"I can't do the buttons," Jax says.
He steps out.
My coffee cup pauses halfway to my mouth.
The suit is charcoal grey, Italian wool. It fits him not justwell, butdevastatinglywell. The dark fabric emphasizes the width of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. The white dress shirt contrasts sharply with his tan skin and the dark stubble on his jaw.
He looks dangerous. He looks like a mob enforcer who also plays lead guitar in a rock band.
But his hands—those large, scarred, capable hands—are fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons of the cuffs.
"They’re designed for people with elf fingers," he grumbles.
I set my coffee down. I stand up.
"Come here."
Jax steps closer. He smells of the cedar sachets from the dressing room and his own heat.
I take his wrist. My fingers brush against the ink of his tattoo sleeve, which is just barely visible peeking out from the cuff.
"Hold still," I murmur.
I fasten the buttons. It is an intimate gesture. Domestic.
"The collar is wrong," I say. I reach up. I fix his collar. I straighten his lapels. I smooth my hands down the front of the jacket, feeling the solid wall of his chest underneath.
Jax is watching me. His hazel eyes are dark.
"You enjoying this, Max?" he asks softly.
"I appreciate symmetry," I say, my voice tight.
"Liar. You like dressing me up like a doll."
"I prefer to think of it as polishing a rough diamond," I counter. "Turn around. Let me check the vent."
He turns.
The jacket fits perfectly across his back. But the pants...
"The break is too long," I say. "And the seat is..."
I stop.
The pants are tight. Very tight. They cling to his glutes andthighs in a way that is medically fascinating and personally distracting.
"The seat is what?" Jax asks, looking over his shoulder.
"Snug," I manage. "Giovanni will need to let the inseam out."
"I told you," Jax says. "Squats."
"Get back in the room," I say. "I need to pin the hem."
We go back into the small, curtained dressing room. It is comprised of three walls of mirrors. Everywhere I look, there is Jax. Front. Back. Side.
"Take off your shoes," I instruct.
