Dirty Page 2

  "You what?"

  "I'm Lydia," I said, the first thing to come to mind.

  No reply. His handsome face, however, took on a distinctly pissy expression. Even his strawberry-blond hair seemed a fiery hue. Fine, so we weren't swapping names and getting cozy. Fair enough. You wouldn't believe how hard it was, keeping my eyes on his face. The struggle was real. It might have been due to my not seeing one in so long, but his dick seemed almost hypnotic. The thing had magical powers, I swear. It was so big and mobile, subtly swaying every time he moved. My gaze kept darting down despite my best efforts.

  Finally he put me out of my misery, grabbing a towel off a nearby rack and wrapping it around his waist. It made for quite the hot-looking miniskirt. Not just any man could have pulled off such a look.

  But back to my explanations.

  "Ah, firstly, I'd just like to say sorry about this." I waved a hand at him and his bathroom and, well everything, really. "For any inconvenience I might have caused here in your bathroom."

  The guy stood tall, looming over me with his hands on hips. Tattoos covered his arms to his wrists. Still, he had a whole lot of sinew on show. Definitely not the kind of man you'd want to mess with. Dude could probably snap me in half in a second. I bet he was a tattoo model, or a biker, or a pirate, or something. Something a lot hot and more than a little scary.

  Shit. I really should have chosen another house.

  "I don't normally break into people's places and hide out in their tub," I babbled, on the verge of incoherency. "So I'm really sorry. Seriously. So very sorry. But you've got a lovely home."

  "That so?"

  "Not that, I mean, that's not why I'm here. I just..." Fucking hell, my mind was a disaster. I took a deep breath, letting it out nice and slow, before trying again. "I love the old Arts and Crafts bungalows, don't you? They have such soul."

  His brows drew tight. "Are you high? What the fuck are you on?"

  "Nothing!"

  "You haven't been popping any pills or snorting something?"

  "No, I swear."

  "Nothing to drink?"

  "I haven't had anything," I said, but the suspicion and anger still lined his face. Paired with the stubble on his chin and the shadows beneath his eyes, my unwilling host was one tired, cranky man. Couldn't really blame him.

  "So you're completely sober," he said.

  "Completely."

  A pause.

  "You're thinking I'm bat-shit crazy now, aren't you?" I asked, despite the answer sitting plain as day on his pretty face.

  "Pretty much, yeah."

  Oh, god. "I'm not. I'm sane."

  "You sure about that?" He looked down the long line of his nose at me, distinctly unimpressed. "Seen a lot of weird shit in my years. Stuff like you wouldn't believe. But I got to tell you, right now, this ... you, are taking the cake."

  "Great." And I was so definitely probably going to jail. Someone ought to give me a cookie. My ability to take a bad situation and make it worse today was amazing.

  "You touch any of my stuff?" he asked. "Take anything?"

  "Yes, your sofa is cunningly hidden down the front of my dress. You won't believe where I fit the TV."

  Again, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Between you and me, probably not the time to be funny, babe."

  Crap. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. You have every right to be mad."

  "Damn right, I do."

  I nodded, contrite. "I haven't touched any of your things."

  The dude just stood there, staring. Lots going on behind his eyes. None of which I could read.

  A stray tear trickled down my face. It must have saved itself up just for the occasion. Gah. How pathetic. I sniffled, brushing it off hurriedly with the back of my hand.

  "Fuck's sake," he muttered.

  "I really am sorry about this. The truth is, I just needed somewhere to hide for a little while. I didn't mean to freak you out."

  He sighed. It wasn't a happy sound. "Lydia?"

  "Yes?" Despite my best efforts, my voice trembled slightly.

  "Look at me."

  I did so. He still looked cranky and crazy cool while I remained a hot mess.

  "I'm Vaughan," he said.

  "Hi."

  He tipped his chin and silence fell between us once more.

  With the tip of his tongue rubbing at his upper lip, he looked at the wide-open window, and then back at me. Yep, that's how I'd gotten in. Houdini had nothing on my mad skills.

  "What are you doing in my house, Lydia? The truth."

  "It's kind of a long story, actually." Along with being excruciatingly embarrassing. But then, what wasn't about this day?

