Page 34 of Personal Escort

“Ah.”

“I mean, nobody would ever…and if I ever did get married for real, it wouldn’t be anything like what I’ve planned, and this wouldn’t really be an appropriate dress anyway. But if I had my way…”

“Why wouldn’t your real wedding be what you want?”

She wrinkles her nose. “An afternoon elopement on campus? That’s not the Russo way. Can you imagine Elana missing an opportunity to put five little boys in matching tuxedos? If I ever get married for real, it’ll be…lunch at The Plaza. Or a weekend in the Hamptons.”

“Even if it’s not what you want?”

She gives me a solemn look. “They’d never know it wasn’t.”

“I’d know.”

She takes a deep breath. “Well, that’s not a concern for now, anyway.”

“Wear that dress. It’s perfect.”

“You think?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

She turns away, heading back to her room.

“Make sure you close your door all the way,” I say gruffly.

She shoots a quick glance over her shoulder, then holds my gaze as she realizes what I mean, her eyes wide and her mouth curved in a knowing smile. “Toby Hunt, did you watch me get changed?”

“I just saw your arm.” And hip. And leg. A lot of leg, but I don’t feel I need to be that specific.

“I don’t mind,” she says, her eyes brightening. She stands there, still for a second or two, then she reaches behind her. “If you were here, I’d probably tease you now and ask you to unzip me.”

“If you did, I’d use it as an excuse to kiss you again.”

She gasps. It’s quiet, but I hear it as she turns her head back to center.

I can’t see her face.

That was the wrong fucking thing to say.

Fucking hell. I open my mouth, ready to apologize for thinking with my dick, but the words die before they can form, because she slowly begins to unzip her dress.

The zipper starts in the middle of her back.

She takes her time, and slowly the dress peels apart, revealing an ever-growing slice of bare skin.

Maybe the zipper never ends.

Maybe I might swallow my tongue.

So many possibilities.

I don’t dare lean forward. I don’t even breathe.

She stops when her hand reaches the curve of her bottom, and as the fabric gapes above her fist, I see unexpected black ink on her skin.

Cara has a tattoo.

“I didn’t know if it was too much. If I could pull it off. It’s so…”

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