She’s wearing a dress.
Not a uniform. Not jeans. A dress made of some soft, dark green fabric that clings to her curves and falls just below her knees. It has long sleeves and a high neck, modest enough, but the way it fits her... it should be illegal.
She has black tights on and those brown boots she wears, her hair loose around her shoulders.
Fuck.
My cock immediately stirs against the zipper of my dress slacks, a sudden, visceral reaction that I can’t control. I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white, forcing myself to breathe through it.
“Hey,” she says, her eyes finding mine across the room. She looks hesitant, her hands clutching a small purse.
“Hello, Amber,” I manage. My voice sounds rougher than intended.
“Welcome to the Fortress of Solitude,” Fallon announces, opening his arms. He walks over to her and pulls her into a hug, lifting her off her feet for a second. “You look fantastic.”
“Thanks, Fallon.” She smiles when he sets her down, though her gaze darts nervously around the room.
Eli moves to the island, pouring himself a drink. “Tequila, Amber? To warm you up from the cold?”
She wrinkles her nose. “I actually don’t drink tequila. Last time I did, I broke a lamp and cried about a fish.”
Eli laughs, tipping the glass back. “More for us, then.”
I turn to the fridge, glad I had the foresight to chill a bottle of pinot earlier.
“Wine?” I offer, pulling the bottle from the rack.
“Yes, please.”
I pour the deep purple liquid into a glass, my movements precise despite the hammering of my pulse. I walk around the island to hand it to her.
As I pass her the glass, our fingers brush.
Her skin is warm, soft. A static shock arcs between us, not painful, but startling. A thrill rushes up my arm, settling deep in my chest.
I look down at her, and she looks up at me. Her hazel eyes are wide, catching the light.
She smiles, a tentative, sweet curve of her lips. “Thanks, Knox.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. I don’t let go of the glass immediately. I hold onto it for a second longer, feeling the warmth of her hand radiating into my palm. “Dinner will be about forty minutes. The roast needs to rest.”
“Take your time.” She takes a sip, her eyes closing as she tastes the wine. “This is good.”
Fallon claps his hands together. “Alright, since the head chef is hovering over the oven like a mother hen, I’m going to give you the grand tour.”
“I’d like that.”
“Come on.” He gestures down the hall toward the bedrooms.
She glances at me, then at Eli. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
She follows Fallon, her boots making soft thuds on the concrete floor. I watch her go, the sway of the green dress hypnotizing.
The kitchen feels suddenly larger.
Eli leans against the counter next to me, watching me with a knowing smirk. “You’re staring.”
“I’m observing,” I correct, turning back to the stove to check the reduction sauce.
