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“I know what you’re thinking, Muscles, but I really think she’ll keep her word.”
“You have more faith in people than I do.”
“We’re both good at reading people, Freddy. Just in different ways. You can see what people intend, especially when those intentions are bad. And me …” Chloe shrugs. “I can see what people want.” She tilts her head, and her hair flows with the movement. “Most people, anyway.”
Then, before I can understand her cryptic meaning, she flounces away, grabs a few more dresses off the rack, and heads back to the dressing room.
Moments later, I hear her call out. “Freddy, a little help!”
Instantly, I’m on my feet. I should have trusted my instincts and gotten Chloe out of here when we first arrived. Stephanie hasn’t left her desk, but what if there’s someone else here I didn’t account for, didn’t see because I was distracted by all things Chloe?
If anything’s wrong, if anything’s happened to her …
I skid around the corner toward the curtain, which is still closed. “Chloe?” My voice is ragged, threadbare, because I’m hardly holding it together here. “I’m coming in there.” Then I fling open the curtain—and find her alone with her dress half unzipped.
It makes a V from her shoulders all the way down her back, showing off the impossibly long swath of her skin in between.
I blink. She did call for help, didn’t she? I didn’t imagine it?
She glances over her shoulder. “Oh, good. Thanks for coming. The zip’s stuck—I think the ruffles got caught in the track. Can you help? I can’t seem to get it.”
And there’s no guile in her eyes, no proof that this is a scheme of any sort, but saints alive, what a way to give a man a heart attack. I’d almost rather have found a perpetrator in here.Almost—except that would mean Chloe would have been in danger. But at least then I’d have something to hit, somewhere to put this electric energy pulsing through every vein in my body.
“Sorry, hope this isn’t too weird. It’s not like I’m indecent, though.”
I nearly scoff. She clearly has no idea the effect she has on men. At least, on me. Then again, this reminds me very much of the backless dress she wore to her eighteenth birthday ball. Every time her hair swayed and exposed a tiny hint of the skin beneath, I nearly chased her down to ask for a dance—even though I was working at the time.
Didn’t help that Topher was there, his eyes boring into me. That’s the one and only time he said the word “off-limits” to me. I understood, and we never spoke of it again.
“Freddy?” her soft whisper fills the tiny space, which I close off with the curtain for her privacy.
Of course that leaves us alone in a confined room, making this moment even more intimate, even more tempting. Even more like the dreams that plagued me last night.
“It’s fine, Princess.” Of course it is. It has to be.Get ahold of yourself, man. “I’m at your service.”
She’s quiet as I squat and try to work the ruffles loose from the zip. Several times my fingers unintentionally graze the soft skin of her back, and they twitch to do more than that. Every time we make contact, her breath hitches. Perhaps my fingers are cold?
Finally, I manage to pull the material loose, which allows the zip to slide up and down—nearly to an inappropriate spot.
Time to go.
“Will there be anything else?” I ask, moving my gaze to the ceiling, where there’s a fluorescent light just overhead.
“Nothing, thank you.”
And with that, I take off out of the room, nearly stumbling over my own feet like a gelding that’s just been born. I’ve got to get out of my head. Protecting Chloe is all that matters.
Anything less than that, and I’ve failed her.
eleven
CHLOE
Given what happened earlier this afternoon with Stephanie recognizing me at the boutique, a crowded bar is the last place I know Frederick wants to be.
But this is our chance to talk to some of the locals all at once. To see if any of them know of any venues I haven’t come across in my research. Because I’m failing hardcore at locating somewhere for my brother to get married. And without that, my entire plan will fall to pieces.
We step inside The Black Hole, and my fears are confirmed. Because while the pub isn’t seedy by any stretch of the imagination—it’s actually fairly clean as far as bars go—it’s dimly lit. Not only that, it’s a complete crush inside, overflowing with twenty- and thirty-somethings. Rock music pumps through large speakers on either side of a small stage and the dance floor is a lesson in differences, with some people slow dancing sweet and close, and others gyrating in a manner that would make many of my royal relatives turn up their noses in disdain.
