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“I’m fine,” she insisted. She was being silly. She knew that. She did need help with the dress and he was the only one around to aid her. She couldn’t very well call Blake. How would that look?
Oh, God… she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so lonely. She had no-one to talk to about this. No-one to ask for advice. It was too humiliating.
The knob turned and, before she could utter a word of protest, the door swung inward.
She’d been so keen to get the dress off, she hadn’t thought of locking the door behind her. Dumb mistake. Then again, she never would’ve believed that Ben would follow her in here.
He stood framed in the doorway for a moment, looking ridiculously beautiful in that hopelessly wrinkled shirt and suit pants. He was a tall, solidly built man, with broad shoulders and chest, narrow hips, and killer thighs and butt. The advantages of being an active, sporty man.
His well-defined jaw was shadowed with stubble, his mouth pressed into a straight tense line as he took in her huddled form on the floor. His eyes—normally so enigmatic—revealed his strain and concern. A sure sign of how tired and stressed he was.
It was that small indication of emotion from him, combined with how uncharacteristically messy he looked, that reminded Lilah that he was trapped in this shitshow as well. Sure, he’d gone into it with his eyes wide open but it made her feel a little better to know that he currently appeared as miserable and uncomfortable about this as she was.
“Lilah, let me help.” His already raspy voice was even hoarser, the burr of his barely perceptible Scottish accent more evident than usual. He stepped toward her, careful to avoid treading on her dress, and stretched out a hand to her.
Lilah stared at the strong, veined hand where the ring she’d placed on his finger gleamed in silent accusation beneath the bright light of the bathroom.
She looked beyond that hand into his eyes. The concern in his gaze contradicted his stern, expressionless face.
She swallowed and hesitantly lifted her hand to his. His palm closed around hers and he tugged her to her feet. He used more strength than her slight figure needed and she collided with his chest before she could stop herself. They stood like that for a moment, plastered together, her skirt wrapped around them. He loosely looped his arms around her back and stared at her, his eyes intent and probing.
“You look exhausted.”
She ducked her head to avoid his eyes but he wasn’t having that and caught her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to tilt her face upward.
“Let’s get you out of this dress so that you can have a bath or shower and get more comfortable, okay?”
“I don’t want you to be nice to me,” she told him knowing she sounded a little petulant.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m angry with you and I want to stay angry with you.”
He sighed, his chest shifting against hers, making her aware of his heat and hardness.
“You can go back to being mad at me after I’ve unfastened your dress,” he said in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice.
“Well, you’d better get to it then.” She turned in his arms and swept her long, wavy nutmeg colored hair over one shoulder to allow him access to the buttons.
“My God, how many of them are there?” he asked incredulously.
“Fifty.”
He smothered a curse under his breath, before inhaling deeply and tackling the first one.
It took him longer than she expected. His strong, long-fingered, capable hands were surprisingly clumsy and judging from the amount of swearing from him, he was finding it hard to grip the buttons.
“Finicky fuckin’ things,” he growled, sounding heartily annoyed. And Lilah felt like laughing for the first time since they’d left the chapel that afternoon. Ben usually excelled at everything, which made his reaction to the tiny buttons unexpectedly funny.
Then again, maybe she was just bordering on hysteria, and laughter was the only outlet for her roiling emotions.
Finally, he got the first one unfastened.
“Only forty-nine more to go,” he muttered, his voice thick and shaky.
He seemed to get the hang of it after that and he slowly, methodically, undid each button with a measure of care that Lilah would not have expected from him. As the bodice loosened, she clutched the front of the dress to her chest.
The corseted dress had fit her so snugly that she’d actually forgotten that she wore nothing but a pair of delicate, lacy white panties and silk stockings held up by hand-stitched lace garters. Lilah had floated the idea of a garter toss while planning the wedding and Ben had shot it down almost instantly. Knowing what she now knew, she was grateful that she’d not had to go through that humiliation as well. But she’d chosen to wear a pair of pretty, frilly garters because she’d imagined him sexily peeling them off her tonight and—
