The dress was designed for sin. Backless and form fitting, it dipped into a low heart shape over her cleavage. Under it, see-through crimson lace cradled her breasts and smooshed them skyward. The clerk at the boutique had spent Kris’s money easy-peasy.
How could she have predicted it would put her on edge? Surely Kris had a little less respect for her because she couldn’t have purchased any of this on her own. She couldn’t ask him to come back later, when she was stable. Then she wouldn’t have needed rescue. They probably wouldn’t have ever met.
Fate had intervened, pushing them together. She and Kris were kindred souls. Romantics in a world designed to bleed it out of them. Instead of embracing it, he hid his true passionate nature from everyone, apparently clueless that it leaked out all over his films. His choice of music. His heroic defense against her brothers. The way he kissed with his whole body.
If she could convince him to accept that passion, all the obstacles to his heart would be gone. He had to be the one to make the move, to be so overcome, he gave in.
Unfortunately, Kris wasn’t any closer to cracking than he’d been all along. For a moment, in the car, she’d thought she’d had him, but no. Then after the nerve-racking robe retying debacle—maybe she wasn’t cut out for this.
“Amateur,” she whispered to her reflection. He needed a huge push. Bigger than the Ferris wheel, but more effective, with longer lasting results.
Her tummy fluttered. She wanted to be with him something fierce, to see straight into his soul through those limitless eyes because she was the only one he let in. She wanted to fall the rest of the way in love, and if she did her job, he’d be right behind her. When that happened, everything would merge. The future, last names, hearts. That was the real dream come true.
One push coming up.
The black stilettos took fifteen minutes of practice before she could walk in them without stumbling. She wobbled out of her bedroom. Kris sat at the table, tapping at his laptop, and glanced up when she called his name.
His expression darkened as his molten brown eyes did a once-over all the way to her toes, devouring her with his heated gaze. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily against the throb under her brand-new thong.
Without speaking, he shoved the chair back with his thighs and crossed the room. Grasping her hand, he spun her in a slow pirouette. Heat crept up her spine as he took in the backless dress.
“That,” he said, “was worth waiting for. I’m almost speechless. You’re stunning.”
“Thanks.” She ducked her head, suddenly embarrassed at the raw desire on his face. Since that had been the whole point of the dress, her reaction made no sense, but he’d been around lots of beautiful women. Surely she paled in comparison.
“Do you have your lipstick in your bag?” he asked.
He drew her closer so he could slide a hand around her neck, resting his fingers lightly on her flesh. She shuddered. “Am I supposed to?”
“Yeah. You’re going to need it.”
He lowered his head and kissed her. Her eyes shut as he flooded her with the beauty of his skill. When Kristian Demetrious kissed her, it killed her equilibrium.
His clever hands explored her bare back, warming it, sensitizing it. He pressed her against his frame, tight. The tiny pulls of his lips were slow, sensual, with simmering potential. But the kiss lacked abandon, winding down instead of ramping up.
Not so fast.
She shimmied her hips against his with an upward tilt, finding that perfect hard niche where they fit together, and rubbed against his solid chest as she angled her head to let him take her deeper.
Instead, he broke away, taking an unsteady step back and a ragged breath at the same time. “Remind me later to buy you several more pairs of those shoes. I really, really like you at that height.”
With her stomach twisting like a tornado, she motioned him over. “Come back. See what I got you.”
Warily, he edged closer. With one finger, she hooked the neckline of the dress and pulled it down, revealing the tiny, red butterfly tattoo a centimeter from her nipple.
His eyes went black as he zeroed in on her exposed breast, and he strangled on whatever he was trying to say. Now he was completely speechless.
She was going to hell. With bells on.
After smoothing the dress back into place, she said, “I’m starving. Ready? Where are we going?”
“I don’t remember. Give me a minute,” he said shortly and stared at the ceiling, running a trembling hand through his hair. “Get your lipstick.”
His accent was frayed, and it tingled her spine. She wanted to hear him say something really provocative with that voice, preferably while touching her.