Wedding Party Collection: Don't Tell The Bride. Kelly Hunter

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      Lena headed for the en suite—which was not to be confused with the other bathing pool. ‘Hey, Trig. There’s a surfboard-shaped mirror right here in the dressing room, next to the Tinkerbell lamp. Do you feel at home yet? Tell me you do, because there are costumes here too—that or someone’s left their clothes behind.’ She reappeared. ‘I love this place.’

      ‘I think it’s mental.’

      ‘Yeah, but I’m not in my right mind now either and you won’t be once I’m through with you. This place works on so many levels.’

      Aylin smiled softly. ‘This room is strategically lit of an evening,’ she offered. ‘There are lights, for example, beneath the bed.’

      ‘Electrocution as well.’ Trig nodded sagely. ‘Tell me that doesn’t cost extra.’

      ‘It doesn’t cost extra,’ said Aylin.

      Lena liked this woman already. ‘See? What’s not to love?’

      Lena was on for the ride, the adventure, the unexpected.

      ‘One night,’ Trig said.

      ‘I booked us in for two.’

      ‘There’s half a winged cherub sticking out of the ceiling.’

      Lena looked up. Indeed there was. And it wasn’t his upper half. She chewed on her lip and stifled another smile. ‘Definitely two.’

      Trig rolled his eyes, but Lena knew she had him.

      ‘Two nights,’ she told Aylin sweetly and the woman nodded and stepped aside so that their driver could enter with their bags. A young woman followed in his wake, carrying a silver tray bearing refreshments. Another woman entered with a tray of fresh fruit.

      ‘You feeling indulged enough yet, princess?’ Trig wanted to know.

      ‘Is the bed big enough for you?’ she shot back. Because it was the biggest bed she’d ever seen. Antique. Custom made. Ever so slightly daunting. But Trig would fit on it and so would she.

      ‘We’re on our honeymoon,’ Lena murmured and Aylin looked first at Lena and then at Trig in clear assessment of what he might bring to the honeymoon party. And smiled.

      * * *

      If there was ever a place for a scarred and insecure woman to seduce a man, this was it, decided Lena as the staff left and she started exploring her surroundings in earnest. The furniture choices and combinations had a whimsy about them—they celebrated the absurd and the unexpected, the ridiculous and the frayed. The blue and white tiled mosaic on the bathroom floor had a jagged crack running through one corner but still dared the viewer to gaze on it and call it anything but magnificent. You could find beauty in imperfection here. An imperfect woman might find courage here and the boldness to seduce a wary man.

      Because her husband? Whatever else he was, he was also a wary man. Especially when it came to being physically intimate with her. Kisses, he delivered with impressive thoroughness and abandon. Hugs, touches and full body contact, he could do that too, provided everyone was wearing clothes.

      Jump into bed and the man had a habit of leaving the room.

      And maybe that had been on account of the doctor’s orders, but Lena didn’t entirely buy into that scenario.

      Trig wasn’t pushing the physical intimacy at all.

      Take now, for example. They had everything they could possibly need when it came to an afternoon of seduction. They had water and wine, a tray full of finger-food delicacies and even a little hookah with a selection of flavoured tobaccos. And he stood there as if uncomfortable in his own skin, hunching slightly as he looked towards Bodrum with a brooding expression on his face.

      He’d been brooding ever since he’d checked his phone—correction, one of his phones, because he had at least two that she’d seen.

      He held it in his hand now, big thumb stroking absently over the screen. Whatever his mind was on, it wasn’t on her.

      And Lena did most firmly want it on her.

      She came to stand beside him, freshly showered and wrapped in an emerald silk robe that she’d found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. ‘That a work phone?’

      ‘No. It’s one of Damon’s. His are less traceable than the ones from work.’

      ‘There’s a disturbing thought,’ she said dryly.

      ‘Yeah.’ He finally turned to look at her and his expression turned even more brooding. ‘Not that I have any objection to what you’re wearing but what happened to your clothes?’

      ‘They’re coming up. You might have wanted me to take them back off.’ There was that hunted look again. ‘Guess not.’

      ‘Well, not immediately. I figured you might like to try the food first. And the wine.’ He headed for the table and put it between them. ‘Champagne?’ The champagne cork popped and Trig poured bubbly yellow liquid into delicate crystal flutes engraved with grape leaves and clusters. He poured himself one and drained it in one swift swallow.

      Lena sipped at hers. ‘I’ve never seen anyone do champagne flute shots before.’

      ‘First time for everything,’ he murmured, looking anywhere but at her. ‘And I need to shower now. Right now. A lot. Really not clean.’ He nodded far too enthusiastically and disappeared back inside.

      Lena watched him go and sighed. Cleanliness was indeed a virtue, but still...

      She found the shopping bag with the dress Trig had chosen for her and peeked inside. She put her hand in and pulled out a mass of cobalt-blue chiffon.

      The dress had a fitted strapless bodice and layers of gauzy skirt that flared out gently from the waist and ended in a mass of ruffles.

      ‘Do I do ruffles?’ she murmured. ‘‘I don’t recall that I do.’

      She ditched the robe, slipped into the lilac strapless bra and matching panties that she’d bought earlier, and then slipped the dress over her head. The bodice fitted neatly once she’d found the zip. The skirt fell in soft waves to mid-calf and she grabbed onto a bedpost and swooshed her leg up through the layers, pointed toe and all. It was an altogether feminine creation and gloriously light and soft against her skin.

      She did do ruffles.

      But she’d forgotten to ask for shoes.

      Never mind; they didn’t have to go out dancing tonight. Nothing wrong with dancing barefoot here.

      Her body felt good—as good as it was going to get. She reached for her make-up bag and painted her face in a tiny mirror pinned to the wall above three flying plaster ducks. Crowded, this room full of curiosities.

      If her husband ran out of things to do to her and wanted to go exploring, he could always start opening drawers. He’d probably fall down a rabbit hole.

      Twenty minutes later, Lena had done all the primping she could think of to do and СКАЧАТЬ