  Vaughan crossed his arms over his wide chest and waited me out while I fussed with my ruined skirts and tried to come up with a way to spin the story to not make me look a complete fool. Christ, the holes in my stockings were huge. On one side, my entire foot stuck out. So screwed.

  Vaughan crouched by the side of the tub, resting his arms on the side. Up close the shadows under his eyes seemed even bigger and darker against his pale skin. And there were bags big enough to use as carry-ons. Despite the strong lines of his lean face, the man looked done-in. Ready to sleep for a hundred years.

  I knew that feeling.

  "Looks like a wedding dress," he said quietly.

  "Yes, it is. I was going to get married today." I took a deep breath, wiping my face with my hands. Just as expected, my palms came away smeared with black eye makeup. "Ah, boy. I must look a wreck."

  Without comment, Vaughan reached out and grabbed a towel, handing it to me. It was sort of threadbare, old. Dated like the rest of the house. I hadn't seen more than one room, but real estate agents got a feel for these sort of things. Minimal upkeep for the past five or so years would have been my guess. Perhaps it'd even been left empty. Bushes out front hid the house from view, so I'd never gotten a good look at it before.

  "Thank you." I patted myself dry with the towel as best I could. What remained of my beautiful dress was a sopping-wet ruin. "I'm sorry I broke into your house, Vaughan. I swear I don't normally do this sort of thing."

  "No," he said, his voice deep. "Figured as much. Where'd you come from?"

  "The big house at the back."

  His brow wrinkled. "You climbed over the fence?"

  "Yes."

  Tired, red-tinged eyes appraised me anew. "That's a tall fence. Must have been one hell of an emergency."

  "It was a disaster."

  For a long moment he studied me, deep in thought. Then he sighed yet again, climbing to his feet.

  "Are you going to call the cops on me?" I asked, my throat tight with tension. "I know you have every right to, I'm not disputing that. I'd just, I'd like to know. Mental preparation and all that."

  "No. I'm not."

  "Thank you. I appreciate that." My whole body sagged in relief.

  Then he clapped his hands together, startling the crap out of me. "Okay, Lydia. Here's what we're going to do."

  "Yes?"

  "I arrived late this morning, have only had a few hours' sleep. If I don't get some coffee soon, things are going to get ugly. And you probably need to get dried off." With no fuss, he held out his hand. "Let's get shit sorted out. Then we can sit down and you can tell me the long story of how the hell you ended up in my house. Agreed?"

  "Agreed," I said, voice lightening.

  He pulled me up. Then, with strong hands on my waist, lifted me out of the tub. Immediately water started dripping off of my saturated dress, pooling on the scuffed wooden flooring at my feet. Chris would have been distinctly unimpressed. Chris didn't like messes. But as Vaughan didn't seem to care, neither did I.

  "You're really not going to call the police?" I asked.

  "No. Hold still," he said, carefully plucking a fake eyelash from my cheek.

  "Thank you."

  "Your dress is kind of fucked." He looked me over from top to toe.

  "I know," I said sadly.

  "I'
ll leave you to get changed."

  "Wait. Please. I can't get out of it on my own."

  More frowning.

  "It's vintage," I explained with a grim face. "There's no zip, just a line of little buttons up the back."

  "'Course there is." Without another word, he turned me around and got started in on said buttons. As he worked, he hummed beneath his breath, the song vaguely familiar.

  "Aren't you still mad?" I asked, perplexed.

  "Nuh."

  "But I broke into your house."

  "Window was open."

  "I still trespassed."

  Busy fingers kept working on undoing the dress. "You sat in the tub and cried because some dickhead fucked you over."

  That shut me up.

  "Or that's what I'm assuming, given the dress and all. I take it he's the one that gave you that shiner on your cheek?"

  "No. No one hit me. And yes, you assumed right about the being fucked over." I tried to look back at him, but I couldn't see a thing beyond my wild-ass hair. Impressive how it'd survived the shower. The stylist clearly knew her shit.

  "You sure no one hit you?" He did not sound convinced.

  "Yes. I lost my grip and hit the floor when I was climbing in the window. My home invasion skills need work."

