“Let me see,” he encouraged, easing the door further open. She stepped back just enough to reveal the slinky, steel gray dress that melted over her figure as if it had been painted on by hand.
“Oh, hell no.”
Her face immediately scrunched up, her lips forming an almost perfect pout. “It’s that bad?”
He blinked his eyes a couple times, oblivious to what she’d asked him. Things would go wrong with her in that dress. He wanted to prove he was in it for more than just a hookup, but right now, with his eyes everywhere but on her face, it was becoming difficult to remember why. “We are taking that thing back to wherever you bought it.”
Then he would kill Drew for letting her walk out of the store with it.
“Henrik, be serious.” She wiggled in a poor attempt to keep the top of the dress from falling down. She only made it worse—on him.
“Trust me,” he swallowed, before taking in a deep breath, “I am serious. You can’t wear that tonight.”
“I know,” she growled, “because it doesn’t fit.”
“No,” he argued, “you can’t wear it because I’m going to be half drunk. You already know how I act around you when I’m sober. Can you imagine me intoxicated and you in that dress?”
He wanted to show her that he could be a gentleman, that he had self-control. He wasn’t Derek.
She quirked half a smile.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he told her. “We’re taking it back. C’mon, I know a place downtown. We’ll stop on the way, get a new dress that’ll make Mary Poppins envious, and we’ll both be good to go.”
He grabbed her hand, practically dragging her out of the door.
“No, wait,” she urged, resisting his hold on her. “I have to change first.”
“No, you don’t. Just wear that one until we get there.” He tightened the grip on her hand. “I’m sorta positive I can behave myself until then.”
“Henrik,” she said coarsely, and then turned around. The dress was completely unzipped down her back, showing a strapless, black lace bra and bare skin all the way down to the matching trim of her panties.
“Well, shit.”
He kicked the door shut. Then locked it.
She gave him a pointed look. “Sorry,” he said absently, his eyes still trained to her backside. “Reflex.”
“Just get out so I can change. We’re going to be late as it is.”
He nodded, but made no attempt to change his position. “Go,” she laughed, pushing him out the door.
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, making his way out of the room. If he had any hope of convincing Leila he could handle a sex-less relationship, he needed her out of that dress as soon as possible.
***
Forty-five minutes later he was in Amelia Toro, sitting outside a dressing room, waiting as the young attendant helped Leila try on a couple dresses she’d picked out. She’d shoved him into a seat and dared him to move.
He glanced at the clock on the wall for the third time, and sighed. They were definitely going to be late. They should have been there by now. She should be enjoying her second glass of wine, laughing at his jokes. Austin would send out a search committee if they didn’t get there soon.
“Hurry it up in there,” he yelled around the corner.
“Almost finished,” he heard Leila respond, though her voice was strained.
He got up and paced back and forth along the aisles. He pulled nervously at his stupid bow tie, but it didn’t help. Leila’s phone started to ring. She’d changed the tone to a melodramatic Boys2Men number, and it blasted from inside her purse.
“Can you get that?” she called. “It’s probably Austin.”
“Got it,” he yelled back, grabbing the shiny, silver clutch from the floor.
Except it wasn’t Austin. There was no goofy picture of her brother shoving five hot dogs in his mouth flashing on the screen. There was no picture at all. It was just a number from Newark, New Jersey.
Derek.
He jabbed his thumb on the green button, ready to let him have it. He couldn’t believe the asshole still had the nerve to call her. It was too late, though. It went to voicemail. He stood there staring at it, willing the idiot to make the mistake of calling a second time, but the phone remained silent. He didn’t leave a message.
He shoved the phone back in her purse to keep himself from calling the number back. The asshole was lucky he was on a fucking date.
A door creaked open, and he spun around as voices circled the corner. The attendant was first with her black on black assemble and Granny Smith bun. She smiled triumphantly at him. “She’s ready,” she announced, moving out of the way to reveal Leila behind her.
His mouth left its hinges.
He forgot about Derek. Austin. The event. Life.
The dress was midnight black. It wasn’t molded onto her like the other one. Its smooth lines framed her curves instead of clinging to them, but that wasn’t the part that caught his attention. No, this dress had one main attraction, and it centered on the plunging neckline, that in Leila’s case revealed more than his poor libido could handle.
He opened his mouth to speak, only to realize nothing would come out. So he shut it, and tried again. “I thought we agreed on a more conservative look,” he barely managed the second time.
She rolled her eyes as she walked toward him. “We don’t have time to argue about it. I’m going to pay out. I’ll meet you at the door.”
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her as she walked by. He took one more long, mouthwatering look down her body. “No, trust me,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’re going to argue about it.”
Leila’s eyes darkened, and it only served to heighten his attraction. Instead of pulling away from him as he expected, she took a daring step forward, bringing them practically nose to nose. “Keep this for me, would you?” she whispered evenly in his ear, as if she were talking about a cup of tea they might have later on. “It won’t fit in my purse.” She shoved something into his hand, giving him a wry wink before twirling around to stalk off toward the cashier. “Meet you at the car.”
Half-dazed by the close encounter, he glanced at his hand to find the black lace bra she’d been wearing earlier. He clenched it into a fist, fighting back the urge to yell some nasty retort back at her. Instead, he turned around, facing the young woman who helped her pick out that torture contraption she was wearing. “If she bitch slaps me tonight,” he informed her curtly, pointing the hand holding the bra at her. “It’s your fault.”
The girl fought back a smile, but failed.
Chapter 21
LEILA’S TRUTH
Leila smiled to herself as she stepped into the waiting town car outside the boutique. Henrik acted furious about her dress of choice, and she had to admit, it was a bit adventurous. Maybe a little scandalous too. However, it was the only option.
Literally, the only option.
Now they were even. Almost. She doubted Henrik even realized how immaculate he looked in his tux and little black bow tie. His polished hair, paired with the tailored, dark suit, would make any woman forget her name. It took every ounce of willpower she could muster not to reach up and run her finger across his pouty lip and tell him exactly how she would relieve his pain later. She might have done just that if things were different, but her current state of affairs required her to settle for making him as miserable as she felt at the moment.
“What?” she inquired as he slid in the car next to her.
“You know exactly what,” he insisted, his voice cool and dangerous. “I am now in possession of a second piece of your undergarments, neither of which I got to remove.”
“You’re actually complaining about that? Good grief. Live a little.”