The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (17 page)

Exiting the fitting room, I find one sexy-as-shit man seated waiting for me, a sensually tortured look on his face. Leaned back on the red leather chair, his legs slightly spread, hands folded on his stomach, he looks good enough to eat.

Pouncing, he pushes me backwards into the stall, the door swinging closed behind us. His lips and tongue attack mine as his hands invade me through my sundress, firmly sliding their way down my back before clutching my ass. Continuing down my thighs, he lifts the back of my dress, running his fingers along my bare, goose-pimpled flesh. “I warned you,” he growls, nipping my earlobe.

“Ahem. May I assist you with anything?” the sales woman questions with an edge of confusion at the absence of the god-like man from the waiting area.

“N-no. Thank you,” I manage, teasingly punching Alex’s chest as he begrudgingly pulls away. “I think I’m all done. Thank you. I’ll be right out,” I reply, hoping to appease her enough that she’ll walk away.

Returning my attention to my incredibly sexy troublemaker, I reprimand him in a whisper, “Do try to compose yourself, you’re causing a scene.”

“Correction, sweetheart, I believe it’s you who’s caused a scene,” he growls, placing my hand over his evident erection. “I wanted to see you in that dress,” he reiterates, giving me a final indulgent kiss.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I reply seductively.

Pulling back, he flashes his mega-watt smile, adjusting his pants at the crotch before we make our way out of the tiny cubicle towards the sales counter.

Laying my items down, I suddenly feel a slight unease about the anticipated cost of my shopping, and the subsequent payment of it all in front of Mr. Mega-Bucks. I’m relieved when he excuses himself to take a call on his cell phone.

“I think a few fans have gathered outside,” the sales clerk nods towards the window at the front of the store.

I turn to follow her gaze, taking in the swarm of girls gathered outside. There must be at least ten of them, all giddy and waiting for Mr. Alexander Tate no doubt. It’s not surprising that they’ve gathered. Surely news of a boutique being closed temporarily to the public is bound to spread.

This is so awkward. I’m instantly nervous. Looking to Alex—my eyes surely screaming my inward trepidation—he smiles warmly in return, finishing his call. Sliding his phone into his pocket, he makes his way towards me. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, kissing my cheek.

“Okay,” I manage, watching him walk towards the door.
Is he going out there? Is he nuts?

He just walked out the door towards the awaiting crowd like it’s no big deal, the incessant girly screams—heard more so when the door opened—ringing in my ears.

“Alexander, can I have your autograph?” . . . ”Oh my god! It’s really him!” . . . ”I love you Alexander Tate!” The simultaneous high-pitched wails are overwhelming, each young girl competing for his attention. I watch in wonder as he begins accepting the numerous outthrust papers, pens and markers, one at a time. Though their cries are less audible in the seclusion of the store, I’m consumed with his gentlemanly response to the evident madness.

He smiles politely at each one, an aura of calmness surrounding him. Posing with each, one at a time, turning to face one camera to another, his arm placed sweetly around their shoulders. How does he do it with such natural grace?

“Do you ever get used to all this attention?” the sales lady questions, pulling my gaze away from the awe-inspiring display.

Unsure how to reply, I offer a sluggish smile before pulling out my credit card to hand it to her.

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. Mr. Tate has taken care of your bill.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ready to go?” Alex asks, having returned from outside.

I simply nod my head, my own apprehension about walking out those doors compounding my sudden shock.

“I will have your purchases delivered as instructed, Mr. Tate,” she smiles.

I look towards Alex as he thanks the woman, his hand taking its familiar place at my lower back. “Alex . . . ”

“Anything you want, remember,” he flashes his brilliant smile before kissing my cheek, leading me outside to the immediate squeals of the female frenzy. “Has everyone got their photo?” he asks, smiling.

Their responses are a cluster of shrilling excitement, “Thank you Alexander!” . . . ”I love you!” . . . ”Oh my God, I can’t wait to tweet this!”

Smiling, he turns us in the direction of our escape, “You’re very welcome ladies. Take care,” he continues, bidding a dashing farewell smile back at his adoring fans.

