He smirks, like he can see right through me. “You do. Why else did you want me to come back here with you tonight? You were practically begging your brother to let me stay. And I wanted to too. And I want this dance.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to show you something. I want to demonstrate to you how sexy you are to me and how much you actuallydoknow what you’re doing.”
“I can’t…” My words die in my throat because, honestly, I have no idea how to respond to that. I wet my lips. My heart is racing, and before I can talk myself out of it, I stand.
Because Rose wanted to do something wild that night in Hoboken, and somehow it led me straight to Boone.
And now Rosie deserves the chance to prove to herself that she doesn’t need a fake name, a steel pole, or the cover of dark club lights to feel a little wild. That body glitter and sheer lingerie aren’t required to capture a man like Boone’s attention.
He leans back in the chair, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as his eyes roam hungrily over me. He looks like a wolf, prepared to devour his prey.
And just like that I realize I’m about to give Boone Tremblay a second lap dance. Right here. In the middle of my house. In Brookhaven, Connecticut.
And not as Rose the dancer who was looking for an outlet to try something wild, but as Rosie Prescott. The lawyer who rarely takes chances, the woman he said is sexy…
And his lawfully weddedwife.
Chapter 17: Boone
“I don’t have anything sexy to wear,” Rosie says softly, her voice tinged with nerves.
“What do you mean?” I can’t see the problem. Because what she’s wearing right now is sexy. Her tight, fitted jeans hug her smaller curves, and the long-sleeved purple t-shirt she’s got on is the shade that makes her skin glow the brightest and brings out the warmth in her eyes.
If I’m being honest, I’d prefer her naked, but this isn’t that kind of dance. At least, not yet. This is about showing my wife that she’s the most attractive woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. And that she has absolutely nothing to doubt.
Maybe this is all temporary. But in the meantime, I want her to understand that I’m not looking at anyone but her.
“I mean that I don’t have any lingerie here,” she explains, glancing away shyly. “Everything’s back at my apartment in New York City.”
The mention of lingerie has my mind spiraling. Now all I can think about is a whole drawer—hell, maybe a wholecloset—of hers dedicated to lace and satin just sitting in the bedroom that's next to the one that I’ve been sleeping in. Stuff she’s bought for some lucky guy to see some day.
My jaw tightens at the thought, and my hands drop to adjust my sweatpants as the images start crowding my sex-deprived brain.
Celibacy sounded like a good idea when I was trying to repair my reputation but now that I’m married toRosie, the temptation to break that streak is killing me.
Her gaze flicks to my lap, and then the little temptress wets her lips like she’s thinking about getting a taste of me.
Fuck me.
If she keeps doing that, I’m not going to make it through this without losing my grip and touching her.
“So don’t wear anything,” I say. My voice comes out like gravel.
Her eyes narrow at me for a moment before she laughs softly. “Boone, please be serious. I’m not doing that.”
“You wore next to nothing last time you gave me a dance,” I point out.
Her cheeks flush just a little. She tugs on a piece of her hair like she’s considering it, then shakes her head.
“I… no.” She laughs again. “I’m not doing that.”
Don’t get shy on me now.
I’m starting to like this side of her—the loosened-up, unwound version of Rosie that’s been surfacing since we left the city and all the weight that her career and our fake marriage add to her shoulders.
We’re not going back to scripted, PR focused conversations. I want to getdeeperwith her. And that includes stripping away everything that she uses to put space between us.
