Heaven Help Me, Or Hell Have Me (Heaven Help Me #1) (6 page)

“
Oh, boy,” she mumbled,
studying herself in the mirror. The dress didn’t leave as much to
the imagination as she had hoped. She couldn’t go out like this,
could she?

A sly smile crept to her face. Well,
maybe…

What’s up,
sweetheart?

Aaand the cocky attitude was
back.

“
Just checking things out.
This dress is a bit…revealing. I’m not used to it.”

He chuckled.
What?
he
teased
. Can you actually
see your knees?

She pulled at the fabric wrapped tight
around her chest as her ample breasts kept trying to pop out and
say ‘hello,’ and then she tugged fruitlessly at the hem.

“
It shows a lot more than
that,” she muttered, rethinking if she could leave the house that
way or not. After all, it
was
only a third date, and on top of that, she never
truly intended to ever wear that dress; it was a impulse purchase
on a day she had felt a helluva lot braver than she did just
then.

Jesus, it can’t be that
bad. Hell, if any damn flesh is showing, you’d consider it to be
too revealing.

“
I would not.” Though she
probably would.

Don’t get all offended and
shit. You showed me your picture, remember? Very proper, very
conservative, very non-revealing. I know your type.

“
My type. Is that so?” She
propped her hands on her hips, her contempt pushing her to prove
the stereotyping asshat wrong. “Would you like to see for yourself?
Then you can enlighten me with your vast knowledge as to how this
dress is too conservative, and fits my type perfectly.”

Snorting a laugh, he
encouraged her further.
I would love to
see your oh-too-sexy dress, sweetheart. Lay it on me. I’ll try to
contain myself.

Striking a ridiculously sassy pose
that had her giggling, she projected her image from the
mirror.

He made a choking sound, and she felt
his entire being seize up.

Frustrated, she shut down the image.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

For crissakes, woman,
you’re fucking hot in real life! What the hell happened to the
prim-and-fucking-proper-working-class girl?!

Suddenly feeling very confident, she
tipped her head to the side and studied her image again, being sure
Rhys saw it as well.

“
I let my hair down, which
I’m known to do when I go out. I put in my contacts, which I also
do from time-to-time. And I put this on,” she ran her hands down
her dress, caressing every curve. “Which, I might add, you picked
out. I think you made the right choice, don’t you?” She turned in
the mirror, glancing over her shoulder to show the ‘v’ of bare skin
slashing down the back.

Addison, baby, you’re
killing me. Of all the damn luck; to be stuck in the head of some
searing hot babe.
He groaned as if in real
pain.

She laughed at his
dramatics, and closed off the image. “What does it matter what I
look like? I’m still
me
. The irritating
woman
you fight with constantly.”

Yeah, but before I was
getting a rise out of you ‘cause I could.

“
And how has that
changed?”

His voice shifted low,
almost sultry.
Now I’m kinda thinking of
it as foreplay.

It was her turn to make the choking
sound, followed by a wave of heat planting itself firmly in her
cheeks. “Oh, please.”

That’s right, baby.
Beg.

She couldn’t help but laugh, refusing
to take the man seriously. “This is going to be a long
night.”

His chuckle joined
hers.
Count on it.

“
You better behave
yourself, Rhys.”

To that, he had no
response.

About The Author

Jolyn Palliata writes
romance for adults and young adults alike, and has dabbled in just
about every genre there is (paranormal being her favorite). She
lives in the Midwest with her highly patient husband and insanely
energetic son. For more information, or to contact Jolyn directly,
please visit her website at
http://www.JolynPalliata.com
or email her at
[email protected]
. She loves the interaction with her readers!