Scarlet

Scarlet

Tielle St. Clare

Book 2 of the Red Panty Diaries.

Three friends, three blazing-hot pairs of panties…and one
wicked, wicked wedding gown.

When Heather’s friends insist a
wedding dress is cursed, she’s determined to prove it’s not true. Now, after
being stuck in the stupid dress for two weeks, she does the only sensible
thing—heads to Vegas. There are brides walking around there all the time. No
one will even notice her.

Cain can’t help noticing the
“bride” sitting at his bar night after night. Something doesn’t quite fit with
her story. But when the dress falls off, leaving her wearing nothing but red
panties, Cain couldn’t care less about her “story”. He needs this woman.

He also needs his best friend
Paxson. With Heather’s help, he tempts his friend into bed for a wild, wicked
night of threesome thrills. But as is often the case—one night is never enough.

Scarlet

Tielle St. Clare

Chapter One

Dear Diary,

I’m ready to pull my hair out. Tasha insists that stupid
wedding dress is cursed. Cait isn’t much better. Well, I’m tired of listening
to them talk about it. I’m going to prove once and for all…there is no curse.

Heather lowered her gaze and stared at her empty wineglass.
She couldn’t tolerate the sympathy in the flight-attendant’s eyes.

“Here.”

Heather looked up as the perfectly coiffed, irritatingly
serene woman placed another chardonnay on her tray. “On the house. You look
like you could use this.” A soothing hand patted her shoulder as the two women
working the cart through the narrow aisle shared a commiserating look.

Heather grimaced her thanks. Hell, she’d take the drink. As
the stewardess said, she could use it.

Two weeks. Two weeks she’d been trapped in this stupid dress.
Her knuckles turned white as she cranked open the little wine bottle. It had
seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Two weeks earlier

“I wouldn’t do it,” Tasha warned but the singsong tone of
her words just made Heather more determined.

“Maybe she’s right,” Cait added.

Heather met Cait’s stare. “You don’t really believe this
dress is cursed, do you?”

“Well…” She squished her lips together. “Not exactly.”

“See?” Heather said smugly to Tasha, who was technically her
aunt but there were only a few years between them. “She doesn’t believe it
either.”

“I’m not sure the dress is cursed,” Cait clarified. “But
something strange did happen that night.”

“Yes, you ended up in bed with two hunky guys.” Heather
winked at her friend, hiding the twinge of jealousy that stabbed her chest. Not
that she wanted
two
men. That was fantasy stuff—but it was difficult not
to be a little envious of Cait’s happiness. The two guys she’d hooked up with
that night worshiped her, and not in the creepy, time-to-get-a-restraining-order
sort of way.

But it had nothing to do with the dress.

According to Tasha, once a woman put the dress on, it
wouldn’t come off until she met “the one”.

“No, she ended up with her true love and a hanger-on.” Tasha
insisted that only one of Cait’s men was her “Mr. Right” and the other had just
taken advantage of the dress’s curse.

Cait ignored her friend’s pronouncement of doom and refused
to choose between her two men, much to Tasha’s frustration.

“Either way—” Heather straightened to her full height and looked
at her friends, making sure she had their attention. “There’s nothing mystical
about this dress. It’s an ugly wedding dress. That’s it.”

The strapless gown looked like a crumpled shower curtain.
Large appliqué flowers decorated the voluminous skirt and added a level of
tackiness that was rarely found in wedding gowns. Heather was pretty sure there
wasn’t an inch of natural fabric in the thing. Elastic and boning gave the
bodice support.

“And I’m tired of hearing about it. I’m going to prove to
you this dress isn’t cursed.”

She dragged her sweatshirt up over her head and pushed her
sweats down, stepping out of them but leaving them on the floor in a pile.

“Ooh, scarlet.”

Heather’s eyes crinkled in confusion. “What?” she asked
Cait.

“Your panties.”

“They’re red.”

Cait rolled her eyes. “Do you know how many shades of red
there are? Like twenty-seven or something, and
that
is scarlet.”

“Good to know.” Heather had bought the panties because they
were pretty and she’d had a coupon. She’d ended up with four pairs. “Give me
the dress.” Wanting to replicate Cait’s experience as closely as possible,
Heather reached behind her and undid her bra.

Tasha shared a look with Cait but undid the clips holding
the dress to the hanger and handed the gaudy monstrosity to her.

