Good God, did that man clean up well. The suit from the other day? Merely an appetizer to the main course of this gorgeous hunk of masculinity in a tuxedo that had clearly been custom-made for him.
Thank all that was holy that he didn’t dress like that on a daily basis. The luxurious dark fabric spread across his shoulders, emphasizing the broad, dense build she shouldn’t like as much as she did. Logan was too big. Too solid. Too...squeaky clean.
But the pièce de résistance was the single long-stemmed pink rose that he held out to her.
“Pink?” She took it and held it to her nose, trying not to be pleased but failing. A whole bouquet would have been overkill and completely unnecessary given that they weren’t really dating.
One rose was classy. And well played.
“You wore a pink suit on the show,” he said gruffly with a shrug and ran his now vacant fingers through his hair, sweeping it away from his face. “The association with that color and you is pretty much stuck in my head.”
Her insides melted. She didn’t know what to do with that or the best behavior vibe wafting from him. It was almost as if he’d lectured himself on the way over to remember he had a reputation for being a nice guy and maybe he should act like one.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“Are you ready to go?”
Her brows rose. After three hours at the salon today, that was his comment? This sedate, boring version of Logan needed to vacate the premises, pronto, or they’d never heat it up enough for anyone to care about taking their picture.
“Don’t I look ready to go?”
It would not kill him to compliment her dress. Her hair. Her punctuality. Something.
“You look like you should be spread across the floor of a Mexican restaurant,” he said bluntly, with a once-over that totally contradicted his words. His gaze was more I want to rip that dress off you than I want to eat tacos.
Her hackles rose as she glanced down at her mosaic tile dress that nipped in so far at the waist it was almost two pieces. The large cutouts left her waist and hips bare, which meant when they danced, his palms would be on her bare skin. Something more along the lines of thank you would be highly appropriate here.
Was his vision impaired? She looked good. It wasn’t arrogance. It was a fact, because she paid attention to details. If there was anything she knew how to market, it was herself.
“Well, don’t hold back, honey. Tell me how you really feel about a dress that took me all day to find and set me back six grand.”
“It’s a little...risqué for a charity fund-raiser, don’t you think?” His faint scowl told her he’d already decided the answer was yes.
“Considering Kendall Jenner wore the same dress with a different color scheme to the Met Gala, no,” she countered and willed her temper back, because they hadn’t even left yet. An argument now wouldn’t benefit anyone, since there were no cameras around, never mind that she’d been trying to provoke him.
“I don’t know who that is, but odds are good she’ll never be dating me. You are. Maybe you could find a wrap?”
Hands on her bare hips, she contemplated her fake boyfriend, who was about to learn exactly how little that role entitled him to. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not allowed to be myself because I’m dating the world’s biggest Goody Two-shoes?”
His scowl grew some teeth. “Clearly we need to establish some guidelines to this...relationship. Partnership. Whatever it is. Ground rules are obviously a must.”
Yeah, that was a day late and a dollar short. Honestly, she’d been a little surprised he’d agreed to this idea with no parameters.
She clapped enthusiastically. “Yay! I love rules.”
Rules were going to go over about as well as the notion of a wrap. She was not putting a single thread on top of this Versace masterpiece, and he could eat his rule book. Though she was a little curious what rules he might throw down.
So she could break them all.
“Lose the sarcasm or this is going to be a very long night.”
Her brows arched involuntarily. “That was always going to be true, and I’d rather lose the dress than the sarcasm.”
“That can be arranged.” The heat dialed up a notch as his gaze strayed to the straps around her neck that held the dress on her body.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
More’s the pity. There was no way he’d actually strip her out of this dress simply to get his way.
Was there?
“Rule number one. Never dare me, Trinity,” he said with so much wicked in his voice that she nearly pushed him on it, strictly to find out how good he was at undressing a woman in formal wear.