I’m unconsciously holding my breath in anticipation of the pursuant following of the squeals behind us, and I can’t help but peer over my shoulder towards them. To my surprise they remain in place, all giddy and smiling, most on their cell phones, undoubtedly sharing their encounter with calls to friends, or well into their Facebook and/or Twitter posts.

“Are you okay?” he asks, with a gentle squeeze at my waist.

I return my attention to his sweet concern with a reassuring smile, “I’m great. You didn’t need to do that back there.”

“Sure I did, they’re my fans,” he smirks.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“No? Are we talking about my wanting to gift something to a beautiful woman?”

“Yes,” I give him the stink eye with a laugh. “Though I’m very appreciative, it wasn’t necessary . . . or expected.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to do it.”

“Thank you,” I manage with a bashful smile, feeling privileged, special.

“It was my pleasure,” he smiles.

“That was pretty amazing to watch you with your fans. You seem so unfazed. How do you do it?”

“It was rather daunting initially, to say the least, but I’ve learned to take it in stride. I always try to put my best foot forward, however, it’s a bittersweet exchange,” he replies, his eyes searching mine. Looking forward, he continues, “It can be . . . difficult sometimes.”

We continue in silence for a few moments, his last comment lingering. I feel a sudden chill, noting that the recent throng of fans I witnessed may have been a minor one comparably. I can imagine he must deal with bigger fan frenzies. Or can I? Of course I can’t.

The idea of even trying to fathom what he must go through sometimes is mindboggling. I may have seen the likes of it on TMZ once or twice, but to actually imagine going through it?
Impossible,
I think, my sudden chill replaced with empathy.

“So, this last stop seemed successful—at least where shopping is concerned. I, on the other hand, remember feeling a little tortured during the fitting,” he stops to take my face in his hands, placing a soft lingering kiss on my lips.

I lose myself to the charm of his perfect lips and magic tongue. I’m instantly overtaken by my very alert want in response to this man, combined erotically with the heat of the sun. I could melt into him, or swallow him whole, right here on the side of the street, despite the seeing eyes of its patrons—the sudden reminder of which causes a flash foretelling of another could-be mob. A chilling thought, for sure, but it’s not enough to cool me down. I’m practically on fire, relishing in the warmth of his breath and hot lips on my skin. Not to mention what the feel of his glorious chest under my fingers is doing to me.

I’m suddenly startled at the passing graze of a patron. I pull away from him, noticing the woman continue on unfazed. “Maybe we should get going,” I smile up at him, trying to catch my breath. “Where to next?”

“Well,” he wraps his hands around my waist, leaning down to rain kisses along my jaw, “ . . . I think it well deserving of you to decide.”

“I could go for a froyo right about now,” I suggest, my need for a cold shower in the middle of the sidewalk being out of the question.
Oh . . . imagine Alex all wet, his white shirt soaked and see-through . . .

“A froyo? Ok, please enlighten me,” he pulls away from my tingling neck, interrupting my little fantasy.

“Oh, sorry, frozen yogurt. I could use something yummy and cool,” I explain, my vision of him all wet and sexy lingering. “I’m feeling a little
hot.
”

“Ah, frozen yogurt,” he laughs. “I guess I’m not quite down with the ice cream slang. For all I know, you were suggesting something kinky,” he winks, returning one final brush of his lips against my neck. “So, you’re up for a cool treat then?”

“Yes, I think a kinky treat is a great idea. I mean frozen treat . . . frozen yogurt!”
Ugh. Well done, and very smooth,
I reward myself in silent sarcasm. “Is there a place nearby?” I attempt to appear less wanton.

A devilish amused grin crosses his face, “Well, there’s a parlor not too far from here. I’m not entirely sure it will fit the
kinky
bill, but perhaps we can improvise.” Moving his hands down to caress my behind, he pulls me firmly against him.

I gasp at the sudden closeness, his large package tantalizing me, sending lightning bolts right where I want him the most. He’s clearly onto my heated reverie, and is taking full advantage of it. “I think it best we make our way to get that refreshing treat,” I breathlessly remind him. “We wouldn’t want to attract another crowd.”

“No, I don’t suppose we would,” he releases me with a kiss to my forehead. “Shall we?” he holds out his hand.

