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“Let me try this on.”
I look at the heels. They won’t feel good. But I’d rather be hurt than remembered. Pain relievers it is.
I open the bathroom door as he stands behind me, hands in his pockets. “Don't shut that door.”
“Fine, then.” I strip quickly, giving him my back and bare ass. I need to shower, but I learned how to do that quickly. And I don't need to wash my hair again.
A slow smile spreads across my face when I hear a groan behind me.
When I enter the bathroom, everything I asked him to get sits in a basket. I’m not used to this.
I take the razor and turn on the shower.
“What about my cover?” His voice rises above the sound of hot water pelting down.
“We were supposed to go over a lot of things. But I'll review some basics before we arrive.”
“I have a full backstory and a story to learn, and you're telling me I can learn this during a car ride? How? I still have to do my makeup.”
“We'll make it work.”
“I’m not an actor.” I raise my voice so he can hear me.
“Good. Neither am I.”
I lather quickly, shaving and freshening, but I’m acutely aware of two blue eyes burning straight through that glass door.
I towel off and quickly dress. He still watches me as I step into the dress and tug it up. It fits as if painted on me.
I reach my arms around to the back, but I can't reach the zipper.
“Come ’ere.” He leans against the desk, looking sexy as sin—his suit fits like it was made for the specific purpose of making me forget my own name. The tie is silk, dark, and loosened just enough. The shirt has one button open at the throat. A shadow of stubble runs along his jaw that he didn't bother to shave and didn't need to. And those eyes, blue and steady and already on me, the kind of eyes that have no business existing on a man this dangerous, and yet here we are.
I walk to him on bare feet when he makes a swivel motion with his fingertip. “Here,” he murmurs. “Tip your head to the side. That's right, baby. Just like that.” He brushes my hair off my neck and onto my shoulder.
His hand is warm at my back as he reaches for the zipper and tugs it upward. I feel it cinch around my bust and stare into the mirror.
It's gorgeous. Stunning. And I can't get used to the sight of him behind me. We look like we could belong in the same room. That's the only thing that matters right now.
The dress skims rather than clings, moves when I move, and settles when I stop. The neckline is deep enough that I almost pull it to adjust it, but I don't.
He bends and kisses my neck. My eyes flutter closed of their own accord.
“Fuck,” he growls, shaking his head. “Get on that desk.” He shoves the contents to the side and tugs me over.
“We don't have—”
His hand slaps against my ass hard. “What'd I say?” He reaches for his phone and sends a message. “There. Delayed the ride by fifteen minutes.”
“You didn't tell me we could do that!”
“You didn't ask.”
And then I'm on the desk, and my legs are open. He’s on his knees in front of me, and I'm trying to remember how to breathe.
The dress is bunched at my hips. I don't remember that happening. I remember his hands, then the desk, then this—him looking at me like he has all the time in the world, which he does not, but he doesn't care.
He hasn't touched me yet, and I'm already gone.
