Page 4 of Wilder at Heart
And just like that, the situation turns serious. Because, even though he’s just rocked my world, I have zero intention of getting naked with Theo. Not right now. Not tonight. I haven’t got naked with anyone before, and when I do, it’ll be pre-meditated. Romantic. And, ideally, vaguely sober.
I shake my head in an exaggerated manner. ‘No. No. I’m not going to bed with you.’
‘Really?’ He looks genuinely baffled. I imagine not many people say no to this guy. Especially not girls. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought…’
I’m sure if you’re him, kissing always leads to far more extreme things. But not for me.
Not even if it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
A kiss, the heat of which I didn’t think was possible.
I won’t be pressurised to rush into anything. Especially not with someone like him. Dangerous. In demand. And, I suspect, not the boyfriend type.
‘I liked kissing you. I’m just not going to go to bed with you.’
He shrugs. ‘Fair enough. Pity, though. I would have made it worth your while. Night, Belle.’
And he kisses me on the bloodyforeheadand strolls away, back towards the party.
I spot him, not half an hour later, through the crowd, snogging the face off a blonde.
The next morning, all I have left to remember Theo Montague by is a stinking hangover and some scratch marks down my back that mesmerise me when I twist to study them in the mirror.
At least I didn’t let him pop my cherry.
CHAPTER 1
Theo
‘It’s not just that the…’ Mum trails off, her eyelids drifting closed in distaste, because hell will freeze over before Laura Montague says the T-word.
‘Threesome.’ My smug arse of an older brother crosses his arms and presses his lips together in a studied expression of moral superiority. But I don’t miss the smirk fighting at the corners of Miles’ mouth. He’s utterly thrilled that once again I’ve proven my mettle as the useless middle son. And I suspect he’s jealous AF that I had two girls’ hands wrapped around my?—
‘Thank you, Miles.’ Mum’s eyes open and fix icily on me, her glare radiating disapproval and disappointment. Thank fuck Dad’s in the States, overseeing the reopening of our Upper East Side hotel after a long and painful renovation. I’ll take a disciplinary committee of two rather than being bollocked by the usual triumvirate.
Mum forges gamely ahead. I feel bad, but believe me, this conversation is just as excruciating for me as it is for her. The only one enjoying it is Miles.
‘It’s not just that what you did was deeply disrespectful to those two young ladies. It’s that the whole thing was broadcast for the world to see, and I can’t tell you how damaging thatkind of lewd behaviour is to our brand, Theodore. The name Montague has always been associated with class. Elegance. And your… antics have threatened that. Tarnished it. Our guests choose The Montague Group because it’s discreet. And you, darling, have been anything but.’
I shift in my seat. I need to defend myself here. ‘Look, Mum. Firstly, I didn’t disrespect them. Believe me, they were very happy. And I’m not sure I’d call them ladies.’
Because Trixie and Dixie (I kid you not) Tanner-Leyland may technically beLadyTrixie andLadyDixie, but that’s as far as their ladylike qualities go. They’re little minxes, the two of them, and they know exactly how much of a double threat they are with their identically pretty faces, arse-length blonde hair and dangerous bodies.
And as for the identical twin thing—it was fucking awesome for me, but I don’t get how they can do that with their ownsister. I mean, Jesus. It’s creepy. It’d be like Miles and I getting into bed with the same girl at the same time...
Oh, Jesus.
What a visual.
Bile rises in my throat. I really think I might puke.
‘Mate.’ Miles’ tone suggests that verbally criticising the ‘ladies’ I defiled is a new low, even for me.
‘Nobody was disrespected in that room. Okay? There were three consenting adults, and that’s all you need to know.’
‘Unfortunately, we know alotmore than we needed to about your littlemenage. The whole world does.’
Alas, Miles is right. It turns out the producers ofCharmed in Chelsea, the semi-scripted reality TV show to which I signed up for a season, are devious little shits with a penchant for editing the hell out of footage to make it look far more salacious than it is. Although even I can concede that a threesome is salacious enough on its own.
