Page 47 of One Reckless Night

19

JARED

Ipaced the hallway between my suite and Amelia’s, my footsteps hushed on the plush carpet. I checked my watch for what felt like the hundredth time, groaning in frustration. The dinner was starting soon, and Amelia was still in her room. I hadn’t seen her since we arrived in Miami this morning, but based on the charges on my card, she’d had a very productive—and expensive—day.

I was thrilled she took herself shopping, but was she actually going to put the clothes on and get her ass out here or what?

I stopped in front of her door, rapping my knuckles against it. “Amelia? You ready?”

“Just a minute!” she called back, her voice muffled. She sounded flustered, like she was struggling with something. I frowned. I’d undressed enough women and then helped them get dressed to know these things often required help. Whoever thought to put zippers that went from ass to neck wasn’t thinking practically. Women had to be contortionists to get dressed.

I was willing to help. Even if it was a little self-serving.

“You need a hand in there?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

There was a pause, and then the door opened. Amelia stood there, her cheeks flushed, her hair perfectly styled, and her makeup flawless.

But she had her hand over the front of the dress, clearly trying to keep it up. “I can’t get it zipped by myself,” she said with a sigh. “Blasted thing.”

“Let me help,” I said.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and took a moment to really look at her. The dress was stunning—a beaded designer gown that hugged her curves. My gaze lingered on her breasts for a moment longer than necessary, but I couldn’t help myself. She looked incredible.

“Turn around,” I said, my voice low.

She hesitated, then turned, holding her hair out of the way. I reached for the zipper, my fingers brushing against her skin. I felt a jolt of electricity at the contact. Touching her ignited a fire in my soul. I had to force myself to focus on the task at hand. My pants suddenly felt too tight as I zipped her into the dress, my fingers lingering on her skin for a heartbeat too long.

She laughed nervously, her voice shaky. “I guess I need to go on a diet. I tried this on in the dressing room, but I didn’t zip it all the way. I assumed it would fit. That’s what I get for assuming.”

“Absolutely not,” I rasped, my voice rough. She turned to face me, and my mouth went dry. “You look amazing,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.

I stepped back, my eyes raking over her from head to toe, taking in every detail. The fabric clung to her in all the right places, accentuating the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips and her shapely legs. The neckline was modest but somehow still managed to make my pulse spike—just enough to tease, to leave me wanting more. The beads caught the light, shimmering around the tiny hint of cleavage she was showing.

She was a vision.

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

Her cheeks flushed even darker. She glanced away, fidgeting with the hem of the dress. “Is it too much? I wasn’t sure what kind of event this was, so I just went with⁠—”

“No,” I interrupted, stepping closer. My voice was low, rough, but I didn’t care. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

She blinked up at me, her lips parting in surprise. I didn’t miss the way her breath hitched, the way her chest rose and fell a little faster. Good. She should be as affected as I was. Because right now, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to reverse everything I’d just done and unzip that dress again.

I reached out without thinking, my fingers brushing against her arm. I felt that same electric jolt from before, like touching her had set something on fire in my veins.

I wanted to kiss her, to pull her into my arms, and give in to the desire that had been building between us since fate threw us together. That night in her lab had done nothing to quench the thirst I had for her. It only made it worse.

But instead of grabbing her and yanking her body against mine, I took a deep breath and extended my arm for her to take. “Shall we, madam?”

She nodded, slipping her arm through mine. I led her out of the room. The tension between us was burning bright as we walked to the elevator. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Standing beside her, I felt like I was breaking out in a cold sweat. I turned to her, my mouth opening to suggest we go back upstairs and finally work this tension out of our systems, damning the consequences, when the elevator stopped, and more people got on.

It was a sign. I had to keep my hands to myself.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm as we rode down to the lobby.

The elevator doors slid open. I led Amelia into the lobby, my hand resting lightly in the small of her back. The low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses filled the air as we approached the ballroom. I could feel her tense slightly when my hand pressed against her, but she held her head high, that quiet confidence I admired so much shining through.

The moment we stepped into the room, heads turned. I wasn’t surprised. Amelia looked like she’d stepped out of some glamorous, old Hollywood film—classic, timeless, and utterly breathtaking. I caught a few envious glances from some of the women and a few appreciative ones from the men. My pressure against her back increased, like I was trying to brand her. Mark her as mine. I didn’t care that I had no business to make such claims.