Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
My mouth goes dry. “Sure,” I manage, voice rougher than I intend.
She disappears behind the curtain, leaving it half-open. I step inside and pull it shut. Instantly, the space seems smaller, warmer. She’s standing there in that black dress, the thin straps resting on her shoulders, and I catch a glimpse of her bare back where the zipper’s halfway up. Her hair is piled on top of her head, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
She glances over her shoulder at me, nerves dancing in her gray eyes. “It just won’t budge.”
I swallow, stepping forward. The scent of her shampoo fills my senses—something fresh and a little sweet. My fingers find the tiny zipper tab. It’s wedged in the fabric. Carefully, I tug it free, my knuckles skimming the soft skin of her back. She inhales sharply, and it’s like lightning strikes me, every nerve suddenly on alert.
“Sorry,” I murmur, focusing on the zipper. But part of me can’t help noticing how silky her skin feels beneath my fingertips. “Almost got it.”
My other hand braces against her hip, steadying us both, and I feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric. She shifts, and I catch her eyes in the mirror—dilated, with a heat that’s unmistakable. Finally, the zipper moves, sliding smoothly all the way up to the top.
“There,” I say, voice husky.
She exhales, turning around slowly, the dress hugging every curve. My pulse thuds. Good God, she’s gorgeous. The type of gorgeous that makes it impossible to think of anything else.
“How does it look?” she asks, hands smoothing down the sides. There’s uncertainty hidden in her eyes, like she genuinely wants my approval—like she needs me to say she’s perfect.
I clear my throat. “You look… incredible.”
Her lips curve in a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”
A heartbeat passes. We’re close, too close. The dressing room feels hot, suffocating. She licks her lips, and I’m abruptly aware of the tension humming between us—awareness that if I leaned in just a little, we’d be kissing. For a split second, I’m tempted. But then I remember the mission, the fact that her brother is trusting me, the danger we’re facing.
I step back, forcing a neutral expression. “We should, uh, see how it moves,” I say, gesturing stiffly.
She drops her gaze. “Right. Gotta make sure I can walk, dance…that sort of thing.” Her attempt at a casual tone doesn’t quite mask the breathlessness.
She slips past me, out of the dressing room to twirl in front of the full-length mirror, and the moment is broken. I lean against the wall, blowing out a slow breath, trying to steady my heart. If it’s this hard not to touch her now, what’s it going to be like tonight, when we’re pretending to be a couple at some adult club?
By the time we pay for the dress, suit, and shoes (company card, thanks Dean) we head outside, the autumn sun has begun its slow descent. I toss the shopping bags in the back of my SUV and open the passenger door for Isabel. She slides in, crossing her legs in a way that has me picturing them wrapped around my shoulders. I grit my teeth and go around to the driver’s side. This is going to be a long night.
We get back to the safe house just as the sky purples with twilight. Isabel fills me in on the latest news: apparently her contact at the police station knows Chloe Huxley, the wife of the owner of Club Greed, Devereaux. Chloe pulled some strings to add our names to tonight’s guest list.
“That’s good,” I say, lugging our purchases inside. “Means we won’t have to find another way in. We can blend right in with the rest of the club crowd.”
She flicks on the lights, setting her dress bag carefully over a chair. “Devereaux is… a client of Maddox Security. I’ve never met him, but he might recognize my last name,” she says. “We might have to improvise.”
“Dean’s really close with Devereaux. I’ve never met him.” I shake my head. “It also sounds like the type of place a guy like Rolfe would frequent—underground deals, big payoffs.”
She sighs, glancing around the cozy living room. “I’ll make a quick call to confirm we’re on the list, then we can start getting ready.”
“Right,” I say, half-dreading the moment I’ll have to see her in that dress again. And also half-anticipating it like some lovesick fool.
We split up, heading to our respective rooms to change. A part of me can’t help wishing we were anywhere else—some normal date, maybe—because the tension between us is something I’m not sure either of us can handle for very long. But that’s not our reality. We’re here on a mission, and I need to keep my head clear.
I step into the tiny bedroom I claimed as mine and dig the new suit out of its bag. As I strip off my casual clothes, I catch sight of myself in the small mirror above the dresser. My jaw’s set, my eyes sharper than usual. This job has me on edge, no question. But there’s more to it—there’s Isabel, the way she looked at me in that dressing room, the way my stomach flips whenever she’s near.