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I lean down and whisper next to Amanda’s ear, “I’ve arranged a private dress swap.”
“You didn’t.” Her eyes meet mine, a war of emotions swirling through them: happiness, confusion, and perhaps a little overwhelmingness.
“I meant what I said. I’m always here for you.”
I don’t miss that expression. That’s pure appreciation. I wish I could bottle this moment up because it feels damn good to do something for someone else besides myself.
Camilla brings us to a private room in the back of the store, where racks of dresses in a kaleidoscope of colors and textures await us. Lace brushes against sequins and silk whispers promises to chiffon. It’s cozy and intimate.
“Wow,” Amanda breathes out, eyes wide as she takes in the rows of dresses. There’s reverence in her gaze, the kind usually reserved for libraries.
“Pick anything you like.” I gesture expansively, my chest puffing at the thought of me pulling this off.
She darts between the racks, a lithe figure flitting from one potential treasure to the next. She’s giddied as a kid in a candy store—if the candy was made of taffeta and chiffon.
“This looks brand new.”
“It’s amazing what wealthy people toss aside.” Okay, that’s not a complete lie since I’ve known people to throw out brand new merchandise. It just doesn’t apply to this particular scenario. These dresses are all brand new. Some aren’t even out on the market yet, but she cannot find that out.
“I don’t even know what to say.” She squeals; the sound is so cute that I can’t hold back my grin. She grabs a dress and dips behind the dressing screen.
“You don’t have to hide,” my perverted mouth says.
“Nuh-uh. You’ll have to be surprised, like me.”
The first dress she tries is a classic—deep red, form-fitting, elegant. It hugs her frame. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, unable to stop the smile that stretches across my face.
“Thoughts?” Amanda spins, the dress flaring out around her knees.
“Stunning,” I say, and I mean it. But that’s notthedress—the one I know will be perfect.
I lean against the wall, arms folded, as Amanda slips back into the fitting room. She emerges moments later in a gown that looks like liquid gold. She turns, a question in her eyes. It’s not bad, but it’s very … princess-like.
“Rapunzel after hours,” I say, and she laughs, the sound echoing off the shop’s quaint walls.
“More like Belle goes to the ball,” she counters, striking an exaggerated pose that has me chuckling. Something about this playful side of Amanda gets under my skin—in the best way possible. It contradicts her serious, studious side.
“Okay, Princess,” I concede with a wink. “But we’re missing the Beast.”
She twirls, the dress shimmering. “Who needs Beast when you’ve got all this?”
“Touché.” I can’t help but admire her confidence. It’s infectious when she finds and owns it.
Next comes a midnight blue number, sequins catching the light like stars plucked from the sky. I watch her reflection in the mirror, see the way her eyes light up and how she bites her lip in pleasure. Caught in the moment, everything else fades—the pressure of the hockey season, the weight of expectations. There’s just Amanda, and the way each dress makes her shine a little brighter.
“Blake?” Her voice pulls me back, expectant. When she grabs my attention, she asks, “How’s this look on me?”
“Like you’re the night sky.” It’s true; she looks like a constellation. Our gaze meets, and something intense flares through my entrancement. I want to erase the distance between and capture that pink-coated bottom lip in my teeth. With each look, each stolen glance, the pull gets stronger and stronger. I’d give anything to take her back to my place where we can fuck all night long.
I swallow past the want of need in my throat. Fuck, Wednesday can’t come soon enough. Not that sex will be involved, considering we’re staying with her grandmother, but we’ll have a few days together without interruptions from the outside world. A few days to get to know each other on a deeper level. That’s a want I never saw coming.
“There’s one more dress I want you to see. I saved it for last.”
I smile, knowing it’s the perfect one for her. Her feeling the same way about a dress as me shouldn’t make me so happy, but here I am—an arrogant asshole being brought to my knees by my supposed fake girlfriend. Somewhere along the way, our relationship evolved into something more. I’m not sure when it happened, but it did. And even though I should be terrified, I can only focus on her and how she makes me feel.
My breath hitched as she emerged wearing the soft blush gown with an intricate beadwork pattern. The soft and flowy dress hugs her curves in all the right places. The sleeveless style may showcase her smooth, tanned skin, but the plunging V-neck has my legs eating up the distance and my tongue tied in knots. She’s a sultry siren dressed as an angel and every bit as stunning and elegant as I knew she would be.
“I take it you approve.” The infliction of humor in her voice turns into a gasp as I spin her until I’m standing behind her in front of the mirror.
