Page 12 of Devil Wears Nada
Instead of being offended, Julian laughed. “Direct and knowledgeable. I like that.” He turned back to me. “Mrs. Hemsworth showed me her gown. The construction is impeccable, and the design shows genuine vision. But this—” he gestured to Van’s outfit, “—this is extraordinary. The way the fabric shifts color is unlike anything I’ve seen.”
“Proprietary technique,” I said, heart racing at the implied interest.
“I’d like to see more,” Julian said, straight to business. “I have a space in my boutique for emerging designers with unique perspectives. Bring me a small collection—say, five pieces—and we’ll discuss placement.”
I tried not to look as stunned as I felt. “I’d be honored.”
“Excellent.” Julian handed me his card. “Call my assistant next week to arrange it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With a lingering look at Van, he moved away into the crowd.
“Did that just happen?” I asked, slightly dazed.
“It did,” Van confirmed, looking smug. “Though he was far more interested in getting into my perfectly tailored pants than your fashion collection.”
“Can you blame him?” I meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding more jealous than I intended.
Van’s eyes widened slightly, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Why, Lucas,” he purred, stepping closer until I could feel the heat of him, “are you staking a claim on a prince of Hell?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I muttered, but I didn’t step back.
“Mmm, possessiveness looks good on you,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that never failed to send heat through my veins. “Almost as good as I imagine I’d look wearing nothing but your hands in the supply closet I noticed down that hallway.”
I nearly choked on my champagne. “We are not having sex at the most important industry event of the year.”
“Aren’t we?” he challenged, his fingertips brushing against mine with deliberate intent. “Because I’ve been watching you all night, being brilliant and talented and completely unaware of how devastatingly attractive you are when you’re in your element. It’s been extremely difficult not to drag you into a dark corner and show you exactly how inspiring I find your… confidence.”
My body was already responding to his words, to the heat in his otherworldly eyes. “Van, there are at least three fashion magazine editors here.”
“And a supply closet with our names on it,” he countered, taking my empty champagne flute and setting it aside. “Consider it a celebration of your impending success.”
He was already moving toward the hallway he’d mentioned, throwing a look over his shoulder that was pure temptation. And despite every professional instinct telling me to stay put, I followed him.
Chapter 7
The supply closet was larger than I expected, filled with extra chairs and event supplies. Van pulled me inside and closed the door, immediately pressing me against it.
“This is insane,” I whispered, even as my hands were already finding their way under his silk shirt.
“Sanity is overrated,” he murmured against my neck, his lips finding that spot that always made me shiver. “Now shut up and kiss me before I start breaking lightbulbs.”
I did, claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss that he returned with equal fervor. There was an urgency to it that was new—something almost desperate in the way his hands gripped my hips, the way he pressed his body against mine.
“What’s gotten into you?” I gasped when we broke for air.
“Watching you tonight,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. “Seeing everyone recognize your talent. The way you lit up when they praised your work.” His hands were already working on my belt. “It was… affecting.”
“Affecting?” I repeated, amused and aroused in equal measure. “The prince of Vanity, moved by someone else’s success?”
He silenced me with another kiss, this one almost punishing in its intensity. “Don’t overthink it,” he growled against my lips. “Just fuck me against these filing cabinets before someone comes looking for us.”
Who was I to argue with such a request? I spun us around, pressing him face-first against the metal cabinets. The position echoed our first time on my cutting table, but there was a new energy between us now—something that felt dangerously close to emotion.
“If anyone hears us,” I warned, reaching around to unfasten his perfectly tailored trousers, “my professional reputation is ruined.”
“Then I suggest,” he replied, pushing back against me, “you find a way to keep me quiet.”
“That would be a first,” I laughed, but I was already sliding my fingers into his mouth. He took them eagerly, sucking in a way that made me painfully hard.
Once my fingers were slick, I reached down, pushing his trousers just low enough to access what I needed. He spread his legs as much as the fabric would allow, bracing himself against the cabinets.