  "I'd suggest you try a different career." He finished with the buttons and took a step back, scratching his head. "You okay with the dress now?"

  "Yes, thank you," I told his reflection in the mirror. "For everything, I mean."

  "Sure." He almost smiled and gave a small shake of the head as if he couldn't quite believe what was going on. Or maybe it was disbelief that he wasn't kicking me straight back out the window through whence I'd come.

  Lord knows, it'd shocked the shit out of me.

  He turned toward the door. "See you out there."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Beneath the sodden wedding dress, things weren't so bad. My petticoats and corset were actually pretty dry. Or would be soon enough in the warm weather. I fixed up my panda eyes and wrapped my hair up in a towel, turban style. Nothing more could be done.

  Time to venture out in search of the kitchen. It was easy enough to find with the tantalizing scent of coffee leading me on. The bungalow had roughly an L shape. Obviously at some stage it'd been remodeled and given a more modern layout.

  It was nice, charming.

  French doors opened out from the kitchen onto a back deck where several pots containing long-deceased plants sat. All of the light inside was hazy, care of the unwashed windows. Tiny flecks of dust floated about in the golden afternoon air.

  Vaughan waited at the table, a cup of coffee in his hands and another opposite. He wore jeans and a wrinkled gray tee with some band on the front. Even slouched in a chair, he looked good. Different from Chris yet still immensely appealing. Vaughan was so slacker cool with his long, lean body and his hair falling in his eyes. Man, I hated people who could appear so effortlessly attractive. Me relaxed resembled an oily hair and sweatpants party for one.

  "Hi." I raised a hand in greeting.

  He'd been busy staring off into space, lost in thought. Now, however, he blinked repeatedly, slowly looking me over. Even though I'd seen him naked, being in front of him in my flouncy lingerie had me hesitating. So stupid. Much too late in the day for me to be getting embarrassed. On the plus side, the corset turned my extra flesh into a fabulous hourglass. Something Vaughan definitely seemed to notice. I wasn't seeking any sexy times. Though, some honest male appreciation for my womanly assets felt nice. Onward and upward and all that.

  "I tried to clean up the bathroom a little," I said, pulling out a seat. "Hung my dress up to dry."

  "Okay."

  "Thanks for the coffee."

  "No worries," he said in a gruff voice. "Hope you take it black. I haven't been here for a while so there's no sugar or creamer."

  "Black's fine." I took a cautious sip of the brew. Ah, coffee. My one true friend (beside vodka). There must have been some beans hiding in the freezer, because it wasn't half bad. I'd have suffered through a cup of crappy instant; it was nice not to have to, however. Small pleasures mattered. "That tastes amazing."

  A grunt.

  With caffeine pumping through me, I started to feel more myself. Less Miss Havisham sitting in her tattered dress and more modern capable woman. I shook off the shit, sat up a little straighter.

  "Vaughan, I really am sorry about all of this, dumping my problems on you."

  "I know." He didn't meet my eyes due to still noticing my assets. Maybe he'd zoned out, what with being so tired, and that just happened to be in the vicinity where he'd been looking when it happened.

  "It bears repeating. You've been great about it, really."

  Another grunt.

  Had to admit, curiosity filled me about this man. Wonder what he was like when he wasn't sleep deprived and dealing with a trespassing runaway bride. Was he the sort of person who smiled a little or a lot? I couldn't tell. For someone who made her living reading people and talking them into buying big houses, today I officially knew shit.

  "You didn't even get to have your shower," I said.

  A one-shoulder shrug. "Later."

  "I promise after I finish this coffee, I'll get out of your way."

  "No rush." Still no eye contact.

  I shifted in my seat.

  He really was appealing in his way. His lips were neither thick nor thin. Just nice. It would be good to see them curved in a smile. To know I hadn't entirely trashed his day with my drama.

  "This really is a lovely house," I said. "You don't spend much time here?"

  "No."

  "Shame."

  Maybe he'd been all talked out and didn't want a conversation. Fine by me. But I don't think that's what was going on. He'd zoned out, all right. I highly doubt it was due to tiredness, however.

  I cocked my head, studying him. "Vaughan?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

  "Great."

