BOOK THREE in the STEAMY FORBIDDEN ROMANCE series -- please read BOOK ONE, Illicit, and BOOK TWO, Explicit, before proceeding with this novel!
Coralie Watson wants--no, needs--a break. As her fame rises, so does her infatuation for Chester, her desi...
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🔥STEAMY ALERT—still fairly mild, folks, but we're getting there...🔥
♫ You do not want this This is the voice in her head that says "You do not want him" ♪ {Halsey—Whispers}
"You're an idiot." Delilah tugged a smidgen too hard on the strand of hair that she was straightening—Coralie's hair.
Reluctantly—and after several minutes of berating Coralie for answering the phone when Ryan called—she'd agreed to help her get ready for the event. Because in Delilah's opinion, Coralie needed a wardrobe consultant and a hairdresser for regular outings. So something this massive warranted all of Delilah's attention.
Angry as she was with Coralie's decision to go, she told Coralie that she couldn't help feeling a pinch of jealousy, too. She couldn't prevent the slight envy in her tone when Coralie had explained what exactly Ryan had invited her to. The grand NYC opening of his clothing brand, NebulaLee. Hate Ryan as she might, Delilah loved his product. The spell-binding slacks, the open-backed dresses, the glittery, near see-through chemises—NebulaLee was a one-of-a-kind luxury brand that Delilah, up until recently, swore by. She had several gowns, pants, shirts. A few pairs of shoes, handbags, random accessories that she fawned and drooled over. When she'd found out Ryan was one of its highest level ambassadors, she'd freaked out and trashed almost all the clothes from the brand that she owned. But she hadn't had the heart to trash them all.
"They're works of art!" she'd said, though Coralie wasn't sure who she'd been justifying herself to.
One of those items was what she'd forced Coralie to put on for the evening. After she'd finished screaming, she'd hurried to her small closet to fetch it, dismissing all Coralie's other clothing options. Telling her that this dress, on this night, at this event, would be glorious. A sleek, slitted, fitted satin navy gown that fit Coralie's curves to perfection.
Once Coralie put the dress on, Delilah's tone filled with regret. "I can't believe I'm letting you, a fool, wear my dress to forgo your promises to yourself and attend this fancy event and get fucked by Ryan."
"Hey!" Coralie jolted around in her seat, tugging the hair straightener—clamped over her curls—and Delilah's arm with it. "No one's getting fucked! Not me!"
Delilah snarled as she pulled back, pulling Coralie's head, too. The straightener burned against Coralie's scalp, causing her to hiss. "Bring your journal with you. So when he tries to fuck you—don't look at me like that, he will—you can write it in there and re-read it later and realize how much of a moron you are."
Sneering at Delilah in the mirror, Coralie crossed her arms; which was difficult to do in such a tight dress. The half-length sleeves squeezed her arms so much she worried they might cut off her circulation, but Delilah had told her that was normal. "Suffer to be beautiful—a French expression I live by."
