I glanced sideways at the man who’d done more for me in 40 hours than my ex had done for me in four years, and suddenly, I was crystal clear on how to respond to all the stuff with Dwayne.
A few minutes later, I dipped into the toilets the professor pointed me to when I asked for a rest stop after our tour was officially done. As soon as the door closed behind me, I pulled out my phone for the first time since I’d met up with Mick for that unbelievable shopping spree.
Suzie still hadn’t responded to my messages, but there were four more from Dwayne. Four more I didn’t bother to read.
It didn’t matter that Suzie hadn’t responded. She didn’t have to for me to be certain of my next move with Dwayne.
I reported the text messages as junk and blocked his mama’s number, too.
“You look happy,” Mick said when I emerged from the women’s toilets.
“You know why I’m happy, right?” I asked, taking his arm as we resumed walking out of one of the wings of Palais-Royal that people rarely got to see.
“Cos of me?” His tone lay somewhere between hope and pride.
“Cos of you,” I happily confirmed.
* * *
I foundout what the sales associate from Je T’aime Tourdin meant about having the evening dress Mick chose for me expedited and couriered when the suite’s doorbell rang shortly after I finished taking a pre-dinner shower.
I answered to find François holding a pink-and-silver damask dress bag with the exclusive store’s logo scrawled across it in gold letters.
I thanked the French Butler and took the delivery back to the bedroom just as Mick emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “What ya got there?”
“The dress you picked out for me,” I answered, my voice going a little weak.
The sight of him in nothing but a towel distracted me from my intention of hanging the bag up on the closet door’s hook so that I could unzip it.
“By the way, are you aware you have a ridiculously nice body?” I asked a little breathlessly. “I mean, none of the guys I see tending the power lines in my neighborhood look like you.”
He grinned. “So that’s why you’re with me, then? You’re just usin’ me for me body?”
“No, I’m with you because you’re easy to be with and because you’re really great. I’m just saying, the body doesn’t hurt. You’re more ripped than some of the players on the Suns.”
“More—how’d ya call it—‘ripped’ than Dwayne the Wanker?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, more ripped than him.”
Mick visibly preened but dropped the subject with a, “Well, go ahead and put on the dress, then. I’m starvin’, and we’ve got to be there in less than an hour.”
I had no idea wheretherewas. Some fancy restaurant he’d assured me was covered by the prize package but definitely wouldn’t let me in wearing any Suns’ apparel.
I unzipped the bag and almost let out an audible gasp.
“You shouldn’t have. You really shouldn’t have,” I said, pulling out a vibrant, deep-red statement dress.
It featured a ballgown silhouette with a low sweetheart, off-the-shoulder neckline on top. But then a whimsical cascade of what looked like handstitched flowers descended from its cinched waist to form a voluminous floor-length skirt.
I had never seen—much less worn anything so finely made in my life!
“I mean, how much did this cost?” I demanded. “Was it really all covered by the shopping spree?”
“Put it on, love,” he said, ignoring my questions. “I want to see it on you.”
That’s when I noticed the second hanger behind the first. It had a bustier made up of the prettiest pale-yellow lace I’d ever seen and matching short briefs made of the same material. “And you got the underwear, too?” I shook my head. “I really don’t think I can accept this. Or at least let me pay the taxes on it. I mean, there’s no prize package in the world that would cover the taxes, too!”
Mick closed the space between us, and without a word, he untied the sash of the robe I’d put on after my own shower, exposing the full length of my naked body to his hooded eyes.
