My hands aren't cold. They're burning.
I work at the zipper, trying to free the caught fabric. This requires getting closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin, close enough to see the tiny beauty mark at the base of her neck.
"Almost got it," I say, my voice rougher than it should be.
"Take your time."
I free the fabric and start to pull the zipper up. Slowly. Because if I go too fast, it might catch again. That's the only reason I'm going slowly.
Not because I'm hyperaware of every inch of skin disappearing under the dress.
Not because the blood is rushing to my overactive groin and my brain is supplying extremely R-rated, fully nude, not-safe-for-work thoughts about reversing the process.
"There," I say, but I don't step back.
Harper doesn't step forward.
We're standing too close. The fitting room is suddenly too small, too warm, too full of things we're not saying.
She turns to face me, and I should step back now. I should maintain professional distance. I should?—
“Mr. Kade,” she says quietly.
"Harper."
It’s the first time I can remember saying her name—her first name. And it tastes delicious on my tongue.
Meanwhile, Harper’s hazel eyes are searching mine, looking for something—permission, maybe, or a reason to stop.
I don't give her one.
Instead, I cup her face with one hand, my thumb brushing her cheekbone, and I kiss her.
And my God, the feel of her mouth against mine is nothing like it was in Vegas.
Not an ounce. Not a drop. Not a centimeter.
No. That was tequila-fueled and desperate and half-forgotten.
This is deliberate.
Sober.
Undeniable.
She makes a small sound against my lips and her hands come up to grip my lapels, pulling me closer. I back her against the mirror, careful not to crush the dress, and she responds by threading her fingers through my hair and kissing me harder.
This is insane. We're in a public boutique. Simone could come back any second. We have an event in three hours. We have rules.
And I don’t give a single shit about any of it.
Because Harper tastes like sex and mint and defiance, and I want more of it. More of her. More of this feeling of falling that I've been fighting since the moment she literally stumbled into my tightly regimented life.
The kiss deepens, heat surging through me so fast that I barely feel my erection until it stiffens between us.
My cock strains, hot and heavy, my body demanding more as the length of me presses against her stomach, hard and unmistakable.
And when Harper gasps at the contact, I instantly swallow the sound, my fingers digging into her waist, my hips having a will of their own—pressing forward before I can stop them.
