The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (16 page)

Damn, would I really want to know the answer? Okay, now I’m just uncomfortable.

Avoiding his question, I begin tracing shapes across his amazing eight-pack.

“You’re wondering if I’ve slept with a lot of women, aren’t you?”

My head jolts up to look at his face. The man knows exactly what I’m thinking, whether I speak the words or not.
I hate that I’m so easy for him to read.
“I . . . uh . . . well . . . yes. I mean, no. I don’t think a number is . . . necessary.”

He laughs. “Would a number bother you?”

Not a LOW one.

But maybe it is a low one. Is his question suggesting that he could give me a number because there aren’t too many to count? I seriously doubt that. Although, it’s rather presumptuous of me to assume that he’s slept with a gazillion women just because he’s a famous, gorgeous actor—who happens to be amaze-balls in the sack.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he continues at my lack of reply.

Feeling a little foolish, I roll over onto my back, pulling the bed sheet to my chin. I guess it would be childish to cover my heated, and probably quite pink, face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound as though I wanted to know your . . . ” I pause searching for the right word.

“My count of sexual partners?”

Oh Jesus, earth open and swallow me whole.
“Yes, that’s one way of putting it,” I bite at my lip, fiddling with the sheet. “I was just saying . . . thinking . . . you are . . . ”
Oh screw it,
I look towards him bravely, “You’re very well in tune with a woman’s body.” Very, very well in tune. I look back towards my chest. “That’s all I meant to imply.”

Leaning down, he pulls my chin towards him, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. “It’s okay. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve had my fair share of experience, but I’m certainly not a man-whore,” he smirks.

“So, by ‘fair share,’ you mean like a
normal
amount of experience?”
Shit. I thought I was letting this go.

“Normal?”

“You know, an average amount.”

He sits back slightly, tilting his head in question, his eyebrow doing that sexy shift. “Well, I don’t know. That depends really. What would you consider to be average?”

Me? Mother of pearl.
Now he wants
me
to give a number? I have no idea what would be average, but I sure know I wouldn’t be included in the majority category.
Oh, what the hell . . .
I opened the can of worms. “Two.”

Clearly shocked, his eyes bulge slightly, his mouth hanging agape, “Two?”

“Well, now it’s three,” I smile at him, biting the corner of my mouth.

“Three?”

“Jeez, Alex, don’t say it like it’s a dirty word. So what? I’ve only had sex with three men. That doesn’t make me a nun. And I’m pretty confident that I just rocked your world two seconds ago . . . my
limited
experience and all.”

He’s smiling at me.

“What? You want a piece of me?” I attempt to rein in my typical defensive outburst with playfulness.

“Baby, I want all of you,” he rolls over me, pinning me beneath him. “In fact, it seems I’m insatiable for you. Past sexual encounters aside, I can honestly say that no other woman has ever inspired me quite as often. I simply can’t get enough of you. And, for the record, you’re so damn sexy when you’re angry.” Searching my eyes, he caresses my cheek. “Three is not a dirty number, Aby. It’s perfect, just like you,” his lips take mine in a lingering kiss as my defensive shell crumbles. Pulling away, he looks back into my eyes. “One . . . ”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “Alex Tate, don’t you dare utter another number.”

Freeing his lips from my muzzling fingers, he curls them into a dazzling grin. “I was just going to say, the only
one
that matters to me right now is you.”

“YES, THANK YOU,” I reply for the second time to the sales clerk, lost in her captivation of my shopping partner, “ . . . it would be great if you could put these in a fitting room for me.”
Ugh, this is painful, although funny.

“Yes, of course. Let me take those for you,” she reaches for the garments I’ve collected, her eyes still fixated on Alex. “Please take your time. We are at your service for as long as you require.” Her retreat towards the fitting rooms is painfully slow, still caught in her zombie-like trance, awkward smile donning her lips.

Out of view, I turn to Alex in jest, “Oh,
Alexander Tate,
may I
please
have your autograph. Please excuse my drool on the paper,” I drawl in a British accent, flashing him a teasing smile.

“Funny girl,” he wraps me in his arms, pulling me against his glorious chest. “You can have anything you want from me,” he whispers in my ear.

Tingles flutter in my stomach, as they always do at the hands of this man and his words.
I can have anything?
I just want you . . . ”
Wrong place, wrong time big guy,” I manage breathlessly. “And on that note, I still think this is crazy, Alex. A boutique closed to the public just for me? It’s too much.”

“Didn’t you say you needed to go shopping?”

“Yes, but . . . ”

“And did I not say that I want to spend the day with you?” He smiles down at me, “To which you agreed you wanted as well?”

“Yes.”

“Then this is how we do that,” he cups my face in his hands, lazily brushing his thumb across my lip.

“You really can’t go shopping like a normal person?” I shake my head at the idea.

“You have a very adorably skewed perception of normal,” he chuckles.

“What does that mean?”

“Well considering this is the third time you’ve made reference to me being abnormal . . . ”

“I’ve never said that,” I jump in.

“Not in so many words, but yeah, you kind of did.”

He’s smiling, but I’m freaking out.

“Well . . . ummm,” I grasp for a rebuttal. “
Normal
people don’t close down stores for their personal shopping enjoyment,” I purse my lips satisfactorily.

“Touché,” he laughs. “Be that as it may, I am a normal person,” his beautiful smile wanes, “Sadly, I don’t get to enjoy some ordinary daily events as such.”