Heather couldn’t help but chuckle at her aunt’s reluctance.
Tasha’s mother had filled her head with the story of this dress finding a
woman’s “true love” and Tasha continued to cling to tale.

Heather scooped up the dress and raised it over her head.
Additional sets of hands reached in to help, guiding it down her body,
adjusting the bodice.

“It’s not going to fit, anyway,” Heather said as she spun
around to have someone zip her up. “I saw how it fit Cait and my tits aren’t
nearly so big. No offense.”

“None taken.” Cait’s eyes twinkled. “My guys love them.”

“I’ll bet.” She’d noticed Cait had started wearing tighter,
lower cut shirts, no longer afraid to show off her assets. “Am I zipped?”

Tasha sighed. “Yes.”

Heather stepped away and turned around. “How do I look?”

She groaned at the memory.

Two weeks was a hell of a long time to be trapped in a
dress. She’d done everything she could to get it off—cutting, tearing, burning.
Nothing worked. Thank God the thing was impervious to stains. She’d slept in
it, ate in it, showered in it.

And tried to explain it to her clients, but no one wanted to
hire a wedding planner who wore an ugly wedding dress.

The stress had finally become too much. She’d thrown a
couple of pairs of panties, her makeup bag, a second pair of high heels and a
few books into her oversized purse and headed to the airport.
Vegas, baby
.

She considered throwing a set of clothes in her bag—in case
the dress came off—but really…what were the chances she’d find “Mr. Right” in
Las Vegas? She’d rather use the space for books.

Vegas seemed like the only logical place to go. You see
brides walking around the casinos all the time, she’d explained to Tasha. At
least she wouldn’t stand out quite so much.

She hadn’t counted on the sympathetic looks. Everyone thought
she was a runaway bride or worse…that she’d been left at the altar.

Tasha’s mother, the only person who might know how to break
the dress’s curse, was on a month-long cruise with her husband Nick. Tasha had
vowed to try to contact her and see if she knew the dress’s origin, who might
know what to do.

Until, then, Heather was going to hang out in Vegas where no
one would notice her.

* * * * *

Heather looked up at the casino and decided it was a good
choice. A little off the strip and not as flashy as some, but the price was
right and, according to the website pictures, it had a great pool area.

Of course, it was October and she’d have to swim in a
freakin’ wedding dress.

“How much?” she asked, grabbing her purse.

“No charge, dear.” The female cabby’s lips bent into a
small, sympathetic smile. “You just take care of yourself.”

Feeling her cheeks turn to the color of her scarlet panties,
she forced a smile and climbed out of the cab, the fluffy skirts poofing around
her legs. Damn, nothing kept this dress down. The minute she stepped out of the
shower, it seemed to dry and fluff back up. Heather slapped the material and
closed the car door, not fast enough that she didn’t hear the cabby’s “poor
girl”.

Heather’s shoulders slumped and her head fell forward.

“Can I get your luggage?”

She straightened her spine and shook her head at the
bellhop. “No. I’m good. Can you direct me to the front desk?”

The young man’s eyes got wide and he jogged ahead of her,
opening doors, pointing to the right. “Just over there, ma’am.”

Great. I’m an abandoned bride and a “ma’am” all in one
day.

To give the kid credit, he looked about eighteen, so thirty
probably did seem old to him.

There was no line so she walked right up. The man behind the
desk had the impassive look of someone who’d been dealing with the public for a
long time.

“Welcome to South Star. Checking in?”

His face was calm, no hint of surprise or shock that she was
wearing what was obviously a wedding gown. Even if one didn’t recognize it as a
wedding dress, it was still huge and ugly. But none of that showed on the man’s
visage.

“Yes.” She slid her ID across the counter.

“Is it under your name or the name of your bridal party?”

“No bridal party. It’s just me.”

A flash of sympathy flared in his gaze and it was all she could
do not to whimper. The professional, almost-blank stare quickly returned to the
desk clerk’s face as if seeing a woman alone in a wedding dress was perfectly
normal.

“Are you here for the Fetish Ball?” he asked, his voice
casual.

“Fetish Ball? What’s that?”

“Oh, well, if you don’t know—” He looked up and winked.
“It’s probably not your thing.”

He pulled up her reservation, ran her keys and pushed the
envelope toward her.

“Elevators are just down that path.”

Heather looked around and followed the direction of his
hand. Right through the casino. Bracing herself for the stares she was bound to
receive, she took her key, clutched her purse strap and started the torturous
walk through the crowded room. For nine o’clock on a Monday night, the place
was rocking. Pockets of men stood in groups, most of them sipping on bottled
beer, all of them wearing cowboy hats.