I place my hand in his, continuing our gallant playfulness, “We shall, kind sir.”

Making our way down the street I can’t help but smile at my indescribable happiness. Even the silent reminder that lingers in the back of my mind that this is all too good to be true can’t erase this smile. It can’t erase this feeling. I’ve walked into one of my own novels. One of the very many erotic fantasies I would lose myself in to escape. I’m now living one in real life. My dream life is merging into my real one. Nothing can take this feeling away.

At the squeeze of my hand, I turn my smiling gaze towards him. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, returning my happy expression.

“Oh, just how wonderful this day has been. These past few days, actually.”

“I see,” his beautiful smile curls to one side. “Any particular reason, or cause, for this wonderfulness?” he stops, turning to face me.

As if you don’t know.
Playfully pulling at his shirt, I look up to meet his gaze. It’s more than molten, his baby-blues turned sapphire. I lose my breath, unable to find words as he cups my jaw, his thumb brushing against my lips.

Seconds feel like minutes before he takes a deep breath and releases me. “Well, let’s go inquire about that kinky treat,” he motions towards something behind me.

Turning in the direction of his cue, I realize we’re standing in front of FRAE Frozen Yogurt. I hadn’t noticed it before we stopped.

Your mind isn’t exactly on the task, is it?—
my inner actress states the undeniable.

Through the window I can see that though it’s not overly crowded, they certainly aren’t lacking for customers at the moment. “Alex, is this wise?” I ask, the earlier excited mob of shrieking girls suddenly ringing in my head. “There are quite a few people inside.”

“It will be fine,” he reassures me, placing his hand on my back, opening the door to lead me inside.

We walk directly towards the counter, now luckily free of any line, all customers occupying the surrounding tables. Seemingly enjoying their frozen treats, they thankfully haven’t noticed anyone out of the ordinary make an entrance and prepare to place an order. So far, the strikingly tall and handsome man that is Alexander Tate has gone unnoticed in his sexy ball cap.

With a gentle squeeze of my hand, he gives me a brief smile of reassurance, his outwardly relaxed demeanor calming my pent up nerves. Feeling more at ease, I turn my gaze towards the display of delicious frozen varieties on the giant wall-menus.

“Any specific kinky treat catching your eye?” he whispers in my ear, his sexy playful tone sending tingles down my spine.

“Hmmm . . . ” I murmur, pondering the many overwhelming choices. “Chocolate. Definitely chocolate,” I decide, recalling his delicious tasting tongue, the memory of our hot chocolate at the hotel bringing a smile to my lips.

Brushing his thumb along my slightly bitten bottom lip, he smirks knowingly at my unconscious reaction to the silent memory. “I really like the idea of tasting chocolate on that tongue of yours. Maybe we should place an order to go,” his added whisper is husky; his lips and tongue momentarily teasing my earlobe, the sensual display shielded by the visor of his ball cap.

I freeze at his evocative invitation, my body jolting with a bolt of desire at his suggestive words and touch. I feel the elicited pulsing between my legs—legs that almost give out from beneath me at the entire notion.
Oh Alexander Tate, you are one walking, talking treat all on your own . . .
And I intend to lap you up
. . .

“There he is!”

Startled, we turn at the abrupt intrusion, the culprits of which are two of the frantic fans from earlier outside the boutique.

All eyes are suddenly upon us. Some recognize Alex immediately, others stare in question, eyeing us before their own realization sets in. The excitement quickly makes its way across the room, as the
Alexander Tate
treasure-hunting girls and their new entourage rush towards us, squealing the usual requests for his autograph and a picture.

“Why don’t you go ahead and place that order to go,” he squeezes my hand sweetly with a flash of his breath-taking smile.

I nod in agreement as one of the girls reaches us in frenzied excitement, practically taking me off my feet in her attack of Alex. Instantly he reaches out, placing a supportive hand at my waist.

I smile, attempting to appear unfazed.

He searches my eyes intently for final reassurance before turning to address the gathering crowd. “Let’s play nicely and work together so that everyone gets their turn,” he begins with a wink to the growing throng, treating them to his megawatt smile.