my family and my legacy all wrapped up in one decaying lost cause.
But I’m sitting in a limo on the (hard, ridged, about-to-do-things-to-me-I-can’t-control) lap of my dream man in a to-die-for dress while high on good food and expensive champagne. Something about the day—and the kiss—has moved something in me that I thought was fixed.
For the first time in double digits of previous asks, the no doesn’t come right away. “Okay. Maybe.”
Silence. Then, “Did you just say what I think you said?”
“I said let me think about it, Sadie. Don’t make it weird.”
“You have never said let me think about it in your entire life. You are an immediate no. You are a legendary no. This is breakthrough, Amelie. We’re going to have so much fun.
Be ready for the road trip of your life by ten o’clock sharp on Monday morning.
My old Toyota thoroughly enjoyed her lube job and now she’s ready to roll.
I’m going to hang up now before you change your mind.
Monday morning. Text me. Love you. Say hi to freaking Dallas Wilder for me. ”
“You can say hi yourself. He’s right here. And your voice is pretty loud, just saying.”
“Oh.” Suddenly almost shyly, which is definitely a first for Sadie Fabienne Bellamy. “Hi, Dallas.”
“Hi, Sadie.”
“I’m really happy you’re dating my bestie and all,” Sadie says. “You seem like a nice enough guy from, you know, your family and pedigree and whatever. But you better treat her right. Or I’ll be forced to hunt you down and kick your billionaire ass.”
“Jesus, Sadie,” I murmur. It’s the New Orleans in her, which she’s incapable of filtering.
Dallas laughs. “You have my word.”
“Thank you,” Sadie replies.
“I might have a more comfortable ride for the two of you to New York on Monday,” Dallas says casually.
I glare at him. What?
“What ride?” Sadie asks.
“I’m headed that way anyway at some point. I could give you and Amelie a lift to New York in my jet. If you were interested.”
Sadie’s speechless for a few seconds. “You could?” she asks tentatively, like she thinks he might be joking.
“Sure,” Dallas confirms, nonchalant, like it’s no big deal. “There’s plenty of room.”
Wait a minute. It’s too soon to lock it in so stone-clad like that. “But—”
“Amelie Thibodeaux, don’t you dare turn down such a generous offer by my new favorite billionaire,” Sadie scolds me. To Dallas, she says politely, “We’d love to take you up on that offer, thank you kindly, Mr. Wilder.”
“My pleasure.”
“To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure my old Toyota is up to the challenge of a thousand miles anyway. We would have been praying to the Toyota gods the entire way.”
“Sounds unsafe to me,” Dallas offers.
“Okay, then.” Sadie is completely over the moon. “I guess I’ll see you both on Monday. What time works for you, Dallas?”
“Let’s say noon. The limo will pick us up from the White Swan. Why don’t you meet us there.”
“You got it. Oh my god. Listen, I’ve got to run. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids. Have fun. Bye-e-e.” She ends the call abruptly and I know this is so I can’t protest or change my mind.
It wouldn’t have helped anyway if I had. I hold the phone in my lap and watch the battery die and the cracked screen go black.
I don’t know how that escalated so quickly. And I don’t like that Dallas intercepted that whole thing and now I’m somehow locked into a plan I haven’t entirely agreed to. “I’m not sure yet if I’m going to New York or not.”
Dallas’s smile barely lingers. “You should. It’d be a shame to let Sadie down at this point. It’ll be fun.” Placing it in the space between us, gently, to see where it lands.
I might be high on expensive champagne and also lust-drunk but I can’t go to New York.
The mere thought of it terrifies me and always has.
That’s why I don’t want to go. I’m well-aware that fear has been holding me back for a while now.
And I’m not happy about it. But sometimes you can’t just brush off your entire history.
Sometimes it digs a whole lot deeper than you know how to handle.
And it’s a reality that pisses me off. “You shouldn’t have offered that.
Before talking to me about it. You can’t just take control of things you have no business taking control of. ”
“I’m not controlling anything,” he says.
As he continues controlling everything. Because we’re at the hotel now and the door is already being opened for us and Dallas is lifting me into his arms like I weigh nothing and starts carrying me toward the hotel’s private back entrance.
“You’ll have to forgive me. This is all entirely new to me.
I’ve found the girl of my dreams so I’m going to be a traditionalist about this and carry you over the threshold. ”
Threshold?
A man is standing at the back door to greet us. “Mr. Wilder.” He tips his hat. “Please let me know if you need anything.”
“Actually, André, there is something we need. Amelie, give André your phone, please.”
“My phone?” I’m still holding it. I’m confused, but I hand the guy my phone.
“Could you please have this replaced,” Dallas tells him. “Have all the information transferred over to whatever the newest and absolute best model iPhone is and have it ready for us by noon on Monday. Bill me double whatever the cost is for your service fee.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Dallas carries me into the elevator and the doors slide closed.