She glanced at the dealers. Even they were dressed in what
would commercially be called “western wear”. Only this looked real.

Yum. Did I stumble into a cowboy convention?

The path to her room was pretty straightforward. She went
upstairs, dropped her purse on the bed and collapsed on her back. Her stomach
rumbled and she knew she’d have to find something to eat or she’d never be able
to sleep. With a sigh, she rolled over and grabbed the phone, dialing down for
room service.

Seconds later she hung up. It would be over an hour before
food would arrive, or she could run downstairs and be served in probably
fifteen minutes. Her stomach growled again and the decision was made.

She splashed water on her face, brushed her hair and pulled
on her sweater. Maybe no one would notice the dress. Ha!

The casino boasted eight different restaurants. Heather
chose the burger joint and within minutes was enjoying a hot, yummy bacon
burger oozing with melted cheese. It was kind of nice not having to worry about
dripping on her clothes. Experience had proven that anything spilled on the
dress sat on top of the fabric, disappearing with the swipe of a paper towel.
It was like the damn thing was Scotchguarded within an inch of its life.

The burger hit her stomach like a lead brick, a tasty lead
brick but still heavy.

Walking back into the casino, she couldn’t help but notice
the strange looks.
A Bride Amidst Cowboys.
Sounded like the title of a
romance novel.

People had to be wondering why a bride was walking around in
her dress, alone.

The pressure of the stares sent her toward the elevators but
at the last moment she turned right instead of left. The cowboys intrigued her
and a drink sounded good. Hell, she didn’t know any of these people. She could
check out the scenery from the comfort of a barstool.

She hitched her butt onto a high seat near the end of the
bar, perfectly positioned so she could see the main walkway.

“What can I get for you, hon?”

She turned around and grinned at the female bartender. “Oh,
chardonnay would be great.”

The woman nodded and retreated to the far side of the bar,
coming back minutes later with a glass of wine. She placed it in front of
Heather.

“Plunk a few quarters in that machine and I don’t have to
charge you.”

“Oh, right.” Heather grabbed her purse and slid a twenty
into the video poker machine in front of her. “Tami” as her nametag revealed
smiled and patted the counter.

“Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“Actually, can you just answer a question?”

Tami nodded.

“What’s with all the cowboys?” She glanced over her shoulder
then back to the bartender. “Not that I mind. Just curious.”

Tami’s smile widened. “You’ve struck it lucky.” She leaned
in closer to Heather, sharing a conspirator’s whisper. “It’s the bull-riding
championships this week. Nothing but hot men in tight jeans.”

“Nice.”

“Good luck.” Tami tapped the counter and walked to the other
end of the bar to take a guy’s order.

Things were looking up. Heather was still trapped in the
dress but she had wine and cowboys. She took a sip of her chardonnay and played
a couple of rounds of video poker, winning just enough to keep going, not quite
getting her money back.

“Want another one?”

She glanced at her almost empty glass. What the hell…she was
on vacation. Sort of. She smiled up at Tami.

“Sure.”

“I’m about ready to go on dinner break, so we’ll see you
around.”

“Oh wait.” Heather grabbed a couple of dollars out of her
purse and pushed them across the bar. “Here.”

Tami smiled and took the tip. “Thanks. I’ll send over that
drink.”

Heather nodded and watched the waitress walk to the other
end of the bar and pull off her apron. Tami spoke to a tall, gorgeous man.
That’s Tami’s replacement? Heather thought.
Yummy
. He had long black
hair that hung stick-straight in a ponytail down his back. He’d make for a
pretty backdrop when the cowboys became too much.

She used Tami’s interruption to take a break from poker. She
still had sixteen of her original twenty so she wasn’t doing too badly. She
spun in her chair and took in the scenery. A small group of cowboys stood
nearby drinking beer, obviously talking cowboy shop.

She let her gaze wander downward. There wasn’t a pair of new
jeans in the bunch, worn and rough, and cupping nice tight asses.

“We should get out of here,” one of them said. He looked up
and met Heather’s gaze, a smile lighting his eyes. He nodded in greeting as he
and several of his buddies leaned in and placed their empties on the bar beside
her.

“Here you go, miss.” She vaguely acknowledged the new
bartender’s voice. She took a deep breath, the bodice teasing her nipples.