Scarlet

By Tielle St. Clare

Scarlet, 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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tielle St. Clare
• Release date: Nov 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463031728

Book preview

Scarlet: Red Panty Diaries

by Tielle St. Clare

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2019 T. L. Green

All rights are reserved. This e-book is licensed for individual readership only. No portion of this e-book may be resold or redistributed in any format.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at www.authortiellestclare.com

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are creations of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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 Amongst 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