“Oh.” Her feet glued themselves to the sidewalk.
“Oh, indeed. As for not wanting to be seen with you, I explained why that’s awkward with my grandmother. I was going to ask you if you would like to go to a club tonight, though. I bumped into an acquaintance over breakfast. He owns Afterglow. Said he’d put me on the list.” He quirked his brow as though suggesting his acquaintance was being pretentious.
Afterglow was terribly pretentious. It was where all the celebrities went when they came to Whistler. She had secretly always wanted to see inside, but clubbing was one of those luxuries she’d always wondered about, but couldn’t afford. Like everything about this man, his invitation tempted her simply for the chance to spend more time in his company, but she was so disconcerted, she could only shrug self-consciously.
“Do you want to go?”
“We can’t make love nonstop,” he said with a smirk of untold arrogance.
“Evidence to the contrary,” she muttered.
He let out a bark of laughter, something that made standing on this sidewalk with him the most amazing place to be in that moment, contentious relationship or not. It made her yearn for something more with him. Something truly meaningful.
His phone pinged and he glanced at it. “I have to drop by the Tabor. Can you amuse yourself until lunch?”
He didn’t threaten to tie her to the bed in his suite, she noted, but simply assumed she would stay with him.
She folded the printout she still held, thinking of the restitution she had failed to make, despite her best efforts. She really did want to put the past to bed, but wasn’t sure if his bed was the place to do it. Walking away wouldn’t allow for any sort of peace between them, though.
“I’m going to look for a job. See if I can scare up a place to live so I can stay here instead of moving to Vancouver.”
A shadow of something moved behind his eyes, dissolving the humor that was lingering there.
He nodded. “Good luck. See you at lunch, then.” He planted a kiss on her that left her heart pounding and walked away.
* * *
When they returned to his suite at the end of the day, a rack of dresses and accompanying accessories filled the lounge.
“What—?”
“You need something to wear to the club.”
A dress. Not a wardrobe!
“I bought a new top to wear with my miniskirt.” She’d found a steal on a sequined halter at the consignment store and showed it to him.
He made a face that said meh, and opened a bottle of wine.
“What’s wrong with it?” She’d done a lot of hand-wringing today, wondering if she was making the right choice, but kept coming back to wanting him not to hate her. To see that she was doing the best she could.
“Indulge me,” he said, jerking his chin at the dresses while pouring glasses. He seated himself on the sofa as though settling in to watch a sports final.
“You want me to model for you? That’s rather objectifying, isn’t it?” She tried to be indignant, but a secretive part of her was titillated.
“I call it foreplay, but if you’d rather not...” He shrugged, but the slant of his mouth suggested genuine disappointment. Enough to make her want to laugh.
“Is this your thing?” she asked, casting him a curious look as she fingered through the dresses. “Your kink? Do you go to strip clubs?” There was so much about him she didn’t know.
“No. But I like to see beautiful women in beautiful clothing. I think that makes me one hundred percent normal heterosexual male. Vanilla, even.”
“I’m not beautiful,” she said absently, holding a dress of gold fringe against her front, glancing at him for his reaction.
He nodded approval, saying, “You are.”
She glowed under the compliment, even as she denied it. “Prettyish, at best.”
She slipped behind the rack and unzipped one boot, then the other.
“That’s not me fishing for reassurance. Just honest self-assessment.” She was pear-shaped, not hourglass. Her lashes needed about a pound of mascara to thicken them up to “average.” Her face was on the roundish, girlish side, not elegant or aristocratic. “I have decent skin and nice hair, but I’m no supermodel.”
“Women are idiotic, setting ridiculous standards for themselves,” he said as she skimmed away her jeans and top.
“As foreplay goes, yours sucks.”
She heard his choke of laughter, then a growled “Yours is excellent. You’re making me insane, hiding back there. Get out here.”
She bit back a smile, suddenly taking great enjoyment in this flirt and play. This lighthearted teasing made her happy. Optimistic. She hugged the dress to her bare front for a moment, deciding to stop trying to figure out where they were going and embrace what they had. She slowed her movements, giving him a show beneath the rack of clothing by stepping one naked foot through the dress she was trying on, then the other, then very, very slowly shimmied it up her bare legs.
