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Instead of answering, I get up. “I’m grabbing you some clothes. You’re going to try them on, and then we’re getting out of here.”
Sighing, she turns back to the dressing room and retreats inside without another word.
It only takes me a couple of minutes to come back with my arms full of clothes. Knocking on the door, she opens it, looking at them.
“You’re supposed to look the part of an important businesswoman. Someone who would be with someone in politics. Someone who’s taken seriously.”
“You said you’re a low-level aid, Ronan. That’s hardly a position you need me looking like Jackie Kennedy for,” she deadpans, and I freeze, squeezing my hands together as I attempt to calm myself down. “And black can’t do that?” she asks, looking up at me from under her lashes.
“Not when it’s obvious you’re trying to look like a ninja, no.”
She nods, taking the clothes.
I head back to my chair, wiping my hands down my face as I silently pray this will only take a couple moments.
Flopping back, I rest my head against the back of the seat, staring up at the ceiling, wishing for all of this to be over.
When I hear the door open, I look at her.
And then look some more.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“I need help.”
“What could you possibly need help with?” She holds up one of the dresses I handed her.
Because in front of me stands a woman dressed to the nines in lingerie.
I try not to look. I do. But my eyes can’t stop noticing how her curves look in the black, lacy material. I swallow.
“And why did you need to come out here in this?”
She looks down at herself as if just now realizing she’s wearing lingerie before her gaze finds mine again, her eyes wide and innocent.
I know she’s just fucking with me.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to come out here naked, would I?” she asks, tilting her head. Her red curls fall around her shoulders as she holds the dress out to me.
The dressing room is in the back of the store. No one would see her unless someone came in, which is still a likely scenario considering they’re open.
Taking a moment to mentally slap myself out of it, I get out of my chair, taking the dress from her hands. The expensive, silky material feels too fragile in mine.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Help me put it on.”
“And you were wholly incapable of doing that yourself?” I ask as I yank it over her head. The second my fingers brush her arm, a zing runs through me. A small electric current that makes my stomach twist.
Moving her hair over her shoulder, I pull the dress down over her hips, feeling her shiver every time my finger makes contact with her skin. She watches me in the mirror, her eyes never once leaving mine as her chest rises and falls steadily.
It takes me a moment to realize why this feels so weird to me.
I haven’t touched a woman like this. Not that I remember.
But that’s the only reason I’m feeling this. Yep. The only reason.
Zipping her up, I move my hand around her neck, watching as her head tilts just a bit, her breath hitching as I move her hair back, shaking it out.
