The crisp air conditioning mixed with luxury perfume was a shocking change after weeks of unadulterated mountain air and public transportation. My eyes glazed over at the racks of bespoke garments and mannequins dressed to the nines. Walking around a well-lit store like I was supposed to be here was an out-of-body experience. I stuck out like a sore thumb with my box-color dye job and thrift-store clothes.
I immediately turned and ran smack-dab into Jude. “People will recognize us,” I whispered. “We need to lay low and get to the casino.”
Instead of throwing me over his shoulder and hauling ass to hide me in a dark alley, Jude just smiled and fingered the endsof my hair. “We’re not hiding today.” He cupped my cheeks and drew my lips to his. “I want you to have a good day to remember me by.”
“Jude—” But before I could push back on it or question the cryptic sentiment, I was gently pushed into a dressing room. A moment later, Jude knocked on the door, waited for me to open it, then reached in and hung a selection of cocktail dresses on the hook on the back of the door.
The world spun as I looked at the tags. I had never wanted for anything, but I wasn’t accustomed to three-digit garments.
“Aren’t we supposed to be saving money?” I hissed as he closed the door.
“I budgeted for this,” Jude said as he took the fitting room next to me. I heard the click and slide of his belt coming out of the loops of his jeans.
“Will you stop being secretive? It makes the sweetness less sweet,” I snipped.
He craned his neck to peek over the partition that separated his dressing room from mine. The fact that he could because he was so tall was both hot and annoying.
“Will you stop arguing for five minutes and just have a good day with me, little fox?” His words were curt and annoyed, but hebeggedwith his eyes.
I was a goner.
Reluctantly, I pulled the first dress off the hanger, stripped out of my jeans, and wiggled it on.
Jude let out a low whistle, and I spun to find him watching me over the partition.
“Will you stop looking!”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said with a cocky grin before bending to pull on a pair of pants. “Try on the black one.”
“Were you also a personal shopper in a past life?” I asked as I unzipped the first one and grabbed a little number that was made entirely of black sequins.
“No. But it’s been three weeks since the day you walked into the Four Horsemen, which means I’ve had plenty of time to fantasize.”
I arched an eyebrow as I tugged the zipper up the side. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who liked playing dress-up with his girlfriends.” The moment the muttered word slipped out, my mouth went bone-dry. Jude lifted his eyes and stared at me over the partition, slightly startled. “I—I didn’t mean . . . I’m not?—”
His smile was slow and bashful as he looked down to fasten the buttons of his dress shirt. “Don’t take it back.”
I fastened the hook and eye that held the dress together and studied it in the mirror. “I don’t think this is the one.”
“Why not?” Jude asked from his side.
“Because my ass is hanging out of the bottom. I need more than four inches of fabric back there.” I unzipped the dress, slipped it back onto the hanger, then grabbed the last of the three. The final dress was a little longer, hitting mid-calf, but had a slit that came dangerously close to the hip of my panties. The sleeves and midriff were sheer, but it had a section of full-coverage fabric that wrapped around my boobs. The skirt half of the dress hit just above my belly button. The whole thing was a deep merlot that reminded me of the red neon glow of the sign outside the Four Horsemen.
Jude leaned against the partition and rested his arms on the top. “That’s the fucking one.” He let out a low whistle. “You look dangerous, sweetheart.”
I smoothed my hands down the front of the dress and took a look in the mirror. “You think?”
“Yeah. I do.” Jude slipped out of his dressing room and let himself into mine. I raked my eyes up and down as I took him in. The fitted slacks and dress shirt might as well have been painted on him. When my gaze landed on his shoes, I smiled. Still the same ol’ motorcycle boots that had certainly seen better days.
“I think it’s too much.”
He stood behind me and studied our reflection in the mirror. “For the next few hours, I want you to stop thinking.”
That would be impossible. Not with the constant “what ifs” that swirled in my mind.
I grabbed a pair of heels that matched the dress and stuffed our street clothes into our backpacks. We paid for the clothes—in cash—then had the clerk clip the tags so we could wear them out of the store. On the way out the door, Jude stopped at the fragrance display and added a spritz of cologne from a sample bottle for good measure. I did the same with a rather lovely floral perfume, then we raced out, hand in hand, like we had just robbed a bank.
Jude led me two doors down to a blowout bar that washed, dried, and set my hair in bombshell waves. A makeup artist attacked my face while a nail technician tackled my fingers and toes. Jude stood sentry against the wall like he was my personal bodyguard. We dined at a legendary steakhouse for an early bird dinner, gorging ourselves on four decadent courses, before grabbing tickets to an acrobatic show. Watching the athletes leap and flip from the trapezes was utterly mesmerizing.
