After a few failed attempts, he grunts. “All right, just... hold onto the wall.” He pinches the fabric in the middle of my back as I press both palms against the textured heather-gray wallpaper.
He tugs at the zip, grunting lightly.
“Maybe scissors?” I suggest, mentally tallying how many months’ payment plan I would need in exchange for a quick escape.
He hums nonchalantly. “It would be a bummer to cut up a dress you look so good in.”
My brain zeros in on his hands, focusing on the feel of his palms against me instead of the dress’s tightening grasp.
“Stop trying to distract me,” I say through gritted teeth, even though it kind of works.
“Sorry.” He drags the zipper down, and it immediately glides over the gathering of thread I got it stuck on. The cool air hits my sweat-laced lower back as the dress folds open like an envelope.
We stand in heavy silence for a few beats too long as his hands smooth away from the zipper and onto my waist.
He squeezes my side and says over my shoulder, “Think you can get it from here?” My body shivers, reacting to the warmth radiating from his chest.
“Yeah, thanks.” I nod, unhinging my fingers from the wall and leaning into his hands on me, gentle but supportive. I place my right arm across my waist, the ends of our fingers ever so slightly overlapping. My limbs go heavy as electricity jumps between our fingertips.
Our deep breaths move in sync, calming my nervous system.
He leans in and speaks in a quieter tone. “And if I let go right now, you’re not going to drop to the floor?” I can hear the slight twinge of amusement on his breath. He must have seen my shaking knees earlier. My breath hitches as his mouth lingers near my ear. He huffs a laugh, the breath tickling my skin. Maybe he can sense that the last thing I need right now is someone asking if I’m okay.
“What?” I ask, clutching the front of my dress to my chest with my other hand. I turn around to face him, his hands dragging across my middle over the fabric. I tighten my fist on the dress, bunching it in the center of my chest. Unable to slow my racing pulse as his eyes dip to my lips.
His fingers loosen their grip as I move my free hand to grasp his forearm, keeping him in place. His voice is low, amused butself-assured as he glances down at my hand. “Did you get yourself stuck in that dress because you wanted a reason to be alone in a hotel room with me again?” I have to stop myself from biting my lip. My heart feels like it’s about to burst through my chest and make a hole through the door like Wile E. Coyote. “No.”
We stand in charged silence for a few seconds before my mouth parts on a muted gasp as Oliver slowly moves his hand up to my face, my grip staying on his arm. His warm fingers cup my chin as he drags a rough thumb across the underside of my bottom lip, smoothing out my smeared red lipstick and setting my nervous system alight like it’s New Year’s Eve.
“It’s a shame you want nothing to do with me,” he says down onto my lips, almost out of breath.
The need itches like a freshly formed bruise. If I was braver, I would kiss him. Use my free hand to pull his shirt toward me and slam my lips into his. Collide my body against his until his back hits the wall. But I don’t. I don’t move. I don’t do anything. Because that kind of risk is something I can’t take.
“I... don’t.” I clear the desire from my throat, reaffirming it to myself as well as him.
The left sleeve of my dress slides down my arm; he runs his hand up my arm, tugging the fabric back over my shoulder, and then, much to my chagrin, he pulls his torso away from mine.
“I’ll send an intern for the dresses,” he says on a slow exhale. His dark eyes flick back and forth, studying every tiny moment I make like he just asked me a final question.
I look everywhere but his face. “Uh-huh.”
He slips his hand into his pocket before stepping away and heading for the door. Leaving me breathless, half naked, and surrounded by expensive fabric.
Chapter 17
Business Account (WYST) BALANCE: £2,782.43
Personal Account BALANCE: -£1,857.10
Room service, charged to the room of Spencer Cole: £42.79
Data Roaming charge: £6.50
I was reluctant to believe it in the first round, but Spencer truly is the star of the conference. So much so, I’m not bringing up the smash burger and Kir Royale he ordered at 1 a.m. last night when he thought I was asleep.
“It’s kinda strange, really,” he laments as we walk to the auditorium for the start of Round Two. “You struggled to get attention on Wyst for like two years, I go up onstageonceand it’s all anyone can talk about.”
I try not to roll my eyes as I follow Spencer down the long beige corridor with Odericco Investments banners pointing us toward an ornate conference center. The last thing he needs before he goes onstage is to be berated by me. Carved wood with gilt ceilings would make you assume everyone will be dressed up as French aristocrats. Instead, rows and rows of Banana Republic and Brooks Brothers are milling around in a battle of whose voice can at once be both the lowest and the loudest.
