Page 77 of Just The Way You Aren't

Within minutes, Willow emerges in a champagne silk number that looks so incredible on her it makes me forget my own name.

Jesus Christ.

The dress clings to every curve, the silk moving like liquid when she walks. My mouth goes completely dry, and I have to shift position on the sofa because my perfectly tailored pants are suddenly uncomfortably tight.

"What do you think?" She looks uncertain somehow, then does a little turn, and I bite back a groan. The back of the dress dips low, exposing an expanse of creamy skin at the base of her spine that I desperately want to touch. Not only with my hands but with my lips, my tongue.Fuck.

"Beautiful," I manage, proud of myself for forming an actual word instead of the caveman grunt that wanted to escape.

"Yes,” Francine muses mostly to herself, “but not quite right."

Not quite right? Is the woman blind? She delicately snaps her fingers and shakes her head. "The color is too pale for you,” she tells Willow. “It washes out your delicate complexion. Let's try the emerald."

Willow shrugs then disappears back into the dressing room. As soon as the ladies are gone, I take the opportunity to adjust myself discreetly.Get it together, Langley. You're not a teenager.

The next dress nearly kills me.

The deep green makes Willow’s eyes sparkle and her creamy skin glow. The neckline is more modest, which should help my current predicament, except now all I can thinkabout is slowly unzipping it later. The fabric hugs her body in a way that makes my hands itch to trace the same path.

"Better?" she asks, looking at me for approval as she smooths the fabric over her hips.

Don't look at her hips. Don't think about those hips or how those long legs feel when they’re wrapped around me. Think about... spreadsheets. Quarterly reports. Alfred's combover.

"Ah, yeah. Much better." My voice comes out rougher than intended, and I clear my throat.

Francine taps her chin thoughtfully. "I agree, but the silhouette isn't quite perfect. I have something in the back—a new arrival. One moment."

As Francine slips away, Willow catches my eye in the mirror. "Are you sure about this? These dresses must cost?—"

"Don't think about that," I interrupt, partly to be reassuring and partly because if she keeps looking at me like that, I'm going to do something highly inappropriate in this very proper boutique. "Just focus on finding something you love."

She gives me a small smile. "You're very sweet, you know that?"

Sweet. Right. That's definitely what I'm feeling right now.I shift again on the sofa.

Before I can respond, Francine returns with a gown draped over her arm. "This," she announces with quiet confidence, "is the one."

Willow’s eyes light up as she looks at the dress. “It’s stunning.”

Francine smiles. “Just wait until you try it on.”

When Willow emerges in the midnight blue gown, I actually stand up without meaning to—partly in admiration, partly because sitting is becoming genuinely uncomfortable.

She looks... ethereal. The dress fits her as if it were madefor her, highlighting every curve while maintaining an air of elegance. The beading catches the light, drawing my attention to the way the bodice shapes her breasts, the way the skirt flows over her body and down her legs.

Think about baseball. Think about tax law. Think about anything except?—

"Ohh," Francine breathes. "Yes. This is it."

Willow turns slowly, examining herself in the three-way mirror, and I have to lock my knees to keep standing. From every angle, she's devastating.

"It's perfect," she whispers, then catches sight of the price tag. Her eyes widen. "Oh my god, Damien, no. This is?—"

"The right dress," I finish firmly, my voice only slightly strangled. "Francine, we'll take it. And we'll need shoes and accessories to match."

"Excellent choice. I have just the things."

The next hour is beautiful torture. Willow parades out in various shoes, each pair making her legs look even longer, shapelier. Although heels are not her strong suit, the few steps Willow takes in the designer sandals seem to get easier for her. When she leans forward to unbuckle one of the delicate straps on her shoe, the dress gapes slightly at the neckline, giving me a delicious view of her cleavage. I grab a decorative pillow from the sofa and clutch it in my lap like a lifeline.

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