Casanova(79)

“Uh...I’ll see you downstairs.” Camille hiked up her dress and left without really answering me.

I frowned after her and turned toward the dressing room. Of course, Cam’s lack of answer had actually given me one. Why wouldn’t Lani be coming out?

“Lani?”

The door clicked shut—and the lock did too.

I sighed and stood. When I’d crossed the room, I leaned against the door frame and placed one hand against the door. “Lani?”

“Yeah?” Her voice was small as it came through the door.

“Come out.”

“I...I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just not.”

“Let me in.” I lowered my hand to the handle and lightly shook it. “Come on. Please?”

Silence.

Then...the lock unlatched.

I turned the handle and slowly pushed open the door. My eyes found her instantly. She was standing in the middle of the room, next to my mom’s make-up covered unit, with her hands pressed flat against her stomach.

Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, and aside from her dark red lipstick, her make-up was as natural as always.

But it was the dress.

It clung to her like a second skin, unforgiving in the way it hugged her hot little body. Every single curve she had was on show, and my gaze traveled the lines of the red fabric until I’d taken in every inch of her. Until I’d see every single inch of the dress and how it seemed to be so perfectly melded to her until the light flare out at her knees.

There was a dip in the neckline that showed a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage, but it was the side view and the reflection in the mirror that showed the need for the tape. It was backless, and without the tape, the fabric that was so flat against the sides of her breasts would only be held in by the thin straps looped over her shoulders.

“You’re staring at me,” Lani said quietly. “I can’t wear this, can I?”

“Kitten, the only time you won’t be wearing this is when I throw it on my bedroom floor.” My gaze traveled over her once again.

Fuck, I wanted to tear that right off her. Right now.

“I can’t wear this!” Her hands slid across her stomach until she was hugging herself. “Ugh, this is ridiculous. I’m not going.”

“Hey.” I closed the distance between us and grasped her shoulders before she could get too far away. “What’s wrong?”

“The dress,” she said, her gaze lowered. “It’s too tight and too much for this. I look ridiculous.”

“No, you’re being ridiculous. You don’t look it at all.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


LANI



I appreciated his effort, but I knew what I looked like in this dress. My stomach pudged out a little too much, I wasn’t wearing a bra so the mole on my back was in full view of everybody, and I was pretty sure that yes, my butt did look big in this.

“I do,” I said, finally lifting my gaze to meet his. “If I eat anything in this I’m going to look like I’m six months pregnant. And that’s if the stitching holds up.”

Brett took my chin in his hand and dipped his face close to mine. “Then you’ll be the prettiest pregnant-looking non-pregnant woman in the room.”

I slapped his arm and stepped back. “This is serious!”

“I know, I know.” He put his hands up. He sighed as he dropped them. “Look here.” He pulled me back toward him and spun me around.

He stepped into me, pressing my back against his body, and rested his hands at my waist. We were standing in front of the mirror, me in this dress, him in his suit. He stood almost an entire head above me, and he rested his chin against the back of my head.

“Look,” he said quietly, his breath tickling the top of my head as he exhaled. “Stop thinking about all the things you think are wrong with this dress, because I know we see a different damn thing when we look in this mirror.”

“We do, and that’s because you clearly need your eyes tested.”

He shook his head, smiling. “My eyes are just fine.”

“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin and meeting his gaze in the reflective glass. “Then you tell me what you’re seeing.”

“I see you,” he said simply. “I see a beautiful woman who doesn’t understand or appreciate her own attractiveness. I see misplaced insecurity and unnecessary fear.” His thumbs gently stroked across the bare skin of my back, just dipping inside the dress as he lowers his hands to my hips. “I see a beautiful woman wearing a dress that was obviously made for her. And if it wasn’t made for her, it was made to be a torture device for me.”

I dropped my head to hide my smile. Perhaps he was right on both accounts—I could certainly feel the evidence of the torture device as it pressed against my lower back. Invitingly too, I had to add.

“See.” He reached around and gently lifted my chin so I was looking into the mirror again. “Just think about it like that. There won’t be a second tonight that I won’t be thinking about leaving so I can take you home and rip this dress off you.”

“Rip it off me? It’s a two thousand dollar dress!”

“That’s such a waste of money when you’re priceless completely naked.”