Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(37)

“You would have.”

“So cocky.” I trailed a finger down my chest, between my breasts. “You’re lucky I think that’s hot.”

“You don’t play fair.”

My smile transformed into an outright grin as he watched my fingers continue down to my belly. “Should I?”

“Never.”

He crossed to the bed and leaned down to press a quick kiss to my lips. “Wish I could stay, but I have to take care of something for work. A customer’s cargo is currently sitting on the bottom of the Mississippi, and I need to clean up the mess.”

I flipped the sheet up and covered myself, suddenly embarrassed that I’d been trying to act the seductress when he had real world problems to deal with. “It’s fine. Do what you need to do.”

He pulled the sheet away, leaving me naked again. “Like you better this way.” He sat on the bed and cupped the side of my face in his big hand. “Dinner tonight?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

“Wear a dress. A short one.” My jaw dropped. He said what?

“Seriously? You did not just say that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

I huffed, tugging the sheet from his grip. “Have you ever seen me wear a dress? Let alone a short one?”

He leaned in and brushed his lips over the shell of my ear. “I’m going to see it tonight.”

“Cocky bastard,” I said, shivering from the contact.

“If it gets you into a dress, I’ll be whatever kind of bastard you want me to be.”

I won the sheet tug-of-war and tucked it around me before crossing my arms over my chest. “Maybe. No promises.”


“I’ll pick you up at seven. Short dress. High heels. The same wild, just-been-f*cked hair you’ve got going on right now. That’s how I’m going to be picturing you all day while I sort this shit out.”

I bit my lip and shook my head at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Only about you.” His lips met mine for one more kiss. This one was long, slow, and full of promise of what was to come. Finally, he pulled away. “See you later, babe.”

He left the room, and I heard the door to my apartment open and close. I uncrossed my arms and pressed a palm against either side of my face and rubbed upward. I was in way too deep. I leaned over to snag a T-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. It was one of mine, but I wished it were Simon’s. I wanted his woodsy scent surrounding me.

Apparently I now had two tasks for the day: first, flex my code-breaking muscles; and second, find a damn dress.





I stripped off the dress and threw it on the bed.

“I can’t do this,” I said to the empty room. I wished Huck were pacing around my tiny apartment so I didn’t feel like I was talking to myself. But he was downstairs in his crate in Harriet’s guestroom. I’d spent most of the day down there with him, the composition book, and a stack of library books. I’d officially made zero progress. I’d started cycling though the alphabet in the hopes that it was a basic substitution cipher, but it was a painstaking process.

And while my code cracking was going horribly, at least Huck was doing amazingly well. Dr. Richelieu hadn’t lied about the plate in his leg easing his recovery. He might’ve looked a bit like a hobbled horse when he padded around with his weight unequally distributed, but I was so damn glad to see him on the mend.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 6:49. I paced my room, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Calm, I thought. You can do this.

“I can’t do this.” I flopped onto my bed beside the dress and stared out the skylight to the blue and white expanse above. My thoughts wandered back to this morning. Lying on the bed, watching Simon as he stared me down with desire … and something else. I’d never wanted anyone more, and I’d never deserved anyone less. Was I going to humor his simple—albeit caveman-like—request?

What if he took me to some fancy Michelin Star restaurant? With the impression I’d given him so far, Simon would probably think my nerves stemmed from not knowing which fork to use. Little did he know that if I was so inclined, I could out-etiquette him any day. The girl who used to dine regularly at Per Se might’ve been buried, but she was still in there. Somewhere. But letting any hint of her out could put everything I’d built at risk. As it stood, my life might not be much, but it was mine. I looked over at the mini-dress and fingered the deep purple cotton voile. I pictured myself wearing it, walking hand-in-hand through the streets with Simon. I wanted that.

The rationalizations started to filter in: we weren’t in New York or L.A., Simon wasn’t a celebrity followed by the paparazzi, and unless he was at a public event, it was unlikely that his presence would attract attention.

“I can do this.”

I adjusted my strapless bra and matching black, lacy boy shorts and slipped on the dress. My hair hung in huge spiral curls I’d spent the last hour perfecting. Not that I would admit that little detail. I added dangling black and silver chain earrings that almost brushed my shoulders. They gave the outfit just enough ‘Charlie’ flare to make it acceptable. I slipped on a pair of vintage red leather peep-toe platforms Yve had let me borrow out of the inventory at the Dirty Dog and fastened the straps around my ankles. A check in the mirror, another dab of red lip stain, and I was ready. Which was damn good timing on my part because the intercom—which I’d reconnected—buzzed.