Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires #2) by Lauren Asher

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “I realize I don’t want to be your friend either. Because getting close to you means questioning your motives about everything, and frankly, that’s way too much effort for someone who doesn’t seem to like me in the first place.”





14





IRIS





I hold my head up high the entire walk toward my bedroom. Rather than feel unsettled from my conversation with Declan, I’m hit with a wave of calmness. It seems like we are finally back to where we stood with one another before our whirlwind engagement. Sure, a cake tasting and a family dinner might have been a fun change of pace for us, but that’s all it was.

A show for the masses—kind of like a Royal Tour.

It takes me a whole twenty minutes to undo hours of hair and makeup. I might have ripped off half my eyelashes from lash glue, but it’s a small price to pay for finally feeling like myself again.

By the time I get to removing my dress, I almost throw out my back trying to undo the vintage buttons lining my spine.

“Motherfucker.” I grunt as I twist and turn in front of a full-length mirror. Nothing works, and I’m stuck staring at my reflection with my hands on my hips.

There’s no way you’re getting out of this dress by yourself. I let out a resigned sigh as I swallow my pride and exit my room.

My fist knocking against Declan’s door echoes off the tall ceilings. I stand there, waiting for him to open up. The pressure in my chest builds as time ticks by. Ten seconds turns into thirty, and before I know it, I’m knocking again. “Declan! I need your help!”

Well, that hurts to admit. If he was sleeping, he sure isn’t now. The jangle of the doorknob gives me hope that I won’t need to fall asleep in my wedding dress tonight.

Now that’s a depressing thought.

When Declan opens the door, I want to run in the opposite direction. My heart rate goes from steady to rapid at the sight of Declan’s muscular, naked chest on full display.

I choke on my next inhale of breath.

Water droplets trickle down inches of pale muscle before disappearing into a white towel wrapped around his narrow waist. He has V-cut abdominal muscles that point like an arrow to an area I sure as hell should not be thinking about right now. An area that only proves Declan is well-endowed even when not aroused.

Warmth pools deep in my belly. My eyes give him another once-over, and my hands itch to reach out and trace the slab of muscle also known as his stomach.

This can’t be happening to me. My eyes snap up toward his face, hoping he missed my temporary lapse of sanity.

He raises a brow at me in silent anticipation.

Oh my God. He knows that you like what you see.

I try to think up a response, but my throat feels dry suddenly.

“You wanted my help?” He stops in front of me.

His help! Right!

“I can’t reach the buttons.” My voice is far breathier than I’m proud of. Given our argument in the car, I could at least pretend to be disgruntled in his presence.

Declan circles around me like a predator. His muscles shift with each step, and I’m surprised my tongue doesn’t roll out of my mouth like a dog as I pant after him.

He drags my wild hair over my shoulder, and goosebumps spread across my skin.

That should not be happening.

Anyone with eyes would be attracted to a set of abs. It’s evolution beckoning us to choose a mate who can provide for us.

Provide what? Endless stamina and orgasms? I reply.

“There have to be a hundred of them.” He tugs me out of my thoughts, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

A laugh escapes me before I have a chance to stop it. “Hundred and twenty according to Nana.”

He grunts. “Come inside so I can see them better in the light.”

The invitation is innocent, but my body doesn’t seem to get the memo as Declan ushers me into his room and toward the light on his nightstand.

“Let me go put some clothes on.”

Please don’t.

Whatever expression I have on my face makes the corners of his lips lift.

“I’ll be back in a second.” He walks toward his closet, only to look over his shoulder at the last second.

My cheeks burn from being caught ogling him.

He raises a brow. “It’s rude to stare.”

“Then don’t walk around naked to begin with. Problem solved.” Atta girl.

He shakes his head and enters his closet without sparing me another glance.

I take a moment to observe the personal objects on his nightstand. A worn copy of The Great Gatsby has five different sticky notes protruding from the yellowed pages, neatly lined up next to a remote control for his TV. My eyes widen at the small cactus I bought him two years ago as a Christmas gift.

“Oh my God. It’s still alive?” I reach out and grab the tiny don’t be a prick pot.

“I can manage to take care of a cactus.”

I startle at the sound of his voice. “But it’s been two years!” And he keeps it on his nightstand. I don’t have the nerve to ask him why that is, although the urge rides me hard.

He shuts me up by tracing a finger down the base of my spine, right beside the hundred ivory buttons. The pot in my hand trembles as his hot breath hits the back of my neck. My skin prickles in response, and I place the pot down in order to hide the way my hands shake from his proximity.