As regal as a private shopping excursion appears to me, it’s clearly a poignant reality for Alex. I try to visualize our outing had the store been open to the public—visions of giddy girls, and drooling women. Men, even.

Attempting to lighten the mood, I smile, giving him a quick kiss.

Entwining his fingers in my hair, he halts my retreat, his tongue assailing me with electric currents.

Mumbling through our kiss, I berate, “Mr. Tate, do not make me regret allowing you to join me. I do have a task at hand here remember? I will however, take you up on your offer a little later,” I smile teasingly. “Anything I want?” I purr, endeavoring to squeeze out of his firm, sexy grip.

“Anything,” he repeats, kissing my neck before releasing me.

I can’t help but continue to stand before him, momentarily basking in his good-looking glory. Even donned in a simple white V-neck t-shirt, jeans and a dark blue ball cap, the man is breathtaking. The way he fills out a pair of jeans is simply sinful.

Oh, yes, I do understand the trance he can put a woman under.
What is it I’m supposed to be doing?
I question myself, lost in a familiar zombie moment.
Oh, right, work clothes.

Returning my attention to the task, I peruse the clothing racks, separating each garment hanger by hanger in search of the ones I like. Though I’ve seen many aptly suited pieces, it’s the price tag adorning most that have me at a disadvantage. I hate that I’m being frugal in the presence of a man who probably hasn’t considered cost in years, but expenditure is an inevitable concern for me. I live in the
real
world. Regardless of the recent romance novel fairytale I find myself enjoying.

“So, you still haven’t told me about your meeting with Thomas,” Alex casually begins, following me around the racks.

Looking up to him briefly, I give him a playful squinty eye, “Need I remind you that you kept my attention locked to one particular interest last night.”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” he smiles devilishly. “So did he find you a position with one of his affiliates?”

“No, actually, he asked me to come work with him.”

“At Ashely-Fines?”

“Yes,” I turn my head slightly in question at his surprised tone. “He asked me to join his team on a freelance basis.”

“Well . . . that’s great. It’s a fine company to work with,” he recovers, a little too quickly, turning away to glance around the store.

“Alex? Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he smiles at me. “I’d like to pick out something for you to try myself.”

“Oh . . . okay,” I reply as he continues his perusal.

He flashes me one of his slow motion, panty-soaking crooked grins before turning away and wandering off.

Maybe they have a lingerie department
—my inner dreamer starts taking off her clothes as I watch him walk away.

TWO PENCIL SKIRTS, black trousers, three blouses, and a couple of camisoles later, I prepare to redress in the small stall, smiling inwardly at my shopping experience with Alex. I truly can’t recall having had this much fun shopping with anyone other than Stacey. She would die if she knew I had an entire boutique to myself.

Alex’s insistence that I provide a fashion show of each outfit had been much too tempting, always resulting in his incessant attempts to ravish me, pulling me into his lap. My wise decision to remain in the confines of the stall for the remainder of the fitting was the ultimate form of self-control. My seclusion assisted in downplaying his effect on me. Instead, I playfully tossed the discarded clothing in his direction over the door.

“Are you almost done with your selections?” he asks.

“I’m all done,” I smile from behind the closed door.

“Good, then it’s my turn. Please try this,” he knocks for me to open.

Clad in my bra and thong, I open the door a crack to find him holding a beautiful red silk dress. My attention is quickly pulled towards his intense gaze. Despite my attempts to shield myself from his devouring eyes—to avoid a renewed, and probably successful, attack of me—he’s getting a sneak peek in the mirror behind me.

I grab the dress in earnest, quickly shutting the door. I’m not sure I can sustain myself against the want in his eyes. Hearing his released growl, I smile, holding the dress absently at my chest.

“I would like to see you in this one,” he demands.

“Maybe.” Smiling from ear to ear, I hold the dress up for a closer look. It’s beautiful—a wrap style with a deep V-neck and ruffled edge tied at the waist. It looks expensive. Too rich for my blood. Grabbing the dangling price tag, I gasp. “Alex, this is,” I stop, realizing I don’t want to share my frugal comment, “ . . . beautiful,” I finish instead.

Hesitating, I unfasten the silk ties and don the beautiful, incredibly expensive frock. It’s extremely flattering. I look and feel amazing in it. Incredibly amazing. But where the hell would I wear it
?
It’s well above work-appropriate. “Alex, it’s stunning,” I call from behind the door, my gaze locked on my reflection. “You have great taste, to say the least.”

“Come out and let me see for myself.”

Biting my lip, I ponder the idea.
Of course he’ll love it, and then I’ll have to buy it.
And I would love to, but
what a waste
.
“Ummm . . . no, I’m just going to get dressed.”

“
Aby,
let me see the dress.”

“No.”

“Miss Ryan, as adorable as your stubbornness may be, if you say no to me once more, I’ll take you right here in the fitting room.”

“Tsk tsk. Idle threats, Mr. Tate,” I attempt to mask my desire at the image he’s just conjured.
My God, I would let him ‘take’ me anywhere.
“Seriously, Alex, it’s beautiful, but I just don’t need it. It’s much too dressy for work. Though it’s truly beautiful . . . ” trailing off, I admire my reflection, turning around to take in the beautiful way it fits my body from every angle.

“Aby,” I hear him right outside the door. “I should be able to see the item I chose at least.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve already taken it off,” I lie, shedding it quickly.