I’ve hardly sung the first painfully slow line, doing my best sultry attempt at Marilyn, when I realise Brandon has gone completely still. Not relaxed-still. Frozen in place like he’s been hit by lightning. The only movement is when his throat bobs. Once. Hard.
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
Oh my God. I’m seducing him. And I knew I would be—but now that I’m in the moment, the air charged, I’m wondering what on earth I’ve agreed to.
When I purr,Mr President—slow, breathy, ridiculous—I catch the stricken look on his face.
He’s in a crisis. I’ve never felt so desirable in my entire life.
But poor Brandon…he’sgoing to die, aroused and embarrassed, in front of everyone.
And I’m in no better state—my entire body tingling, fingers trembling on the strings as everyone claps. I feel shivery and lightheaded, my mind replaying the memory of sensual touches in the dark, his hands—and mine—roaming, coaxing pleasure.
Anticipation rolls through me as I draw a shaky breath, our eyes meeting.
I want him.
Ineedhim.
Somehow, it doesn’t happen.
The song requests pour in, and we hardly get a moment to ourselves.
It’s encouraging to know that I can play well on a guitar other than my Cole Clark—that my ability isn’t bound to one instrument. Obvious, in hindsight, but a revelation all the same.
When it’s time to go to the pub, Ellenor thrusts a large paper bag into my hands.
“I got you a little something in town—you know, for my birthday. You should wear it now.”
“Oh no. Whatever it is, I’m not—”
“Shh. Trustme. It’s pretty.”
I level her with an unconvinced stare but head inside anyway.
Up in the bathroom, I slide the dress from the bag…and stop breathing.
The fabric spills like liquid metal across my hands—a luminous gunmetal grey in a metallic fabric that catches the light yet is soft against my skin. I willingly try it on.
Ellenor knows me well. The skater style is elegant and comfy, with bare shoulders and a respectable length, though the V-neckline dips a little lower than I’d normally choose, hinting at cleavage in a way that would normally bother me.
I twirl once, and the skirt flares out like a dancer’s. Maybe not quite so respectable after all.
I smile at my reflection. Even with sneakers and an ankle brace, I feel beautiful.
Brandon appears in the doorway.
He stops. Completely.
“Lily.”
Just my name, nothing more, but something in his voice hits low, like velvet dragging over my skin. My pulse jumps.
He came looking for me.
He’s staring, gaze roving down, tracing the shimmer of the dress, the bare line of my shoulders, then returns to my eyes as he catches himself.
“You’re wearing that?” he croaks.
