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“What if…what if I did something else for you instead?” She licked her lips.

“If you’d like to make that your finishing number,” he said with a grin, “fine by me.”

Lily crossed the room, her arms dangling at her sides in defeat. Lamplight caressed her round ass and sloped breasts. Her nipples were standing at attention.

Just fucking gorgeous.

He chose an acoustic song from his playlist. It wasn’t cheesy or insulting, but had a nice beat. To his surprise, she began swaying to the music. She wiggled her hips, closed her eyes, and rolled one delicate shoulder and then the other. By the time she’d scooped her hair off her neck and piled it behind her head, he was physically unable to stay still another second.

He pushed off the bed, his boxers tenting at the front. He was as hard as the night was long. Hands on her hips, he pulled her against his erection, pressing the soft globes of her breasts to his bare chest. She rested her palms on him, and they stayed like that for a few minutes, dancing in the middle of his bedroom.

“We look ridiculous,” she whispered.

“Nuh-uh.” He turned them so that she could see their reflection in the mirrored closet doors. “We look good together.”

She smiled at her reflection. “Yeah. We do.”

He kissed her as they continued moving to the music. “How about a limo for the RSD dinner?”

“How very understated,” she said.

“Well, we’re coming out. May as well do it in style.”

A worry line appeared between her brows. She stopped swaying. “What will everyone say?”

“Who cares?” he said. And really, who did care? “I’m a kickass designer. So are you. People hire us to create, not because we are or are not sleeping together.”

She was quiet for a beat, then said, “I guess you’re right.”

He picked her up and then dropped her onto his bed with a soft bounce. Then he shucked his boxers and joined her. They made love again, this time with her on top, her breasts swaying in front of his face, her hair dripping down her back.

Afterward, she curled up next to him and pressed her sweet backside against his front. He held her, one arm wrapped around her torso, one of her breasts in his hand, and listened as her breathing evened out.

As he lay there, he tried to remember if he’d ever made a better decision than seducing Lily at Willow Mansion.

He couldn’t think of one.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lily chewed on her bottom lip as she watched out the passenger side window of his car.

They’d agreed that a limo was a bit too prom-night for the evening, so he’d driven his Audi. He could tell she was nervous—if the lip-chewing thing hadn’t given it away, then the stiffness of her posture had.

He parked in a space outside the convention center, killed the engine, and turned his head. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous.”

She jumped like he’d startled her. Her delicate throat moved when she swallowed. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re beautiful.” She was wearing a short, off-the-shoulder emerald-green dress and black high-heeled shoes. Her jewelry was understated, her hair pinned up.

When she’d opened her front door, he’d been unable to speak for a moment. He’d feasted on the V of her cleavage, her smooth legs, and those piercing blue eyes that always seemed like they were looking right through him.

“What are you wearing under that dress?” he’d growled.

“Nothing but a fresh bikini wax,” she’d purred.

God help him.

But their playful banter had died halfway to the convention center. She’d been silent for most of the drive.