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“I need to answer the phone,” I rasp.
“I don’t hear one ringing.”
The temptation to kiss that stupid smirk off his face rides me hard enough to wake me up. I power walk my way toward his door without sparing him another glance.
“Iris—”
“Be ready by seven.” I slam the door behind me, but not quick enough to miss him sayingfuckunder his breath.
* * *
Music blasts from my mini speaker as I sing my way through my makeup routine. While Declan hates galas, I love them because I don’t mind getting lost in the glitz and glam for a night. In the past, whenever he invited me as his guest so women wouldn’t approach him, I would spend the whole week finding the perfect outfit.
Tonight is no different. I take extra time applying my makeup and painting my nails. I somehow shimmy into my floor-length gown, being mindful of not catching my braids on the open zipper. Despite my efforts, I can’t seem to reach the zipper. I’m shoved back into the memory of my wedding night. Except unlike before, I don’t mind asking Declan for a little help, so long as he is fully clothed.
A knock on my door saves me from having to travel far for his assistance.
I grab the knob and tug the door open. “Hey.”
Declan leans against the doorframe, his hair perfectly styled and his tux molded to his muscles as if it was sewn straight onto his body. The only thing unkempt about him is the way his bowtie lays undone against his shirt.
You had to go and marry one of the most handsome men in all of Chicago.
Screw Chicago. More like the most handsome man in all of theworld.
I want to drown in his whiskey-colored eyes and never come up for air. There is something about the way he looks at me that seems to strip me bare, ridding myself of any sensible thoughts. Some men look like a dream. Others a nightmare. Declan happens to be a lethal combination of the two—beautiful in a way that should terrify me. Emphasis on theshouldbecause if anything, I yearn for more. Especially after our kiss earlier.
“You look…” He pauses.
“If you saynice, I swear I’ll make your death look like an accident.”
“Devastating.”
My throat tightens with emotion. “Are we back to using English words to describe our feelings?”
His eyesglitter. “Only for tonight.”
I break eye contact first, unable to withstand his stare.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Almost. I just need your help with something first.” I turn and pull my braids over my shoulders, revealing my exposed back. “I can’t reach.”
My cheeks heat as I think back to our wedding night. Somehow, I continue to land myself in this position without even trying.
He doesn’t move to help me, so I glance over my shoulder to see if he is still there. His eyes are transfixed on my back. They trace the length of my spine like invisible fingers before stopping at the dimples.
“Declan?”
His eyes snap back to mine. “I got it.” He steps forward and reaches out his hand. Instead of grabbing onto the zipper at the bottom, his knuckles graze the base of my neck. A shiver racks my body as he drags his fist down my back. The way he draws out the simple task makes me regret ever asking him for help in the first place.
Why didn’t you choose a dress that doesn’t have a zipper?
I suck in a breath as the tips of his fingers hover over one of my dimples. My neck heats as Declan releases a heavy sigh, and the silky material of his tux brushing against my bare arms sends another current of energy through me.
What is going on?
The drag of the zipper fills the silence, and all too soon, his warmth pressing against my back disappears.
