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“I’m calling in reinforcements.”
She stood there on display like a vacant billboard while he debated dresses with the older of the two shop assistants. “Something classy, but not too conservative. I don’t care what it costs.”
Being discussed like she wasn’t there was humiliating. Georgia turned to the woman. “I like the red dress.”
“The dove grey, it’s much better quality and it’s lovely on you. With your hair up and some sparkly jewels, sliver heels.”
“Shoes,” from Damon. He bounced his booted heel on the floor. He was writing shoes with painted soles on his interior shopping list.
She rolled her eyes. “Both of you stop it.”
The shop assistant held the grey dress out. “If that man was buying me a dress I’d give him whatever he wanted,” she said.
Damon waved a hand in the vague direction of the change rooms. “Let me see it.”
She huffed, took the dress and returned to the change room. She’d stay there a few minutes, long enough to convince him she’d tried it on again and he’d have had his fun. She hung the dress on a hook and sat on a padded velvet bench to look at it. It was a lovely creation, but cut too low across her chest, and made from silk satin so watery it clung to her hips in a way that’d made her feel naked. It was twice the price of the red dress.
He’d ducked through the change room curtain and it dropped behind him before she had a chance to do more than squeal. She stood, and there was barely enough room for both of them. “You can’t be in here.”
“What does it matter?”
She pushed him. Mistake. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You didn’t try it. You really don’t like it. We can try another shop.”
She sighed. “It’s a beautiful dress, but it’s not—”
“It doesn’t have to be red. I can imagine red, just like I can imagine Hello Kitty pjs.”
“I’d be too self-conscious wearing it.”
“Show me.”
“Are you insane? I’m not putting it on in front of you.”
“Are you? I can’t see you clearly enough to see anything you wouldn’t want me to.”
“You’re impossible.”
He popped that dimple. She pushed him onto the bench. There was just enough room with him sitting for her to put the dress on. “I can’t believe they let you in here.” She kicked her shoes off. She couldn’t believe she was going to do this. Her dress came off and her bare knee grazed his denim one. His bright eyes were on her and she simply didn’t trust him. There was no air in here. “Close your eyes.”
He laughed and down went his lids.
She took the dress off the hook. She wasn’t wearing the right underwear; what would the right underwear be? This was silly. His hand on the back of her thigh made her jump. She looked over her shoulder. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
He folded them across his chest.
She shucked the dress over her head and it swished down her body.
He was on his feet, hands on her shoulders, before she’d found the tag in the invisible side seam zipper. “Does it zip?”
“Don’t even—”
He’d found it. He eased the zipper closed over her waist. She stopped breathing as his fingers travelled up the side of her ribs. At a complete loss to know how to deal with him, she lifted her arm so he could send the zipper home. His hands kept moving, around her middle, over her hips then back to her waist, ribs, then skimming flat palms over the confined swell of her breasts, knocking her breath into next year.
She watched him in the mirror, his eyes still closed for her. He was such a liar, he saw her perfectly well. He moved his hands over her shoulders and down her back, her head tipped up and she swayed into his palms.
“You look beautiful.”
“It’s too. It’s too…” His hands cupped her backside and she dropped her head to his shoulder.
