"Where's the dress for tomorrow?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Classified information."
"Just a peek?"
"Absolutely not. Simone made me promise you wouldn't see it until the wedding."
"That's ridiculous."
"Those are the rules." I shoved past him—we were way too close in the small closet space—and buried the garment bag atthe very back under my suitcase and a spare blanket. "There. Completely hidden."
"I could just look."
I spun to find him inches away, close enough to see the green of his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. "But you won't. Because you're a gentleman."
"That's debatable."
"Then because you respect sacred wedding traditions."
"Now that's more accurate."
We stayed there a beat too long, the air between us charged. Then I stepped back before I forgot the terms of our deal.
For the next hour, we moved around each other getting ready. Every accidental brush of hands sent electricity through me. Him reaching past me for his tie. The way he watched me in the mirror when I fixed my hair. How we both reached for the closet door at the same time and his hand covered mine.
"Sorry," he murmured, thumb brushing across my knuckles.
"It's fine," I managed, not moving my hand.
Neither of us moved for several heartbeats. Then I pulled away, my skin still tingling where he'd touched me.
I needed to get a grip. This was an arrangement. The attraction was inconvenient, nothing more.
At six-thirty, I retreated to the bathroom with the emerald dress. I took my time with makeup, curled my hair into soft waves. The dress slid on perfectly, hugging curves I usually hid under diner uniforms. When I checked the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back.
I opened the door.
Hunter stood at the dresser in dark slacks and a white dress shirt, fighting with cufflinks. He looked up and froze.
"Wow."
My neck flushed despite my best efforts to stay professional. "The dress does most of the work."
"That's not true." His voice came out rough. His gaze traveled over me slowly, deliberately. "You look incredible."
My breath caught. "You clean up well yourself, cowboy."
"Here." I crossed to him, needing something to do with my hands. "Let me help."
I took his wrist. His pulse jumped under my fingertips as I worked the first cufflink through. We stood close enough that I saw gold flecks in his eyes.
Too intimate. This felt too intimate for someone I was working for. But backing away now would be awkward, so I focused on the task.
"Thanks," he said quietly when I finished both.
"Don't mention it." I stepped back before I gave in. "Ready to face your family?"
He offered his arm. "Let's do this."
