He flicks his gaze back to his own reflection as he runs his razor along his cheek and jaw. In between each stroke, he looks at me in the mirror like he can’t bear to remove his eyes from my form.
He finishes with the razor, rinses his face, and dabs it dry with a hand towel just as I’m turning the water off in the shower. When I open the door, he’s already standing there with my towel. I turn my back to him, and he wraps it around me, kissing my shoulder.
“I like seeing you like this,” he says against my neck.
“Oh, I bet you do.”
“I don’t mean seeing you naked. I do. Believe me, I do. But I mean like this.”
He slides a palm over my waist, catching the slack of the towel and drawing it in tighter, like a leash. I lean into him, letting my head drop back onto his shoulder. His hand lingers at my hip, fingers splaying over my skin, and for a moment I forget we’re supposed to be getting ready for dinner.
“Raw. Undone.” He slides his hand under my towel and between my legs, cupping my pussy. “Wet.”
I shudder when he runs his finger through, parting my lips.
“I hope you don’t think you’ll be rewarded after teasing me like that when you know we don’t have time.”
He slaps my pussy, and I yelp.
“Get ready.”He kisses my neck once more before leaving me in the bathroom.
I can’t get a read on him. He doesn’t want an inch of space between us when we’re alone, but he doesn’t want to fuck me in the shower? The man’s self-control should be studied.
I take my time at the vanity, working my hair into loose waves.
Mina would be proud.
I line my eyes, dust my cheeks, and swipe on a shade of lipstick called Bombshell that she bought me and insisted I wear when I needed to “slay a boardroom or a bedroom.”
When I step into the bedroom, James is already dressed in his suit, no tie. He stands at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets, watching as I step into my green dress. His eyes track my every movement.
“Zip me up?” I ask, collecting my hair over my shoulder and turning my back to him.
James steps into me, the line of his chest flush to my spine as his hands skim the zipper up my back with a slow, deliberate motion. I feel the brush of his knuckles against my shoulder blades, the shiver of restraint in the way he keeps his fingers from straying, before letting his hands fall away.
I turn. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I feel the approval, the possessiveness, the hunger, all woven together in the way he holds my gaze.
“Shoes?” he asks.
“Right,” I say, dipping into the closet to grab my black strappy heels.
When I return to him, he takes the heels from my hands and sits on the corner of the bed. He pats between his legs, and I lift my foot. He slides the first heel on, setting my foot to rest on thebed so he can fasten the ankle strap. When he’s done with that one, I lift my other foot and he puts the other heel on.
With both feet on the floor, I stand in front of him, letting him take me in.
“You look incredible,” he says, and I feel the words settle somewhere low.
“Ready?” I say, because if I don’t, neither of us will move.
He nods, and guides me toward the door, his hand steady at the small of my back.
We leave the suite and glide down the quiet hotel hallway.
In the elevator, I watch our reflection in the mirrored doors.
We look like the perfect power couple.
I almost want to reach over, pin him to the metal, and taste him right here in the elevator. But when the doors ping open, he steps out, all business, and the spell breaks.
