Authors: Kate Perry
“I’ve never been to San Francisco.” He opened the car door for her and handed her in.
“You should come visit.”
“Okay.” He smiled and went around to his side. After he strapped himself in and started the car, he said, “Where are we going?”
“Regent Street, near Oxford Circus.”
“Shopping?” He groaned. Although the bright side was that he’d be forced to keep his hands off her.
“For wedding dresses. We have an appointment at four.” She glanced at him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I didn’t doubt that for a moment.” He pulled away from the curb. “Is this more research?”
“Yes, partly professional curiosity and partly for Sara.”
He said nothing, willing the moment to pass quickly.
“Are you going to let me design your matron of honor dress?”
“Dress?” He looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses.
“I’d make sure you looked pretty. Maybe in pink, since you look so nice in it.” The corner of her mouth kicked up. “Don’t worry, I won’t let Summer put you in ruffles.”
“You’re enjoying yourself,” he accused as he took a tight turn to get off the main drag and onto a less busy side street.
She held on to the dash. “Don’t take it out on me.”
He slowed down immediately. “Sorry. All the stops drive me insane.”
“Maybe you should be a Nascar racer instead of a lawyer.”
“Nascar.” He scowled at her. “Driving around in perfect circles for hours in utter lunacy. At least Formula One circuits have challenging surprises. If I had the choice between driving fast in circles or not driving fast, I know which option I’d take.”
She chuckled. “I guess you’re better off being a lawyer.”
He swore he was going to strangle his stepsister. He checked himself, and then he said, “I’ve been thinking of changing careers.”
“Really?” She faced him. “What are you considering?”
He hadn’t told anyone, not even Jon.
“Tell me,” she said, putting her hand over his.
“I’m thinking of going into sports representation.” He glanced at her. “Is that crazy?”
“Not at all, if you feel called to it.”
He nodded. “I like making deals.”
“Then do it,” she said, as if changing your whole life were that simple.
Maybe it was. He said nothing more, thinking as he maneuvered through the crowded midday streets. After parking the car, he got out and waited for Rosalind to lead him to the store.
She took his hand and began to walk.
He tried not to read too much into it—
tried
being the operative word. Her hand felt soft and cool and capable. He’d felt that hand on his bare chest, and he wanted to feel it again, despite himself.
But as he reigned in his desire, she led him up to a shop door and pressed the buzzer.
A disembodied voice spoke through the intercom. “Yes?”
“I have an appointment. Rosalind Aberville.” She winked at him. “And my fiancé Nick.”
Fiancé
.
It startled him, but he looked at her and it felt startlingly right. He smiled as she slipped her hand in his and led him through the buzzing door.
There were white dresses all over, with a rug in the middle of the room and a large couch with some magazines on a table. He followed Rosalind inside, feeling silly and out of place in the midst of all the frippery.
It must have been written on his face, because Rosalind squeezed his hand as a middle-aged woman come out of the back to greet them. “Miss Aberville, it’s a pleasure. I’m Virginia. Can I bring you some tea or champagne as you fill out the forms?”
“Champagne would be lovely,” Rosalind said, taking the clipboard from the woman and settling on the couch.
Nick sat next to her, putting his arm around the back. He waited until Virginia was gone to say, “Are we signing away our first born in order to buy a dress?”
She gave him an amused glance. “They’re getting the pertinent information, like the day and type of wedding we’re having.”
“I didn’t realize we’d agreed on one yet”—he took her hand and lifted it to his mouth—”but I’m willing to do it as soon as possible to get on to the wedding night.”
Flushing, she lowered her voice and said, “Stop distracting me. I’m here on business.”
“What sort?”
“I want to see what styles are popular right now. It’s one thing to see the dresses in the magazines, but it’s another to see what appeals to real women.”
He looked around at all the white dresses. “We’re going to look at all these?”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. We won’t be long.”
