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She didn’t give me a choice, manhandling me into the dress. I’d already given up hope of her not seeing me in my underwear. That ship had sailed after the first outfit. And she was so matter of fact about it, I didn’t have a chance to feel self-conscious in front of her.
She pushed me out from behind the curtain before I could even look at myself, and there was nowhere to hide from Elliot’s sweeping stare.
“HI.” I ran my hands over my hips, the fabric just as soft and flowy as it looked. “Nan made me wear this. I’m sure it looks stupid, so I’ll just go take it off as soon as she lets me back in the dressing room.”
“No.” He launched to his feet and ate up the distance between us in a handful of strides. Taking my bare shoulders in his hands, he peered down at me and spoke so softly I had to hang on every word. “You need to look at yourself, Catherine. There is absolutely nothing stupid about the way you look right now.”
He spun me around to face the mirror, but I wasn’t looking at my reflection. All I saw was Elliot. For one fleeting, unguarded moment, his gaze filled with such heat and tenderness I felt it like an avalanche of flames rolling down my body.
A whimper fell from my parted lips.
His eyes met mine.
“Elliot.”
His hand slid from my shoulder, across my chest, up my throat to my chin. Gripping it firmly, he faced me toward the mirror.
“Look, Catherine. See yourself.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Elliot
Catherinehadstunnedmefrom the first time I saw her, but for a long time, I hadn’t allowed myself to look at her. It was the only way I’d been able to work with her every day. Blocking out the vast majority of her exterior was how I’d managed to keep her for so long.
But the woman before me had rendered me incapable of looking at anything but her.
It wasn’t the dress, though the way it draped over her generous heart-shaped ass and round hips was nothing short of fine art. It wasn’t the tattoos, which were more extensive and colorful than I’d expected from the few glimpses I’d caught over the last year, stretching over her shoulders and across her upper back. It wasn’t even the way her chest rose dramatically as she inhaled a deep breath, forcing her breasts to press against the thin fabric.
All of that was hot, sexy, gorgeous, but she’d always been those things, and I’d been able to blind myself to it. Until now.
She had decimated my resolve with a thousand cuts. The curly wisps of hair around her face were the most persistent slices against my walls. Then there was the press of her lips, the light that always danced behind her eyes when she internally cussed me out. How she handled difficult men, including me. Her ability to be soft and strong all at once. The postscripts. Goddamn postscripts.
Her tenderness and devotion to Josephine had done me in completely.
Catherine’s bright eyes skimmed over her reflection as her hands trailed along her curves. She wasn’t frowning, and there was nothing critical in how she studied herself.
Dipping my head, I brought my mouth beside her ear. “What do you see?”
She turned slightly, and my lips grazed her skin. She gasped. “Elliot, I—”
“Look at the mirror and tell me what you see.”
I let my hand slip from her jaw and return to her shoulder. I was treading a fine line here. If I wasn’t careful, I would go further than either of us were prepared for.
She sucked in a breath, her breasts testing the delicate fabric once more. “I don’t hate this.”
I raised a brow. “If that’s all you’ve got, I’m not sure you’re really looking. Try again.”
“You’re not allowed to be my boss outside of the office, Elliot.”
I huffed, scattering a few of her fine, flyaway hairs. “Says who?”
Her bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth as she scrutinized her reflection. “I don’t look like a mom.”
“You do.”
Tension immediately drew up her shoulders. “What? Why—?”
