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“Do you need help with the dress?”
I almost nod, but then the vision of my scars has me shaking my head.
“That’s for me to do,” Christopher announces from the now open doorway.
The air in the room heats as I take in his tall, lean form propped on the doorjamb. His dark charcoal grey suit is accented with a white pocket square with deep red embroidery. The white shirt is stark beneath the skinny burgundy tie. With the way he has one leg bent, his toes butting to the floor, you can see the red sole of his shoe. The black leather although matt is supple and smooth.
Standing, I try to calm my erratic heart. Unable to control the need pulsing at my core, I cross my legs, raising onto my tiptoes so I can better press them together.
Both the hairdresser and make-up artist leave us. Quiet stills the room, but my insides buzz, apprehension for the evening mixing into a toxic cocktail with the lust pounding through me.
With a low whistle he comes closer, a shallow grin tipping his features up on one side of his face as he thrusts his hands into his pockets.
“Looking beautiful as ever, morena,” he murmurs into the gap between us. His hot breath s at my stinging lips.
I want to kiss him so bad. To drown in the strength of his body.
Carefully, Christopher runs his fingertips over the waves framing my face. Caressing my jaw with the point of his index fingers, when they meet in the middle, th
ey stroke down the column of my neck. And although the urge to close my eyes and luxuriate in the feeling burns me up, I can’t take my eyes off him.
The way the flutter of his lashes punctuates every exhale brings my body closer to his.
“You are the most precious thing. You know that?”
Closing at the base of my neck, his hands squeeze lightly, thumbs stroking up and down the hollow of my throat.
This time when I smile, nothing aches. Nothing hurts. All I feel is need and love and lust and him.
It is perfect. And I don’t care if anyone else sees it, because he’s right—no one else matters apart from the two of us.
Pressing his lips to my forehead, he shuffles on the spot, moving me with him. A low melodic hum vibrates his chest, and I feel his soft smile broaden on my skin.
A slow churn tightens in my belly. Nausea followed by a wave of suffocating heat. My anxiety over tonight rears its ugly head, and although I try so fucking hard to push it away, I can’t.
“You won’t leave me tonight, will you?” Murmuring into his chest, I make a point of flattening my hands over his pristine shirt so I don’t get lipstick on it.
“No fucking way.”
“Even when you have to mingle?”
“You can mingle with me.”
“And if they try to separate us?”
“You’re not leaving my side.”
I believe him. Christopher leaves no room for doubt as he squeezes me to him, his hands smoothing over the lilac silk of my robe. Over my shoulders to my back, anchoring me firmly beneath his arms like he’s shielding me from the world awaiting us.
“We’re going to be late,” I whisper, hoping that somehow we’ll get lost in the moment and miss the charity art auction.
“Cassie might actually kill us for stealing the limelight from their cause,” he breathes.
“We don’t want to do that.” Taking a step back, I miss his warmth the second the cool air engulfs me in its absence.
Meandering to the shower, he takes the dress off the hanger and looks over the limp material in his hands. A soft, sad smile flits across his features, honeyed eyes darkening.
“It’s pretty,” he says with a long exhale.
