Page 42 of Deeply Examined

With one last tug on the laces, he says, “All done.”

I spin to face him, arms outstretched, grinning because even without a mirror, I know I look incredible. The dress molds to my body like a second skin, the silky fabric whispering over every curve. I hadn’t noticed before, but now that I’m wearing it, I feel the way the plunging neckline frames my cleavage, how the fitted bodice accentuates my waist before flaring into a skirt that flows like water when I move.

Then, there’s the slit.

High—dangerously high—running up my thigh to reveal flashes of bare skin with every step, every shift of my hips.

West’s gaze travels down, slow and deliberate, lingering first at my exposed neckline before dipping lower, tracing the curve of my leg where the dress parts. His eyes darken slightly, his jaw tightening. For a long second, he doesn’t speak.

Finally, his eyes return to mine. I almost pass out from joy when he says a simple, “Beautiful.”

I want to ask ifI’mbeautiful or if the dress is, but I’m too scared of the answer so I just beam at him and say, “I love it. Thank you.”

That makes him smile, the full relaxed grin that extends all the way to his eyes. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen that expression on his handsome face.

“I bought shoes to match,” he tells me. “The same color. Hopefully they’ll fit. I looked at the heels in your closet the other day when you weren’t back yet so I could figure out the right size.”

My hand goes to my chest. “That was so thoughtful of you.”

I get another of those special smiles. We lock gazes, and there’s a frozen second where I feel it—a connection zinging between us. Intense and intimate. I lean toward West, and he bends to me. I zero in on his lips, the need to kiss him so strong that I’m already imagining what he tastes like. We get inches apart when the hazy expression on his face suddenly clears. He rears back and jerks his head to the side, narrowly missing my mouth.

Shit.

I lost him again.

His expression shutters, and there’s a purposeful harshness when he says, “Yeah, everyone’s going to be looking to see who’s bidding on me, so I need you to look the part.”

I deflate. My arms drop to my sides. I sigh, reminding myself not to take it too personally. I know this is a defense mechanism of his, but still…he’s lucky I’m not holding my tweezers.

Chapter eleven

Jessica

Work is busy over the next few days, with my students taking a series of state-mandated, standardized tests. I always hate this time. The kids are stressed and irritable, which means they act out and get into more trouble than usual. Twice on Thursday I have to send a student to the principal’s office, one for threatening me and another for cheating. Normally, I pride myself on being an ally for them, an advocate, but sometimes they push me over the edge. Boundaries have to be in place so they don’t walk all over me. It breaks my heart, but I’ve learned the hard way that it’s best for me and for them.

I’m rushing to get ready on Friday night. My hair is still warm from the curling iron as I slip on the high heels West got to match my dress. They’re taller than I usually wear, at least five inches, but fit well enough that they’re comfortable.

Carefully, so I don’t fall, I gather up the skirt of my dress and make my way down what I’ve come to think of asmystairs.

West waits for me in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and scrolling through his phone with one ankle crossed over the other. He looks up when he hears the tap of my shoes on the marble floor. Once he sees me, the hand that holds his phone drops to his side, forgotten. His eyes widen, and for a minute he seems at a loss for words.

I feel the same way. He got dressed at the gym after he worked out, so this is the first time I’ve seen him in his black tuxedo with its clean white shirt and red tie. His hair is carefully styled, gelled back from his face so his strong jaw is emphasized. Black dress shoes and silver cufflinks finish his outfit.

“Nice tux,” I tell him, noting how his broad shoulders fill it out.

“Nice dress,” he responds, his voice lower than usual.

“It should be.” I unleash my grin and send him a wink. “You bought it for me.”

He chuckles at that, bowing his head to hide his smile. He holds out his hand. “Come on, funny lady.”

I take his offered hand and hold it, letting him pull me toward the front door. We stop to put on our jackets since it’s winter now. Cold air off Lake Michigan blows snow so hard it flies horizontally to strike the penthouse windows, creating a tap-tap-tapping sound. West has been lighting the fireplace in the corner of the room every night. I’ve enjoyed its crackling heat as I’ve snuggled under a fuzzy blanket, reading on the couch next to him. Now the fireplace is unlit. I spare it a glance before he closes the door behind us. Hopefully we’ll be back in time to sit beside it later this evening.

The drive to the Art Institute is quiet. West is nervous. I can tell from the way he grips the steering wheel tightly and how his shoulders hunch up close to his ears. Most people wouldn’t notice details like that, but when you live with someone who doesn’t like to communicate with words you learn to interpret their body language. To watch for the small signals that indicate their mood. I’ve done that with him. Studied him, searching for the key to unlock all the mysteries in that dark head of his.

Do you need to know me?

Yes. I’d like that.

---