Page 6 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
“I can change outside but with my luck today, Satan’s Keeper would somehow see,” she said, reaching back to slide her hair over one shoulder. The zipper started at the base of her neck and ran well past her rear.
“Satan’s Keeper?” he asked, his laugh a bit strangled.
“The mother of the groom. God, she’s a head case. You know, one of those holier than thou types who can’t help but stick their nose in other people’s business.”
Oh, he knew. Knew the woman intimately. Although Josh should be offended about the nickname for his mother, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Zipper,” she repeated. In case that wasn’t clear enough, she turned all the way around with her feet tucked under, her back completely facing him.
Josh moved a stray lock of hair out of the way and reached for the zipper. It was ridiculously small compared to his hands, and he moved it less than an inch when he fumbled. Big time.
WTF?Seeing the tip of her tattoo, which was seductively inked at the base of her neck, turned his hands to meat cleavers. Granted, with his recent workload, he hadn’t had a whole lot of time to date. But he hadn’t been out of the gamethatlong.
He wiggled it some more, adding some pressure, until he heard a tiny tear. “I’m afraid I’ll rip the dress if I pull any harder.”
One slim shoulder rose and fell casually, showing a bit more of that tattoo he was suddenly desperate to unveil. “I don’t care. I’m never wearing it again. Not really my style, you know?”
No, he didn’t. But he’d like to.
“When I’m working, I’m more of a function over fashion, and there is nothing functional about silk and heels. But I was told there was a”—she tossed up some air quotes—“specificattire for today’s event.”
“Let me guess, Satan’s Keeper?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. Which meant she really hadn’t a clue as to who he was. Jillian may have vouched for him, but he had a feeling whomever Jillian vouched for, it wasn’t an Easton.
Everything about her was a contradiction. From her designer dress and combat boots to her collection of mismatched Mary Poppins bags. Then there was that mysteriously delicate diamond that kept flashing his way.
“I actually don’t think she’s all that bad,” she admitted. “More bark than bite. Did you have to deal with her today?”
“Not yet.”
“Some might call you lucky then.”
Luckywasn’t exactly how he felt right now. Tempted was more like it. And Josh was rarely, if ever, tempted by trouble. And this girl had trouble written all over her.
He tugged again, his knuckles brushing against her soft skin, but the zipper wouldn’t budge. So he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of the fabric, and when they made contact, she shivered.
He held still, and so did she.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of this dress.”
Josh could count singlehandedly the number of times he’d helped a woman out of her dress and didn’t sleep with her.
“How long have you been doing this?” she asked, giving an impatient little wiggle, and Josh began to doubt he’d be okay after this. But follow through had been ingrained in him since he was a kid, and because he took pride in being a hands-on kind of guy, he pushed forward.
“Undressing women?” he teased, sliding the zipper back to the top. He gave it another jiggle and—look at that—the teeth threaded back into place. Maybe he hadn’t lost his touch after all.
“No.” She laughed right as the zipper gave way, sliding effortlessly beneath her first vertebrae, then the second. Before he could help himself, it went past being helpful and turned into more of an exploratory effort, exposing enough silky skin until finally—the tattoo. Which was incredibly hot.
Strange, because Josh wasn’t generally a tattoo kind of guy, but this one on this woman was all kinds of perfection. It was simply the letter F, but nothing about it was simple. Swirly and feminine lines circled around it, making the letter look more like a bold work of art than a part of the alphabet.
“Nice tattoo.”
“Thanks.” One word. Short and sweet.
“What does it stand for?” His brother Owen had a dozen tattoos, and each had a unique meaning. They represented everything from a stage in his life to the death of their father. Some people are like Owen and others get them on a spring break trip to Cabo with their sorority sisters. Tattoo Girl didn’t look the sorority type, which made him think it had a deeper meaning. “Franchesca?”
“What?”