“You’ll pay for that,” he warned.
“I’m starting to worry we’ll need a spreadsheet for all the debits and credits.” Holding the front of the loose dress, she came around, growing nervous as she showed herself. She padded toward him and turned so he could zip her.
He set aside his wine and sat forward. “Lift your hair.”
She did, felt the dress draw close around her, then his heavy hands settled on her hips. Every single fringe seemed to tickle across her cheeks. Her entire backside began to tingle. Little teases of arousal fluttered through her loins and upward to her breasts.
“Heels, pi fauri,” he said absently and sat back.
Her whole body warmed as she moved away and chose a pair of gold sandals with an ankle strap and a four-inch spike.
“I’ll help you,” he said before she could sit to put them on.
His voice was very low and intent. He opened his thighs so she could set her foot on the cushion between his knees. He took his time, caressing her arch and ankle before putting the shoe in place, then taking care with closing the buckle. He motioned for the other.
She had trouble balancing, knees nearly unhinged so she had to grasp at his shoulder.
“Walk to the window,” he commanded softly.
She did, slowly, feeling his gaze on her like a million suns. Maybe she didn’t consider herself beautiful, but in that moment, she felt glamorous and exotic. Prized.
It was strangely empowering. She struck a provocative pose as she looked over her shoulder at him, back arched, hip cocked.
“I don’t like this one,” she said haughtily. “I want to try another.”
He sat arrested with his drink halfway to his mouth. His voice was velvet and leather, thick and smoky and sensual. “By all means.”
She tried on one in a rich burgundy in a fabric light as air. The spaghetti straps barely held up the cups over a deep cleavage. The skirt was a handkerchief cut with high slits.
“What do you think?” She fluttered the skirt to reveal and conceal her legs nearly to her hips, deliberately teasing, though she wasn’t sure which one of them was more affected. Her body was warm and her muscles growing lethargic with sensuality. “Too high school prom?”
“The black shoes, I think.” His voice was a silken ribbon sweeping over her and coiling tight, squeezing her breath.
“No,” she defied with a shake of her hair. “I want to try something else.” She checked in with him and liked the way his mouth was deep at the corners, his eyes narrowed with absolute focus on her.
“The blue, then.” It was a strapless mini with silver embossing, tight as a second skin.
“Now the black shoes,” she stated, sauntering to collect them.
“Bring me that bag.” He nodded to a pink bag with silk handles and a logo for designer lingerie that Cami hadn’t noticed.
The wicked flutters in her abdomen grew as she brought the items across to him.
He plucked the tissue from the bag and spilled jewel-colored silk and lace across the cushion beside him, fingering through the items for long moments before taking up a miniscule scrap in midnight-blue with an edging of black lace.
She reached for it.
“I’ll help. Hold still.”
She was paralyzed, barely breathing as he hitched forward, legs opening so his knees bracketed hers. He grazed his flat hands up her thighs, beneath her skirt. The tightness of the knit in the skirt ironed his palms to her skin. His fingers slid across her hips, then hooked into the edge of her very boring, white cotton underwear. He eased them down until they fell in a bunch at her ankles.
“Step.” He held the new ones for her.
She was losing track of which one of them was in charge. She obeyed, bones so weak she had to brace on his shoulder again. She quivered under the erotic scrape of lace up her thighs, at the way she thought she could feel the abrasion of his fingerprints against her skin.
He smoothed the thong into place, running thorough fingertips along her hips to ensure there were no twists. His thumbs followed the triangle across the front, causing a pulse of anticipation that was nothing but molten heat, so intense she nearly sobbed.
“I’m going to ruin them,” she whispered.
“I expect I’ll be ripping them off you very soon, bedduzza,” he said, very slowly drawing his hands from beneath her skirt and gently tugging her hem into place. “Would you like to walk for me? Or shall we change your shoes first?”