Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(37)

He checks the collar and discards it, not even trying it on. “I like the solid black.”

I watch him grab a plain white shirt and briskly button it, then shove on the jacket. I run my hands over his back to determine the fit as I circle him. “Move your arms.”

He stretches them forward, and I admire the give in the material, the way it pulls nicely around his shapely shoulders, his broad form.

He smells good.

I’m surprised by how attractive the scent that clings to him is.

I peer around him. “You look great in this color.”

“Black and white makes the sharp-dressed man?” he says, and rather than looking at himself in the mirror, he’s looking at me.

“On you,” I say, cursing my forwardness. If we’re all business, I can’t make comments like this. “Let’s try the charcoal next.”

He does. And rocks that one too.

We spend a couple of hours trying everything, from shirts to slacks to jackets, ties to cuff links to socks.

He’s tried to flirt; I’ve tried not to notice and to simply focus on the clothes. He’s now standing in a blue shirt that matches his eyes, and perfectly tailored black slacks, frowning at me as he buttons his cuffs. “You know, we can have fun with this.”

“I’m having fun,” I say absently, already selecting his next one.

“It doesn’t have to be strained.” He comes over and puts his palm on top of the shirt I was surveying, making me look up. He stares down the bridge of his slender nose and says, “I want you. I’m insanely attracted to you. And I mean to have you. How’s that for an icebreaker?”

I gasp. “I, um . . .”

“Don’t say anything. It’s fine. But it’s out there. It’s out there, and I can still be professional, Lizzy.” He waits, probably thinking I’ll return the sentiment.

Instead, I’m melting.

Melting because of the way he looks at me.

Melting because he said he’s attracted TO ME.

Melting because his eyes spin with desire.

Melting because I crave him like I don’t remember craving anything before.

Not knowing how to deal with this, I thrust another suit forward, shoving it against his chest in a playful manner. “Okay, so you want to have fun. What constitutes a good time in your book?”

“You dressing up with me.” He drags his thumb across his lip, thoughtful. “Maybe we finish here and go out for drinks. That would be fun. Right?”

I swallow. Of course that would be enjoyable, but it wouldn’t be my smartest move to date.

“What d’you say, Lizzy?”

“We can’t go out. Not yet. You’re not ready.”

“Okay. Let’s pretend. Dress up to the nines and order in.”

“As you can see, there aren’t any clothes here for me.”

“Ya don’t have an evening gown hidden in your closet?”

“Maybe one or two.”

“Go change. Hop to it. I’ll wait here.”

When I don’t move, he adds, “We’ve been at this for a while now. Let me show you a good time tonight, and I’ll be the perfect man for the rest of the duration.”

“Why is this important?”

“Maybe I need to get you out of my system.”

“And dressing me up will help with that?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, then.” How can I refuse? I love dressing up in formal wear, and besides, we have a lot of things to practice, so I might as well look the part.

A minute later, I’m standing in my walk-in closet, thumbing through formal gowns, trying to find one that’s elegant and stylish.

That’s when it hits me. What will I wear for our big launch? Maybe I should decide now so we can see how we look together. We need to be perfect because on the night of our launch, we’ll arrive together. We’ll work the crowd together.

There will be a lot of togetherness in the coming weeks.

My body seems to like that idea and is far more sensitive now. What will this togetherness do for the rest of our relationship, not only in the professional sense?

We’re about to find out.

I find a black-studded gown, one with a discreet slit to the hip. The low-dip neckline is stunning if flashing a bit of cleavage is the aim. It has a slender waistline and a snug top.

No, Lizzy, no.

Go for sexy, not slutty, something that leans toward inappropriate, yet pretty. No. Beautiful and classy.

I choose an open-back red gown dripping with sequins. Gentle curves with ample support cradle my chest and hips. The backless design leads to a V plunge and well-fitted gown, one that doesn’t shift with the sway of my walk.

Super. I feel like a mermaid. Unfortunately, the design is so fitted that it looks as if it’s been painted on.

One look in the mirror and I question my goals.

Bull.

I know exactly what I want. I’m sure of my goals. If not, I might as well take off the gown now.

I can’t. I won’t.

I want James to look at me as if he can’t wait to strip away the fabric, tear away the design. I’d gladly toss the ruined dress to the side for one night of undefinable passion, one glorious night of James and Elizabeth, two people who are opposites but find the perfect complement in each other. Just one night. Several hours of pleasure-bound sex that ends in no promises, no expectations.