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

He starts with the top button, only to fumble. His frustrated grunt makes me laugh.

“You think this is funny?”

I giggle again as he slips again.

“My hands are too big.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course they are.”

“I’m not joking.”

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. “Well, we need to figure it out because I can’t sleep in this.”

“What if I cut you out of it?”

“No!” The gown cost fifty-thousand dollars. I can’t imagine ruining it just because Declan and his hulk-like hands can’t manage some measly buttons.

He sighs as he tries one last time and fails. “Scissors or a knife?”

“You’re joking.”

“Would you prefer I rip it apart?”

“Absolutely not!” I push back, forcing him to give me some room. “I’ll be back.”

I head to my bedroom, open a box labeled gardening supplies, and pull out a pair of shears. They still have a little bit of dirt on them, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’ll be wearing this dress ever again, although the option to donate it is not completely off the table.

“Stupid Declan and his massive paws for hands,” I grumble under my breath as I walk back into his room.

“Here.” I shove the shears against his chest.

He looks down at them. “This is not how I expected tonight would go.”

“Disappointed?”

“Amused.”

Our eyes lock, and something passes between us. One look sends sparks across my skin and my heart into cardiac arrest. It’s as if our outburst in the garage never happened. While I want to be annoyed at myself, I can’t help it when it comes to him. He might be an asshole, but I knew what I was signing up for when I married him.

“Get on with it.” I turn again and hold on to my hair before he has a chance to move it for me. The less contact we have, the better. I’m already feeling weak tonight as it is.

He grips onto the lace collar of my dress. “Don’t move an inch.” The cold brush of metal against the base of my neck has me sucking in a breath.

I wouldn’t dare. Not with the way my legs are threatening to give out at any moment.

The sound of shears cutting through lace sends another round of goosebumps across my arms. Chilly air hits the skin at the top of my spine, and I press the front of my dress against my chest to prevent it from falling at my feet.

Declan cuts through the fabric slower than necessary, and the blunt side of the shears brushes my back with each snip.

“Almost done.” His voice is far huskier than usual.

With a few last cuts, my entire back is on display for him. He chucks the shears on the bed once the job is done. Neither one of us moves, and my anxiety grows with each second that passes. I look over my shoulder to find him staring at my bare back like a puzzle he can’t solve.

“Thanks.” I attempt to take a step away from him, only to stop when his hand reaches out and skates across my spine. My heart pounds against my chest, threatening to jump out as he stops right above my lacy thong. Lust slams into me like a fist to the face. I can’t help choking on my gasp as he traces the edge of my underwear. His fingers brush across my goosebumps, and I suck in a deep breath.

He tugs, and a white long string snaps. “This was bothering me.”

I watch with horror as the thread falls by his bare feet. Of course while I was lusting after his touch, he was thinking about a fucking string. It’s horrifying to think I wanted him to be attracted to me.

Tonight is the final wakeup call I needed. No matter how my body might react to his touch, it’s only that. A reaction of chemicals responding to pheromones. Nothing but natural selection doing its thing, pushing me to mate with the worst partner on the planet, solely because he’s hot and available.

I refuse to let myself fall for his touch again. Because next time, there might not be a string that snaps me out of making a terrible decision.





15





DECLAN





I acted like a dick last night for a multitude of reasons. The way I presented myself at my wedding was the first misstep in a series of regrets, all because I couldn’t get a handle on my feelings. After all these years, one would think I would have mastered the art of not giving a fuck. It’s disappointing to know all it took was Iris in a wedding dress to ruin all my hard work.

You won’t be making that mistake again.

Not if I can help it. I stayed up far too late last night going over my new approach toward our fake marriage. Whatever happened on our wedding night is in the past. From now on, we will be more careful to avoid putting ourselves in situations that could lead to disastrous consequences.

Like you opening the door in a towel, knowing she was on the other side?

Exactly. Not my smartest move, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.

I knock on her bedroom door with my free hand. She yells something indecipherable with a raspy voice, so I rap my knuckles against the wood again. A thud that sounds oddly like a pillow slamming against the door makes me smile to myself.

Iris might be many good things, but a morning person she is not.

I clear my throat. “I was out on my run and grabbed you some coffee.”

“From Joe’s?”