“Yes?” She turns to face me fully, completely unselfconscious. The black lace sits low on her hips, and I can see everything else. The curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her pulse jumps at the base of her throat.
“You’re—you’re not—”
“Not what?” She sets down the navy dress and picks up a black one, holding it against herself. “Daniel, you look flushed. Are you feeling alright?”
I’m dying. I’m absolutely dying. “Put something on.”
“I’m trying to figure out what to wear. That’s what you do when you get dressed, isn’t it? Try things on?” She tosses the black dress aside and reaches for the emerald one. “Maybe this? You liked it at the gala.”
She holds it up, and the green silk drapes across her bare chest. It covers nothing and somehow makes everything worse.
“Stop,” I rasp out.
“Stop what?” She lowers the dress slightly, eyes wide with false innocence. “I’m just getting ready for the reception. You said we have to be there.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?” She moves closer, and I back up until my legs hit the bed. “Daniel, I don’t know what you mean.”
She’s close enough now that I can smell her perfume. If I reach out, I can touch all that bare skin. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
“This is my punishment,” I realize.
Her smile turns sharp. “Is it?”
“For the last two days. For treating you like—”
“Like I was nothing?” She sets the dress aside, standing in front of me in just the lace and heels. “Like what we did meant nothing?”
“Bailey—”
“You wantto know what this is?” She places both hands on my chest, fingers splaying across my shirt. “This is me showing you exactly what you’ve been pushing away. You’re a moron, Daniel Williams. Disrespectfully.”
My hands come up automatically, settling on her waist. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft. I miss her so much. “We have a reception—”
“In two hours.” Her fingers find my tie, loosening it slowly. “Plenty of time.”
“Bailey, if you don’t stop—”
“What?” She leans in, lips brushing my jaw. “What will you do, Mr. Williams?”
I’m shaking. Actually shaking with the effort of keeping control. “We can’t—”
“Can’t what? Touch each other?” Her hands slide up to my shoulders. “You’re already touching me.”
She’s right. My hands have moved from her waist to her bare back, fingers spreading across smooth skin. When did that happen?
“You’ve spent two days pretending I don’t affect you,” she whispers against my ear. “Pretending you don’t want this, so now I’m making it impossible to pretend.”
She pulls back slightly, and I see the anger underneath the seduction.
“You don’t get to treat me like a stranger because you’re scared,” she says, voice getting sharper. “You don’t get to push me away and then expect me just to accept it.”
“I know—”
“Do you?” She steps back, breaking contact. The loss of her warmth feels physical. “Because you’re still doing it. You’re still keeping me at arm’s length while pretending it’s for my own good.”
She picks up the emerald dress and slides it over her head in one fluid motion. It settles perfectly, covering everything I’d just seen.
