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“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”
He locked our door and I teetered on my dangerously tall heels. There was no way I was getting to the dining room without help. Merrick sensed that and offered his elbow, letting me curl my arm around his so he could lead me down the hall.
He pulled out my chair. The dining room was dim with flickering candles. Every table was full around us and I felt a few curious eyes. Scalp prickling, I glanced over the room.
Maybe there was more than a few stares.
I looked down at my black dress. The hem had ridden up to the middle of my thigh. Slipping my hand down, I yanked on it. The collar pulled down below my breasts and I clapped a hand over them, pulling it back up.
I gave up. If something was going to show, I’d rather it be my legs than my breasts. At least those were under the table.
Merrick cleared his throat. He was leaning back in his chair, the wine menu in one hand. His deep, blue gaze was fixed on me over the table. Taking in my every move.
“Am I embarrassing you?” I asked quietly.
“What?” He frowned. “No. Why ask that?”
“I mean, my clothes.”
His jaw worked and I could tell he was picking his words carefully.
“I think you’re a beautiful woman and you shouldn’t feel self-conscious about what you choose to wear.”
He was lying, I could tell. But he’d been raised by two headstrong women and he was too well trained to speak his mind on such a dangerous subject.
Also…beautiful? He’d called me beautiful.
I should have let the whole thing drop. The problem was, I wanted the real answer.
Our waiter arrived and we ordered a bottle of wine and a starter. When he’d disappeared, I pushed my chair in and leaned on the table. Merrick stayed as he was, legs crossed.
“I want the truth,” I said.
“About what?”
“Do my clothes embarrass you?”
That stubbled jaw started working again.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he said. His voice was low, sitting deep in his chest.
“Okay, then—”
“Sometimes, they make you more…noticeable.”
I froze. Alright, so that made me feel much worse. Blinking quickly, I took a sip of ice water, stalling.
“Do they make you uncomfortable?”
He was having an incredibly difficult time with this conversation. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.
“Uncomfortable isn’t the right word,” he said. “I feel…aware of you in a way that is different than…than the way I usually feel when I’m around you.”
His gaze was rock solid. Boring into me over the table. He’d said his piece and he wasn’t backing down from it.
“Okay,” I said, still processing. “I’m sorry, I think.”
He shook his head, his gaze flashing. “Never apologize for your body. My feelings are my own to deal with.”
