“I don’t care about your sponsors.”
Grrrr. “Your income doesn’t depend on it, mine does.”
Dee Dee clears her throat, and when I glance at her, the brightness has been replaced by wisdom and worry. “You’ll be right there with her, Diesel. Being her date is perfect cover. I know you’re very good at your job. Your reputation precedes you. Spending a few hours at these events might save a pivotal moment in River’s career.”
Diesel’s entire body stiffens. “Her life isn’t worth a career pivot.”
Christ. What do I say to that?
Dee Dee bows her head. “You’re right, Diesel. I didn’t mean it like that. But I’ll remind you a lot can happen between now and this weekend. You’ve got a couple of days. The threat could be gone. I know Gray and your team are working round the clock. So, let’s get you two ready, and if itdoesn’t work out… you can save the clothing for another occasion A special date night, maybe?”
Dee Dee looks sheepish.
Wait, did she just play matchmaker?
The silence vibrates in the cavernous building. I shrug my shoulders, “She’s right. They could catch this person today.”
For a beat, I wonder if Diesel’s going to reverse his opinion on competing and going to the event all together. But he agrees.
“You’re right,” he sighs sharply. “Do it up, Dee Dee.”
Then Dee Dee claps her hands together and the warmth returns to her voice like she flipped a switch. “So. Shall we get started? The Hearts on Horses mixer is Friday night and the Lasso Me Good formal on Saturday. Valentine’s themed for both, which means matching colors, complementary styles, the whole nine yards.”
“He’s really not my date, we don’t have to coordinate...”
“I am.” His voice carries that tone that says the decision has already been made and arguing is just wasting oxygen. “You will not be leaving my side.”
She’s busy pulling out a burgundy shirt with an intricate pattern embroidered across the chest and shoulders. The pattern is hearts formed from black barbed wire.
“This will go under the black tuxedo, for the formal on Saturday,” she explains. “To match your burgundy rhinestone dress.”
He grunts. Unimpressed.
Dee Dee approaches him with the measuring tape, completely unbothered by his size or the intensity radiating off him like heat from a furnace. He holds his arms out and she wraps the tape around his chest with professional efficiency.
“Forty-eight inches.” She adjusts her reading glasses and makes an appreciative sound. “That’s impressive.”
“It’sfunctional.”
I bite down on the laugh threatening to escape, but Dee Dee catches my eye and grins.
“Try the pink first,” she says, holding it up to him. “I need to see how it fits through the shoulders before I make any adjustments.”
Diesel takes the shirt and stares at it for a long moment, then glances at me with resignation or what might be the early stages of murder. Then he pulls off his current shirt right there in the middle of the warehouse, industrial lighting illuminating every cut of muscle, every scar, every inch of ink and skin.
Just like at the breakfast table this morning, I’m suddenly hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food.
He shrugs into the pink shirt, and my brain short-circuits completely. The color should look ridiculous on him. Clash with everything he is, all that hardness and danger and barely leashed violence. Instead it makes his skin look darker, his eyes more intense, and the western cut transforms him into something that makes my mouth achingly dry.
“Well?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“It’s fine.” The words come out strangled, and I have to cover my mouth to keep anything else from escaping.
Dee Dee produces a black Stetson and sets it on his head, and whatever oxygen was left in this warehouse evaporates entirely.
“River.” Her voice cuts through the fog in my brain. “Your turn. Changing room’s in the back corner.”
I take the items she hands me. Designer western jeans, the pink rhinestone top, a silver belt that screams expensive. I walk toward the curtained area in the back, hyperaware of Diesel’s gaze burning into my shoulder blades with every step.
