They walked around both sections of the store for twenty minutes, each handing garments to Julie to take to the other's changing room. By the time they were finished, there were probably more clothes in there waiting for them than left on the shelves.
"We're done," Dylan said.
Julie nodded. "Okay, follow me."
She led them into a room the size of a small store in itself. It was circular, with mirrored doors along the outer wall and a round sofa in the middle. On one side of the room was a long chrome stand on wheels that was full of the dresses Faith had agreed to try on, and on the other side of the room was a matching stand with the clothes for Dylan. There was also an ice bucket on a stand, with champagne chilling.
Julie lifted the bottle. "How about we start with a glass of bubbly?"
Faith glanced at Dylan, and he raised an eyebrow, leaving it to her. The night they'd lost control had started with champagne... But tonight they were chaperoned, and she was having fun, so the champagne would be nice.
She nodded at Julie. "Thank you."
Julie poured two glasses and handed them over. Dylan clinked his to Faith's. "Here's to an interesting night."
"Cheers," she said and took a sip before handing her glass back to Julie and heading for her changing room. There were so many dresses, she didn't know where to start, so she grabbed the first one her hand landed on and slipped through the door.
It was an electric-blue velvet, floor-length number. As she was zipping up, Julie called out, "How's it going? Need any help?"
"I'm fine, thanks. The zip is on the side."
She adjusted the dress and looked in the mirror. The color was amazing on her, and the dress itself made her look more elegant than she'd anticipated. As she opened the door, Dylan stilled, his hand freezing on the shirt cuff he'd been adjusting.
He cleared his throat. "Stunning. But it's not the right one."
Faith looked down at the dress. "I like it."
"I like it, too. But it's not the right one."
She was about to argue when she caught sight of the rack full of dresses still to try. No point becoming attached to the first one, anyway. "Turn around and show me what you're wearing."
He held his arms out and turned, letting her see. He'd chosen the most conservative of all the options-a cream shirt with a black suit and charcoal tie. The colors set off his tan, but she smiled and said, "I like it, but it's not the right one."
Julie jumped up from the sofa. "Good, we're narrowing it down. Next! I'll take those two outfits back into the store when you have them off."
Faith grabbed another dress and slipped back into the changing room. For the next five changes, Dylan's eyes heated with approval, but he said each wasn't the right one, so she kept going, wondering what he was waiting for.
And for each of those five changes, she'd also rejected his outfits. Seeing him in a fitted white shirt that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and his toned biceps had made her mouth dry, but she was waiting for something a little bit different.
She emerged wearing the sixth dress, a light-as-air confection in mint green that shimmered like mother-of-pearl and seemed to float and sparkle as she moved.
Dylan's eyes darkened when he saw her. "Now we're getting somewhere." He reached out to touch the sleeve, and the warmth of his hand seeped through the light fabric. "This is more how I see you."
"What do you mean?" she asked, looking down at the dress.
"Let me ask you a question instead." He lifted her chin with a crooked finger. "I've seen your heart. When you make flower arrangements, your heart is on display. Crab apple and mint, the Ruby Iris with pale pink blooms and crystals. You're unique, you're creative and you're effervescent. So why is your apartment so plain that it's practically military issue?"
She moved away, giving herself a moment to think. They'd agreed not to spend time alone together, so where did that leave soul-baring admissions? Maybe it would be best not to get too deep for exactly the same reasons.
She shrugged. "I just haven't gotten around to decorating yet. It doesn't seem as if I've been there long enough."
"It's more than that," he said, moving back into her field of vision. "It's part of not wanting to put down roots, isn't it? Being a rolling stone?"
This man saw through her far too easily. She let out a long breath and told him more than she'd ever told a living soul. "There was one time when I was nine. I was living with my grandparents, and I'd thought I was finally settled, that I'd finish growing up at their house." She'd begun to hope. "I looked through magazines and ripped out posters of bands and actors that my little nine-year-old heart was crushing on, and I covered my walls with them. It was more than just putting posters up. It was about marking my territory. That room was mine, you know?"
"Yeah, I do," he said softly, his green eyes intense.
"I spent ridiculous amounts of time arranging who to put where and who could be side by side with someone else. I was so proud of that damn wall when I was finished that I would lie on my bed and just stare at it."
He ran a hand up and down her back, hypnotizing her into a sense of calm. "What happened to the wall, Faith?"
"Nothing. The wall was fine." She swallowed hard. "But my father called one night and said he was picking me up in the morning to take me out to a theme park. Once we were on the road, he told me he was dropping me off with my mother afterward. She wanted to give parenthood another go."
Dylan's body tensed, but his voice remained even. "What about your things?"
"My grandparents had packed my clothes while I was having breakfast-I didn't have a lot-and they were already in the back of the truck." The betrayal of their not giving her advance warning, of always keeping her in the dark, still stung. "Part of me was happy my mother wanted me, but part of me was thinking about my wall. About where I'd begun to feel settled."
"Oh, baby," he said on a sigh. "You had it all ripped out from under you again."
"I never put anything up on a wall again. And the next time I went back to my grandparents' to live-after my aunt handed me back when I was eleven-I ripped down every one of those pictures and threw them in the trash." She rubbed at her breastbone. That damn memory still had the power to hurt, even after all these years.
"Hey, come here," he said, and wrapped his arms around her.
She just stood in his embrace, not relaxing. "I'm okay."
"I know you are," he said gently. "But I'm going to hug you anyway."
It was the perfect thing to say, and she let herself lean against his solid chest to soak up his strength for just a moment. Then she chuckled-of course it was the perfect thing to say, since he was a known charmer.
He dipped his head. "What's funny?"
"You know, I was warned about your way with words," she said, biting down on a smile and stepping back.
His eyebrows shot up. "Who said that?"
She shrugged a shoulder innocently, enjoying his surprise. "One of Adam's staff members at the photo shoot. She also said the girls in Adam's office have a crush on you."
"Really?" he asked, grinning.
She smacked him on the shoulder. "Yes, really. She also said that you could charm the pants off anyone if you tried."
His gaze slowly made its way from her face to her toes. "Lucky you're wearing a dress, then."
"Somehow," she said, her breath coming a little faster, "I don't think choice of clothing would affect your success."
The green of his eyes grew dark, became full of promise. "There's only one thing that's stopping me from trying right now."
She swallowed. "Our personal shopper?"
"No, she's easy to deal with." His fingertips toyed with the neckline of her dress, sending sparks through her bloodstream.
"Oh." And here she'd thought the chaperone was protecting them. "Then what is it?"
He moved closer, surrounding her with his body heat. "We made a decision. In my kitchen."
"We did." She moistened her lips, and he watched the action as he spoke.
"And nothing has changed in the factors that led us to make that decision." His head dipped to kiss a spot just below her earlobe.
It took several heartbeats for her to remember what they were talking about, since his lips were working magic, drawing her into a haze of desire. "They haven't," she agreed, reaching her arms around his neck.