“Yes, it is.”
“Right!” He dropped her hand and slapped his palms against his thighs. “So why not make them talk about something good for a change, like how fine your ass looks in that red dress you wore—”
Her hand clamped over his mouth with record speed. “Stop,” she said, giggling. “You have gone way past that ten, buddy.”
Sharp teeth nipped her palm, and when she let go, he said, “Did you doubt I would?”
“No.”
“Of course not. I’m fabulous that way,” he said with a girlie accent. “Now, mosey on home and put on the dress. It’s perfect.”
“How do you know? You can’t possibly remember…” Her laughter faded as memories of the dinner party at Alex and Sara Beth’s flooded her mind.
“Every man there that night remembers that dress, my dear. I am a man, you know.”
No one would doubt that. “Ian…” Her stomach turned over. “I can’t wear that dress.”
“Why not? It’s perfect. And red. And perfect.”
Yes, it had been. Regret that Alex had never taken it off her mingled with anxiety at what had happened after that party. She shook her head. “I-I just can’t.”
Ian eyed her like a particularly difficult equation he couldn’t quite figure out—a look she saw on his face often. She could almost see the lightbulb switch on when he connected the dots. His mouth softened, and he pulled her into his arms. His touch was tender, platonic. Ian was a touchy-feely kind of guy, so he’d gotten her used to his hugs early on. “Cailin,” he said, the sound of her name almost a sigh. “We’ve worked together how long?”
“Too long.” Her words were muffled against his shirt.
His chuckle vibrated in her ear. “Probably. You know me too well,” he said with a light jostle. “The point is—”
“You have a point? You never have a point.”
“Stop.” More mumbled curse words, then, “The point is, I know things were rough between you and Alex and the Bastard—”
At the nickname he’d given John, Cailin leaned forward, put her mouth against the bulge of his biceps, and bit lightly. Ian yelped. They had a deal—no talking about John, even with euphemisms. He could talk to Alex about it all he wanted, but Cailin had dealt with too much of the aftermath; she didn’t want to talk about the man any more than she had to.
Ian’s next words came out cautiously, and she hid her smile as she listened.
“Anyway, I know it was a bad time. But let me tell you, seeing you that night in that red dress, seeing Alex seeing you, was something special. Something that can’t, and shouldn’t, be taken away by the Bas—” His hand came up to block her teeth from taking another bite. “Ow! Stop that!”
Snickering, Cailin stepped back. It really was a beautiful dress, and she really ought to wear it while she still could. The memory of the heat in Alex’s gaze that night, the abandon with which he’d taken her afterward, sent a shiver down her spine.
One perfect, dark blond brow tilted upward as Ian waited for her response.
“Oh, all right. If I have to,” she huffed, trying to sound as put out as possible. “Alex probably doesn’t even remember it, anyway.” As if that wasn’t a fifteen on the lying Richter scale.
Alex evidently thought so too, because he snorted his opinion of her statement, then gave her a playful grin. “Wanna bet?”
* * * *
His searching gaze landed on the doorway just as she walked through, and the words he’d been about to speak evaporated. Everything around him—the lights, noise, people, everything—faded into the background and disappeared. There was only Cailin and the vision she made in that sexy red dress. Well, that, and the sudden pain in his groin as his cock stood to attention in the amount of time it took to run his gaze down her body and back up. God almighty, he was one lucky man.
His mouth watered as he took in her full curves, the beaded nipples clear through the thin material of her dress, her skin creamy gold even as she approached the bat-cave lighting of Thrice’s bar area. After the freedom of having her the last five months, he’d have thought this unquenchable hunger would have leveled off, but no such luck. Adjusting himself discreetly didn’t help the pain causing sweat to bead on his upper lip, and it certainly didn’t help with his arousal.
The sound of a throat clearing, followed by a downright insulting laugh when he refused to look at Damien, finally drew his attention away from Cailin. “What?” he asked impatiently.
“I didn’t say anything.” Damien laughed outright, shaking his head. “Not that I wasn’t thinking it. Damn, you’ve got it bad, my friend.”