  "It is. It's so great," I enthused. "Love the weather."

  Handsome face blank of expression, his fingers remained curled unmoving around his half-full cup of coffee. If it wasn't for his monosyllable responses and the whole chest moving with each breath thing, I'd have wondered if the man had croaked. And it wasn't my makeup-smeared face or crazily knotted hair he was gawking at. In fact, I don't believe he ever got that far.

  Seemed my would-have-been-neighbor was a tit man.

  I have to admit my Elomi bridal lingerie was exquisite. I'd been so certain it would wow Chris, spur him into some post-matrimonial lustfulness. What a joke. A strap-on might have been a better idea.

  "I just wanted to say thanks again for being so understanding about all this," I said.

  "Sure," he told my boobs.

  "You've been great."

  "Mm."

  "Other people wouldn't have been so understanding."

  "Assholes," he said, lips pressed tight in disapproval. I'm sure my breasts appreciated his support immensely.

  I drank my coffee, waiting for him to get bored of them. And then I waited some more. Wasn't happening. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, the only sound in the room. While I couldn't claim innocence regarding his groin, at least I hadn't gawked at him to this degree. I'd been discreet(ish).

  "Vaughan?"

  Nostrils flared on a deep breath. "Huh?"

  "You're staring."

  "What?"

  "My breasts." I waved a hand around the pertinent parts of my anatomy. Though I'm reasonably certain he already knew where they were. "These things, Vaughan. The baby feeders and pillows of sin. You're staring at them."

  His startled gaze jumped to my face.

  "I wouldn't mention it, but it's been a while now and I'm beginning to get a little uncomfortable."

  "Shit," he muttered, as realization hit. He turned his face away.

  "Don't get me wrong. Since you're probably the only one who'll ever see me
in this, it's kind of nice to see some appreciation. But yeah, getting awkward."

  "Sorry, Lydia."

  "It's okay." I tried to hold back a smile. Tried.

  Brows drawn down, he concentrated good and hard on drinking his coffee. "Didn't realize I was doing that."

  "It's fine. You like boobs. I get it," I said, inspecting the girls. "They are kind of out there in this corset."

  "Yeah."

  "And to be fair, I did see you in all your glory not so long ago."

  He snorted out a laugh. No idea how he made it sound attractive, but he did. Then his lips curved into a small droll smile. And that smile? It was lovely.

  Wonder how things were going over the fence for Chris & Co.? Not that I cared. A fiery gateway to hell could open up beneath their garden party and I wouldn't have helped a single one of them. Guess I'd entered the bitter and twisted stage of mourning my relationship. Sure as hell I was done with denial.

  "You were going to tell me about your wedding disaster," Vaughan prompted.

  "Right." I folded my arms over my chest. A purely defensive, batten-down-the-hatches kind of move. All it did, though, was plump up my boobs. Immediately, Vaughan's gaze was there, making me shift in the chair uncomfortably. "You wouldn't happen to have a shirt I could borrow, would--"

  "No."

  "No?"

  He cleared his throat. "Sorry."

  "You only have one shirt?"

  "Yeah, ah ... see, the airline lost my luggage."

  "I thought you said you'd been driving all night."

  "Right, right. Flew then drove. Decided to hit the road in Portland, catch all that scenery."

  "At night?"

  "Yeah." He turned away, scratching at the golden-red stubble on his chin. "All the stars and shit. It was real pretty."

  Huh. Okay. Probably no point asking about towels. The only ones I'd seen were now hanging up wet in the bathroom. To steal the sheet off his bed and make a toga out of it might be going too far. No problem, I could brazen it out. Obviously my host had no issues with letting it all hang out physically. Though he'd been hewn from stone, while I was more marshmallow. Chris had liked to call me his "dumpling." He'd made it sound sweet, but it'd niggled none the less.

  How much exactly had I ignored or excused? Good question. I bit at my thumbnail, folding in on myself. No. Enough. I would not allow him and his set to continue undermining my self-confidence. The video had woken me up. No more excuses.

  "I believe my fiance is gay and has been using me as a beard," I announced, chin held high. "That's basically the whole story."

  Vaughan's eyes widened. "Shit."