The saleswoman came back with a silver tray that held two tall flutes of champagne. She set them on the table and smiled at Rosalind as she held out the clipboard. “I’m not certain what style I’d like,” Rosalind said in a clipped upper crust voice he wasn’t used to hearing from her. “What’s popular right now?”
Virginia went directly to one rack of dresses and pulled out a long lacy gown. “The more demure dresses are very
au curant
of course.”
“Of course,” Rosalind murmured, touching the sleeve and examining the front of it. She shook her head. “This is too demure for me, isn’t that right, Nick?”
He nodded, pretending to seriously consider the dress. “Definitely something shorter that shows your legs.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be proper either. Our parents after all.” Rosalind nudged his ribs and turned to the woman. “Perhaps something a
touch
more slinky though?”
“Of course.” Virginia returned the dress to its spot and walked two racks over and pulled out one right from the middle.
“Amazing,” Nick muttered.
Rosalind looked askance at him.
“She has dress radar,” he explained under his breath. “How does she know exactly where the one dress she wants is?”
Rosalind grinned crookedly at him. “It’s a gift of some sort, I’m sure.”
Virginia brought the dress over and held it out. “Silk charmeuse. The back drapes beautifully.”
It looked like something a woman would wear more to greet a lover than for her wedding, but Nick was perfectly happy to see Rosalind in it.
“I’ll try it on.” Rosalind, with the same sort of unerring radar, went to a rack and pulled out a fluffy white dress. “As well as this one.”
“Very good,” the saleswoman said without a hint of judgement to her tone. She took the dress from Rosalind’s hands. “Is there anything else you’d like to try on?”
“I’ll start with these two,” she said, touching another one with concentration that he recognized as professional curiosity. Then she adopted the blushing bride persona again and smiled. “I’m ready. Nick, will you bring the champagne?”
He followed them into a dressing room area, glasses in hand. There was a large platform in front of a three-way mirror and another seating area.
“Have a seat while we get her ready.” Virginia gestured to a couch. “I must say, it’s rather unusual to have the groom here. Most brides don’t want the groom to see the dress beforehand.”
“Rosalind isn’t like most,” he said as he sat where he was told. He picked up one of the wedding magazines and flipped through it as he sipped his champagne.
The curtain slid open and he looked up as Rosalind stepped out of the dressing room in the slinky dress.
He sat up, dropping the magazine to the side. The dress draped over her like a pale curtain, trailing behind her. She wore white heels that matched—he had no idea where they’d come from—and somehow they’d piled her hair on her head.
She was breathtaking. She was glorious. If she’d have walked down the aisle to him looking like that, he would have counted himself the luckiest man in the world.
He stood up, knowing his mouth was dragging on the floor. How had he ever thought wedding dresses weren’t sexy?
She knew how he felt, too. She gave him a sly smile as she stepped on the platform, turning her back to him.
The dress had no back. It pooled in waves of fabric at the top of her buttocks, revealing bare creamy skin.
He had to touch it. As though in a trance, he went to stand behind her, on the platform. He met her eyes in the mirror and trailed his fingers down her spine to the beginning of her curves. “Lovely.”
She hummed. “So you like?”
“Definitely.” He slid his hand inside to hold her waist.
“Enough to strip it off me?”
He could see the reciprocal awareness in her eyes, and the way her nipples had peaked under the thin material.
She glanced in the mirror, looking behind him, and stiffened.
The saleslady. He looked, too, but Virginia had discreetly left them alone.
Because they couldn’t go any further with the woman hovering outside, he dipped his free hand into the vee at the front.
Rosalind arched into his touch. “She may come back.”
He was counting on it, because it meant he could indulge without going too far. He nuzzled the nape of her neck, playing with the excited tips of her breasts.
Rosalind sighed, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder, enjoying his touch for a moment before pulling away. “I have another dress to try on.”
It was for the best. Withdrawing his hands took all of the willpower he had.
The moment he stepped through the curtain, Virginia came to check on them, going into the dressing room to help Rosalind into the dress.
When she finally reemerged, she took his breath away again. This time, she looked like a princess, fairy and sparkly in a fancy dress that trailed behind her like it floated on air.
