“Yeah?” He sounds like he’s questioning me.
“Definitely.”
“You sure?”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing or truly doubtful. “Yes,” I say, adamant.
“I should make sure though,” he says, the corner of hislips twitching as he grabs the suit from the rack, then nods to the door. “I’ll be right out.”
He’s going to put it on? But of course he is.
“Right. No problem,” I say, flustered, but trying to cover it up.
Did he think I was going to stay while he changed? He must have thought that. Am I misreading him again?
It’s kind of your thing, Remy.“I’ll be out here,” I say stupidly, then race out, shutting the door behind me.
I stand in his bedroom, but is this even any better? Since I’m now checking out his bed.
Right there in the middle of the room. Alaskan king and inviting with all those pillows, and the cream duvet.
I’m trying to think pure thoughts of sleep, but it’s hard when the rustle of fabric drifts past my ears, the zip of metal. He’s changing in there, and my mouth is dry. My lips, too, come to think of it.
“Be right back,” I say to the closet door, then head to the sunny kitchen, grab my bag from the chair, and root around for lip gloss in the side pocket. I need something to do. I land on metal first and tug out my lipstick. That’ll do. As I return to his bedroom, I’m slicking on ruby red lipstick right as the closet door swings open.
He emerges, all glower and growl in his midnight blue suit and icy eyes.
I freeze, momentarily stunned by the sight of Lake in the perfect shade for him. The pants hug his strong thighs. The white dress shirt stretches deliciously across his firm pecs. The jacket kisses his muscular arms.
He smooths a hand down the lapels, then adjusts the jacket, and I somehow regain the power of movement. I finish applying the color right as he meets my gaze.
His lips form a ruler. His hands tighten into fists. His irises are locked on my mouth. A low, barely audible rumbleseems to escape his lips, and when the sound stops, neither one of us says a word. We both just stare. He’s a tiger, and I’m waiting for him to pounce.
All the questions that haunted me are answered.
The man wants me. And I want him.
Except, I don’t want to be pounced on. I want to be in control. I cap the lipstick tube, set it in the pocket of my sweatpants, and tilt my head. “All you need is a tie.”
He nods toward me, commanding, authoritative. “Pick one for me.”
I stride into the closet again, tossing him a flirty glance as I make my way to the tie rack, flicking through the options quickly, powered by this fresh rush of confidence, before I settle on a silvery number. “It’ll provide a nice contrast to the blue of the suit,” I say, but I sound breathy, like my mind is elsewhere.
Because it is.
He moves behind me, the fabric of his slacks swishing with each step before he stops. “But how will it go with your maid of honor dress? Or should I wear a black tie?” he asks, far too casual, reaching past me for a plain, simple black silk tie. He grabs it and holds it up, dangling it in front of me.
Like a taunt. Like he’s the one in control of the color choices. It’s a good choice he’s making though—lush and dark and seductive.
“That’s better,” I say, then turn around so I can fully face him. I take the neckwear from him, taking back the moment too. I toss it around his neck, adjusting the ends as my fingertips brush briefly against his shirt.
My whole body is lit up. Every cell, every molecule is shimmying.
I’m contemplating tying the tie but Lake’s staring so hard at my mouth, and he’s so shameless about it I’m not sure if there’s any point in completing the knot.
“Your lips,” he rasps out.
The heat in his eyes tells me everything I’ve ever needed to know about these last few weeks with him.
