The rich green color popped against my skin and gave it an ethereal glow while the tastefully low V-neck transformed my B-cups from modest to something more luscious. The skirt draped
to the floor in graceful folds and would’ve been almost demure had it not been for the daring slit up one side. The dress shimmered with subtle luminescence every time I moved, and when I turned and twisted my head, I could see the delicate straps crisscrossing over my back. There wasn’t an ounce of excess fabric or a pocket of bad tailoring. Christian had gotten my measurements exactly right. Every inch of silk clung to my body like it’d been custom made for me. I wasn’t prone to dramatics, but I didn’t think I was being dramatic when I said I would die for this dress. It was perfect. I allowed myself an extra minute of gown appreciation before I finished getting ready. Makeup? Check. Heels and jewelry? Check. Clutch large enough to hold my phone, keys, credit card, a small piece of agate, and lipstick? Check. I added a shawl in case I got cold, checked my teeth for stray lipstick, and steadied myself with a deep breath before I returned to the living room. Christian was still leaning against the wall, staring at a small object in his hand. I couldn’t make out what it was before he straightened and slipped it into his pocket. Our eyes connected, and a fire lit in my stomach. He wasn’t looking at the object or anything else in the room anymore. Every ounce of his attention had redirected toward me, and I could feel the weight of it on my skin, like a lover’s rough caress. Liquid electricity dripped down my spine and pooled in my stomach. With a simple look, Christian lit me up from the inside out. “Perfect.” Reverence weighed his soft assessment. Perfect. No matter how hard I tried, I had never been perfect, nor would I ever be. Still, the single word set the caged butterflies in my chest free before I wrestled them back into their hold.
He’s talking about the dress, you idiots. This isn’t even a real date. You signed a contract stating so less than a week ago. The butterflies fluttered, uncaring. “You have a good eye for clothing.”
I forced my legs to move until I stood less than three feet from him. His delicious, masculine scent flooded my lungs and edged out the soothing notes of my favorite lavender eucalyptus candle. “I’m impressed.” “It’s one of my many talents,” Christian drawled. The suggestiveness was subtle, but it was enough to send a rush of heat over my cheeks. Laughter danced in his eyes when I lifted my chin and fixed him with what I hoped was an unimpressed stare. Cool, calm, collected. “Good to know.” I didn’t take his bait. It was one thing for my body to freak out around him. It was another to show it. I blew out the candle and turned off the lights before following Christian downstairs. A discreet black town car waited for us outside the entrance. “No McLaren tonight?” I settled into the backseat. Christian slid in next to me, the driver shut the door, and just like that, we were ensconced in a hushed, private world of Italian leather and sleek wood accents. A closed partition separated the driver’s and passenger seats, keeping our conversation private. “Parking is a pain, and I don’t trust valets.” Christian flicked his gaze toward the phone in my lap. “I noticed you haven’t told your followers about us yet.” The word us mingled with the scents of my perfume and his cologne before it dissipated with a soft sigh. I raised an eyebrow at his casual yet strangely weighted observation. “I thought you didn’t have social media.” “Just because I don’t use social media doesn’t mean I’m not aware of what happens on there.” “You think you know everything.” “I do.” The words rang with the confidence of someone who truly believed what they were saying. No wonder his name was Christian. He had a major God complex. “Then you would know I’ll announce it. Soon.” My teeth sank into my bottom lip as my nerves made an untimely reappearance.
“You should.” Christian’s languid reply drowned out my flickering anxiety. “You’re attending tonight’s event with me. You should get something out of it.” “I will. I’m just waiting for the right photo opportunity.” I eased a calming breath through my lungs. “Maybe I’ll post tonight.” If a fancy gala didn’t make for good social media fodder, I didn’t know what would. “Good.”
Awareness flushed through me at the hint of possessiveness in his voice. A stray strand of hair slipped from my updo and wisped around my face. I’d been so thrown off by Christian’s early arrival I’d forgotten to set it with more hairspray. Luckily, it was one of those styles that looked better the messier it was, but a strange current kept my lips sealed and my body taut when Christian lifted his hand to tuck the stray hair behind my ear. The movement was languorous, his touch whisper-light, but my nipples peaked at the soft graze of his skin against my cheek.
Hard, sensitive, begging for an ounce of the same attention. I wasn’t wearing a bra. Christian stilled. His attention honed in on my body’s reaction to his simple touch, and I would’ve been horrified had I not been so distracted by the ache blooming in my core. Whiskey and flames ignited in those striking eyes. His hand remained by my cheek, but his attention touched me everywhere—my face, my breasts, my stomach and achingly sensitive clit. It left a trail of fire so scorching I half expected my dress to disintegrate. “Careful, Stella.” His low warning pulsed between my legs. “I’m not the gentleman you think I am.” Images of crumpled silk and discarded suits, rough words and rougher touches, flashed through my mind. The products of instinct, not experience. My reply fought its way past my dry throat. “I don’t think you’re a gentleman at all.”
A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips. “Smart girl.” He leaned back and lowered his hand at the same time he turned his head to look out the window. The streets of D.C. whizzed by, but all I could focus on was the warm, possessive weight on my leg.
Christian’s hand rested on my thigh almost carelessly, like it was the natural home for his touch and not something he’d planned. My dress’s slit bared most of my right leg, and the sight of his strong, tanned hand against my exposed skin did nothing to alleviate the liquid pressure coiled in my stomach. But the longer I stared, the more my lustful haze faded, replaced by aesthetic instinct. Emerald silk. Black suit. Cufflinks and an expensive watch that glinted in the dying rays of sunlight. The perfect, effortless photo of a couple’s night out. Before I could second guess myself, I raised my phone and snapped the picture. I snuck a peek at Christian. He stared out the window, his profile flawless against the glass. If he knew I’d taken the photo, he didn’t show it. Then again, I hadn’t captured his face, so it wasn’t against our terms. I finally summoned the courage to post when the car stopped in front of the Smithsonian. Date night with my love <3 I hesitated at the my love part of the caption before I pressed the share button. If I was doing this, I might as well go all in. My boyfriend didn’t have the same ring as my love. “You ready?”
Christian asked as the driver opened the back door. I tucked my phone into my purse. Ten seconds and my notifications were already blowing up, but I would deal with them later. I had a gala to attend. I took his hand and pasted on a smile. Cool, calm, collected. “Absolutely.” It was show time.
8
CHRISTIAN