He wanted to be her prince.
Rosalind climbed onto the platform, lifting the dress carefully and then shaking it back into place.
“I’ll let you discuss it,” the saleslady said with a polite smile, leaving them again.
Rosalind met his eyes in the mirror. “I never took myself for the fairy princess type, but this dress may change my mind.”
“You look beautiful in everything.”
“Well, it’s not a decision I need to make today.” Touching the edge of the neckline longingly, she lifted the dress again. “Help me unfasten it?”
“Yes.” He followed her into the dressing room and closed the curtain.
She turned her back to him, her gaze meeting his in the mirror. “The hooks are small.”
“I think I can manage,” he said, undoing the first one. They were more difficult than he’d expected, but he didn’t mind—every inch of her skin that was exposed was a gift to him.
And then when he got to the last hook, the top fell away completely, the dress pooling on the floor. She stood before him, topless, in red panties.
“It’s Christmas,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “And I must have been a good boy this year.”
“You better be a good boy now, Nick.” She wound her arms around his neck, her bare chest pressed against him. “Enough waiting.”
“I—”
“It makes me hot, you touching me while you’re dressed and I’m not,” she said, interrupting him. “It’ll be even hotter when you’re undressed and lying on top of me. Or under me, if you like. I’m good trying everything.”
It was like a dream come true—or a nightmare in this case, because he was going to touch her. Only pressed against him, he couldn’t keep his hands from roaming up her back, feeling the suppleness of her delicate form. “Okay,” he heard himself say.
“Your place,” she said before he could take it back. She grabbed her pants and gave him a kiss before pushing him out of the dressing room. She peeked out from the curtain. “This is a good thing, Nick. Trust me.”
“I do.” It was himself he didn’t trust.
By the time he’d reached his flat, he’d come to his senses.
Mostly.
Her hand in his, he led her to the front door. As he unlocked it, he felt her hands slide under his waist, under his coat and inside the waistband of his pants. He hissed in need as he felt her fingers dip low on his belly.
Opening the door, he reluctantly withdrew her hand, kissed it, and led her inside.
“So this is your home.” She looked around, her eyes bright with curiosity. She walked around the virtually empty living room before wandered into the kitchen.
“I should take you home, Rosalind,” he said, hating that he even had to think it. “It’d probably be wiser to take a step back and consider the situation.”
“Wisdom is overrated.” She pulled out a drawer and surveyed the contents. “There’s a beer opener in here.”
“Yes.” He shrugged out of his jacket and put it on the counter.
“That’s all there is.” She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Do you have a bed?”
“Of course I have a bed.” He frowned. “Although that’s a valid question.”
She sauntered toward him, stripping off her coat and setting it next to his. When she reached him, she twined her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. “Do you have condoms?”
“Yes.” He didn’t bring women home—truthfully, he wasn’t home often—but he kept a stash for when he went out, because some things you didn’t take lightly.
“So you have a bed”—she began undoing his shirt buttons—”and you have condoms, and you have me. And you want to wait?”
“I really don’t.” He was going to throw Summer from the Tower Bridge. His head told him he could recover from the deception if he was honest with Rosalind before they had sex, but the chances that she’d understand after they’d been intimate were slim. He wasn’t stupid.
As he hesitated, she pushed open his shirt and crawled her fingers down his torso, all the way to the waistband of his pants. One finger dipped in as her leg pressed against his hard-on. “What’s the problem then, if you don’t want to wait?”
“It just seems like we could know each other better first.” He mentally winced. He could hear Luca laughing at him. If the Italian were here, he’d ask Nick what sort of panties he liked.
And, even as he said it, he couldn’t help holding on to her hips. Under her top, of course, so he could feel her soft skin.
She lifted onto her toes and kissed him, a soft, lingering caress. “I’m proposing you get to know me better,” she whispered against his lips. “In a biblical way.”
He groaned, not able to resist the way she overwhelmed his senses. But the one last clear-thinking cell in his body said, “I think—”