Page 54 of Indulge
I tip my chin, smirking. “Looks like a crime to cover you up that much. I vote no. Try again.”
She scoffs, tossing her hair, but I can see the pink rising on her cheeks as she disappears back into the dressing room.
The next one’s lace and very low cut, with sleeves slipping down her shoulders, and it takes everything in me not to stand up and drag her against the mirror.
“You’re staring,” she says flatly, though her mouth curves at the corner.
“Just admiring how the dress doesn’t deserve you,” I reply. “Also wondering how fast I could get you out of it. Strictly professional thoughts, I swear.”
She laughs, shaking her head, and Lily, who’s been hovering like a nervous chaperone, snorts into her coffee.
“Is this how all bodyguards behave? Aren’t you meant to be by the door with a gun in your hand or something?” Bella hisses, hands on hips.
Damn sassy. If only Reggie could stay around her long enough to see this side of her. The one he’d spank senseless. He’s being a damn idiot.
I get the alliance and the pressure on him from the Quinns. But this woman? She’s worth starting wars for. And if he fucks this up, I’ll be the one starting it for her.
She’s under my skin, and I can’t hide that. She has been the second she gave me a standing ovation in the shower.
“Nah. I’m good with my new role of dress critiquing,” I tell her with a smirk.
“Fine. Onto the next.” With that, she storms back into the changing room.
“I like her,” Lily says.
I smile.
“Yeah. Me too.”
That makes Lily giggle. “Rowan, you don’t hide that in the slightest.”
I shrug at her comment. Should I hide it? I’m not crossing any boundaries with Reggie. Although, he’s never mentioned anything about catching feelings.
Sex and feelings are two different things. That makes me swallow.
“Are we sure she’s marrying the right twin?” Lily asks, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah. She’s marrying the responsible one. I’m not fit for marriage.”
Lily rolls her eyes.
“That’s what they all say,” she mutters.
Dress after dress, Bella comes out, each one worse for me than the last. It’s like she’s purposely picked dresses she hates to prove a point. Yet, each time, my blood runs hotter, my jeans tighter, my mouth sharper. She knows. God, she knows.
“Bored yet?” she asks with a smirk.
“Nope. Keep going. I’ve got all day,” I wink.
“Okay. Next one, I’m trying something different. More me.”
My hand lands on my throat. This could be the one.
And then she appears in it.
Not white. Not lace. Not safe.
Black. A gown that clings to every curve, slit high, neckline low. She’s painted her lips pink, slipped on a pair of heels that make her legs look endless. And when she steps into the light, I forget how to breathe.
