It’s so crazy, it just might work.
Then her devil’s advocate spoke up. He might not even want to go to the ball. In which case, they wouldn’t have to worry about any of that.
A pang of disappointment doused the kernel of excitement she’d had at the idea of arriving on Dillon’s arm. Of being the envy of every woman they passed when they saw how stunning and regal he looked in his formal attire. And he did, too. Even she’d had a hard time not staring when he’d stood up in his friend’s wedding.
“You’re wasting time,” she admonished herself. “At this rate you’ll turn into a pumpkin before you even get to the damn ball.”
And with that, she rushed to hop in the shower and perform whatever magic she could manage with her appearance before her “fashionably late” was of the humiliating, record-scratching variety.
As she stepped under the spray of hot water, she commended herself for ignoring the ache in her heart and not succumbing to the weight of her tears. At least, that’s what she told herself for as long as the water hid evidence to the contrary.
…
When the Alexanders made a decision, it was with careful thought and utter deliberation. And yet here Dillon was, at the crossroads of Make Your Move and Take Things Slow and he kept second-guessing which direction he should go.
For ten minutes, he’d worn a path in the expensive carpet in front of Alyssa’s hotel room. He’d finally had to call Maddy, hoping her female perspective supported his line of thinking. After hearing his plans, his twin congratulated him for “finding his balls and reattaching them properly,” then gave him an enthusiastic, “Now get in there and make me proud, sport.”
The motivating slap on the ass was implied.
Squaring his shoulders in his newly tailored tux, Dillon inhaled deeply before expelling it in a rush and striding into the room. At the sound of the door closing, she called out, “Oh, Dillon! I’m so glad you’re finally here.”
He’d be lying if he said a small thrill didn’t go through him to hear her say those words. He started to imagine what it would be like to hear that every day, but all brain functions came to a grinding halt when he rounded the corner.
An angel stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the layers upon layers of white netting that spilled from the waist of her dress. Studying her reflection, he admired the tight fit of the sleeveless bodice that she partially hid with her hands. It reminded him of a corset without the laces. The style reflected Alyssa perfectly: innocence with an underlying hint of sin.
When she cleared her throat, he dragged his eyes up to meet hers in the mirror. “When I saw the dress, I loved it so much that I never stopped to consider how I would fasten it myself.”
For the first time, Dillon noticed the material of her top gaping in a V down her back. Tiny elastic loops lined one side and matched up with small, cloth-covered buttons on the other. There was no way for the wearer to complete dressing without help. And he was all too willing to lend a helping hand.
“Allow me,” he said, stepping in close behind her and began the process of buttoning her up with a painstaking slowness. This moment was meant to be savored. Every time he fastened one, he let the backs of his fingers graze the skin on her back, enjoying how her breaths caught, her pulse raced. She’d curled her hair and piled it high on her head, leaving her graceful neck bared for his touch, his kiss…
“You’re in a tux.”
He couldn’t help the quirk of his lips. “You’re in a wedding gown.”
“I told you, it’s a ball gown,” she quickly corrected. He arched a brow. You sure about that? “Okay, fine, technically I got it from a bridal shop, but since I’m wearing it for the masquerade ball, it’s a ball gown. Pigeonholing it strictly for a bride’s use simply because it’s white is doing the dress and its designer an injustice.”
“I suppose that’s a fair argument.” Dillon finished the last button and rested his hands on her bare arms. “Alyssa, you look absolutely…ethereal.” Holding her gaze in the mirror, he dipped his head and placed a sensual kiss over the pulse point on her throat. When her eyes drifted closed and her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, he nearly undid all his hard work.
Needing the physical distance to force his blood back in a northerly direction, he took a large step back from her. It seemed to help clear her head as well. She turned to him with a shy smile and then, in true Aly fashion, quieted her nerves by rattling off their plans for the night as she picked up a silver-and-white half mask.
“I have my mask already, but we’ll have to get one for you.” She placed it over the upper half of her face and tied the white ribbons in the back where her curls hid the knot. The mask fit her as though by design. It appeared more an extension of her rather than something she wore.