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Before she could think better of it, she asked, “Do I look okay?”
Holy smokes, why did she ask him that?
For a long moment, he continued to stare at her breasts. When he slowly raised his gaze, he shook his head. “No.”
She didn’t? She glanced down and smoothed her hand down the front once more.
He straightened and, in a flash, was around the counter and standing in her space just like he had when she worked at the computer checking herself in. And just like then, him being that close made her realize how solid of a man he was. He wasn’t overly tall, but he was just big. And not just his physical presence.
He snagged her wrist, stopping her nervous fabric-smoothing action and forced her hand back to her side. She started and held her breath when he reached for her.
No, he wasn’t reaching for her. Not exactly. But for the buttons on her blouse.
What was he—
“Gotta loosen up a bit.” He freed one button out of its jail, then another, then one more, stopping once her cleavage was exposed. Her royal blue silk blouse was now open to just above her bra.
She pressed a hand to her exposed chest. “I…”
Then… What the hell? He was yanking the pins from her hair and tossing them over his shoulder, undoing all the work she had done to put it up and make sure it stayed up.
“What—” He ignored her flapping hands as she tried to slap his away.
Her long hair fell around her face and he dragged his fingers through it, fluffing it and totally destroying the conservative style.
She should be appalled. She should smack him for touching her like that.
She should…
“Bend over.”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
“Trust me. Bend over.”
Trust him? She didn’t even know him. It was bad enough he unbuttoned her blouse and undid her hair, but now the man wanted her to bend over.
Just like that.
Sure, Jack. “I—”
“You trusted me enough to ask for my opinion. Gave it to you. You asked if you looked okay. Told you no. Now… you want me to get you to where I’d say yes? Or you gonna ignore the opinion you asked for?”
She blinked.
She couldn’t tell if he was simply an asshole or just honest.
“The way you were lookin’ made you look like you got a stick up your ass. Looked better this mornin’ after you drove all night.”
Ouch. But she still wasn’t sure if he was being an asshole or being honest.
“Bend over. Promise you’ll thank me after.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” she muttered.
He snorted.
She sighed.
And, of course, bent over. Because, apparently, he was an expert. She mentally rolled her eyes.
“Shake your tits.”
Really?
She groaned with embarrassment as she wiggled her shoulders and her breasts shifted in her bra.
“All right,” he murmured. “That’ll do it.”
She stood up and paused, feeling a bit light-headed. As soon as that passed, her hands automatically went up to fix her hair, to smooth her blouse, to tuck her boobs back away since the nipples were on the brink of flashing him. But he snagged both of her wrists on the way to do all of that and held them tight, preventing her from undoing his work.
“Look at me.”
The deep timbre of his voice could topple nations. Or simply make everything inside her clench tight and her nipples pucker.
A memory flashed before her.
He reminded her of someone. Someone from her past.
Not of someone who made her aware of her sexuality but someone who spoke like him and acted like him, too.
Outspoken. Opinionated. A bit rough around the edges but, when he wanted to be, was an expert smooth talker.
She quickly tossed that memory away.
“Yeah, now you got real color in your cheeks. Hair lookin’ like you’re freshly fucked. Your tits poppin’ and on point. Fuck yeah. Now you look okay.”
She doubted the color in her cheeks would stay since it was caused from a blush. “Are you sure?”
“Truth? Completely fuckable. All the men are gonna want you. All the women are gonna wanna be you.”
Wow. That was some compliment. Or was it? Maybe he was just hitting on her.
“Said you came alone. You got a man?”
She shook her head and her loose hair felt so much more comfortable than when it was pinned to her head. Much more natural, instead of her trying to be someone she wasn’t.
But she had wanted to look sophisticated, not “fuckable.” She didn’t come to the reunion to hook up with anyone, she only wanted to prove to her classmates she existed. She wanted them to finally notice her because all throughout high school she felt and was treated like she was invisible.
“Kids?” he asked next.
He was really nosy. Maybe he was hitting on her. She recognized the signs easier now that she was older, but for a long time after high school, and even during college, when a man flirted, she thought he was just doing it as a joke. Or to trap her in some prank.
