The gratitude in her eyes hits me square in the chest. I can’t recall a single woman I’ve dated look at me with such simple appreciation. But the women I’ve dated have all been from the world I’ve spent nearly twenty years in. They’re used to lavish jewelry and high-end fashion.
And this is why I’m so selective. So that emotions like the ones I’m witnessing play across Seraphina’s face don’t come into play.
“You’re welcome.”
Her smile dims a little at the abrupt change in my tone. She glances down at the ring again, then turns back to the mirror. I grit my teeth at the sight of her back. It’s all too easy to imagine trailing my fingers down the smooth skin, followed by my lips as I slowly undress her.
“Did Brenda say when she was coming back up?”
“No, she mentioned grabbing boxes for your purchases. Why?”
Seraphina huffs. “The zipper is stuck. I’m afraid if I tug too much, I’ll rip the fabric.”
I should go get Brenda. Have her help. Keep my distance from Seraphina like I just told myself I would.
Instead, I walk toward the dais. Watch as her chest rises and falls, her eyes fixed on mine in the mirror.
“May I?”
Slowly, she nods. Points to the zipper just above the small of her back. I grab the dress with one hand and tug. The zipper doesn’t budge. But my knuckles graze her skin. Possessiveness strikes, sinks its fangs into my chest, the initial bite followed by a burn as I glimpse blue lace beneath the satin.
Slowly, I raise my head. Seraphina is watching me, eyes glittering with an answering desire that has my finger tightening on the back of her dress. She leans back slightly, as if giving me permission to pull her off the dais into my arms.
I knew she wanted me last night by the lakeshore. But to see it in the light of day makes me want to keep unzipping, peel the dress off before turning her around and kissing her senseless. Finally taste her lips, run my hands over her incredible body.
I let go of the zipper and step back. Regain some composure before I speak.
“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”
I don’t wait to see her reaction. I need distance. I don’t mix business with pleasure. But after just a brief time in Seraphina’s company this morning, I can barely keep my eyes or hands off her.
I won’t cross the line of having sex with my assistant, won’t risk introducing a dynamic that could potentially devastate our working relationship. She is far too valuable, knows my quirks and preferences, knows my clients.
And damn it, I like her. I don’t like many people, but I like Seraphina, respect her. Which means I just need to leave her untouched during this charade.
No matter how much both of us seem to want otherwise.
Chapter Six
Seraphina
ISTARE ATmy reflection in the mirror. It’s me, but it doesn’t look like me. My hair is twisted up into an elegant arrangement of curls. I’m wearing a stunning ivory dress with cap sleeves, full skirt and a row of pearl buttons up the back. It’s the most expensive dress I’ve ever owned. Half my month’s salary. Surprisingly, I like it. As I do a small twirl in front of the mirror and watch the skirt flare out, I have to admit, Brenda has excellent taste. I love the vintage vibe, the subtle elegance. It makes me feel a little more ready for theGildedphoto shoot.
A little. Maybe like a teeny-tiny fraction more ready. Whether it meets with Aiden’s vision for his fiancée is another matter entirely.
Doubt creeps into my chest. The movie starlet he dated last fall favored name-brand couture with elaborate details like feathers and intricate beading, even a dramatic fifteen-foot train at one of her movie premieres. Not a vintage-inspired dress that would be more suited for a quiet garden wedding.
The premiere, I remember, that Aiden refused to attend. A week before Thanksgiving. The actress had cut things off via a phone call I’d patched through, wincing as I’d forwarded it to Aiden’s primary line. She’d been furious, rattling off a string of creative curses as soon as I answered.
I’d sent her flowers, like I do to all of Aiden’s exes. She’d sent them back in a long black box reminiscent of a coffin, stems broken and petals shredded. Aiden had merely raised his eyebrows when he’d opened the lid and beheld the floral destruction.
“Better the flowers than me.”
The man is cold. Ice-cold. Yet there was nothing but heat in his eyes as he unzipped my dress at the store yesterday. When our gazes met in the mirror, I saw his desire, saw the same need in him that was pulsing through me like lava. And when his fingers grazed my bare back, I had to clench my thighs together at the sudden sensation flooding my core. I had a sudden, vivid image of undoing his belt and filling my hands with him. Sinking down onto my knees and taking him in my mouth, bringing him to the edge of control.
The wickedness of my fantasy left me flushed and excited. I chastised myself for even thinking of my boss that way. But a small part of me was grateful. It’s been so long since I’ve slept with a man I half wondered if a part of me was irrevocably broken, that I would never be intimately attracted to a man again.
When I walked out fifteen minutes later, the old Aiden was back. Calm, collected. The limo took us to Central Park South, one of the skyscrapers along Billionaires Row, and past a crowd of photographers outside. Photographers, I realized with shock, that were there to catch a glimpse of us. Ofme.It made me want to ask the chauffeur to take me back to my apartment so I could lock the doors, draw the blinds and pretend like none of this was happening.
