Chapter 30
I’m surprised when Andie returns from the restroom, slipping her hand into mine as she whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”
Steve and Cassidy barely keep up on the way to the parking lot.
I’m flabbergasted when Andie tells me to drive us to her loft, and utterly blown away when she kisses me against my SUV, only pulling away when the production van screeches into the parking lot.
She pulls me toward the building, ignoring Cassidy’s pleas for us to slow down. We’re breathless when they catch us at the door to her loft. Andie tugs her microphone cord out of her dress, flashing Cassidy a smile. “Sorry, no cameras unless Optimax has an after dark channel.”
“Can we at least get a shot of you closing the door?”
My whole body buzzes with what I know is on the other side of that door. My mic makes a satisfying pop when I pull it free from my collar. “Do it fast.” I hand the mic pack to Cassidy. “If I don’t get her alone in thirty seconds, we’ll all regret it.”
Andie laughs, adding her mic pack to mine in Cassidy’s arms. She unlocks the door and pushes it open.
I wrap my arm around her waist, stepping closer. My body is completely blocking hers from view at this point. I look over my shoulder to tell Steve, “Here’s your shot in three … two … one.”
Andie trips over her long skirts as we tumble through the door. She loses her balance with a squeal, and I try to catch her, but it’s too late. Gravity yanks us down toward the floor. I land on top of her with a grunt, then kick the door closed behind us.
“Okay, well, good night!” Steve yells through the door. I snort out a laugh, burying my face in Andie’s neck while we wait for their footsteps to retreat.
I breathe her in, groaning. One dance and one kiss have made me a madman, desperate for more of her. She giggles underneath me, like we’re young and free and happy again. Like nothing bad ever happened between us, and I can’t help but press my lips to her skin. I let loose another low groan at the taste of her skin.
She sighs under my kiss, whispering, “Dress. Off. Please.”
I’m too happy to help. I find the zipper at the back of her dress, undoing the hook at the top. But in my haste, I jam the zipper only a couple of inches down her back. A swear escapes me, and Andie laughs.
“I helped you put this thing on, how hard can it be to get it off?” I tug at the zipper one more time, hoping it will let loose.
“Get off,” she says with a smile.
Reluctantly I let her out from under me. With a deep breath, I shake my suit jacket off and untie my tie, my eyes on the sway of her hips as she kicks off her heels and walks farther into her studio. We didn’t bother with any lights when we came in, but the loft is bathed in moonlight pouring in the wall of windows, Atlanta’s city lights twinkling against the night sky.
Andie glances over her shoulder, lashes lowered, lips open ever so slightly. Silhouetted by moonlight, she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. The madman inside me roars. I get up and prowl after her. She smiles, scurrying away from me.
I pick up my pace, and her fumbling steps tangling in her skirts are no match for my long strides. She’s in my arms in seconds. I crush her to me so I can feel the rise and fall of her breasts through her bodice. Breathing heavily, she reaches blindly behind her, knocking over a cup of beads that clatter to the ground, sparkling in the moonlight. My lips are on her neck again when her fingers curl around a large pair of fabric shears.
I lift my head to kiss the corner of her mouth where I’ve already smeared her lipstick. “You’re not going to murder me, are you?”
She turns into my kiss, opening her mouth to let me in. Our tongues slide along each other in a dance that mimics what we did for the cameras less than an hour ago. It’s lighting all of me up, and I tremble.
When she pulls away, both of us panting like we’re desperate for more, she holds the scissors between us and raises a brow. “Cut me out of this thing.”
I gulp, my eyes falling to her dress. I can’t see much of it with her crushed to me like this, but I can’t bring myself to let her go for even a moment. She hooks her free arm around my neck and arches her back, pulling her chest away from mine.
Okay, I take it back. This moment, with her offering herself to me, where I can see the shadow of her racing pulse in her neck in the moonlight, hips pressed to mine—this is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My heart rails against my rib cage.
I manage to pry one of my arms loose, but only because my fingers trace the neckline of her bodice over her breasts. A smile tugs at my lips as goose bumps raise on her skin. My own breathing ragged, I gently hook my first finger inside her bodice in the valley between her breasts. “I can’t cut you out of this.”
“Why not?” She frowns.
I duck around the scissors to capture her lips in a kiss. When we’re both breathless with it, I break the kiss, pressing my forehead to hers, scissors still between us. “You made this dress,” I murmur. “I can’t ruin it.”
Her lips part in surprise, and the hand she’s clutching the scissors in falls to her side, her knuckles still white around the blades. “It’s not one of mine.”
Liar. I let out a snort of laughter. One day she’ll realize I see her better than she thinks I do.
“This line, here?” I dare to reach out, my finger gently following a seam that goes from her ribs underneath her arm and arcs under her breast before diving down to her navel. She lets me do it. “And this beadwork, here?” My other hand moves to trace the delicate beading along the neckline of her bodice. “This color? And the hidden pockets?”
I slide one arm around her waist again and take a deep breath, rocking her gently with me like we’re dancing again. Her eyes sparkle with tears, and it pulls at my heart.
“Andie,” I say with a soft smile, “this dress could only be one of your designs.”
The muscles in her throat ripple in the moonlight. She lets out a deep breath and brings her free hand to my chest, trembling. She presses her palm over my heartbeat and looks me in the eyes.
“I don’t care,” she whispers. “I want you to do it.”
My breath catches in my throat. She wants me to do it. She trusts me to do it. I can’t believe she’s just … handing this to me. Maybe she finally understands. Maybe she finally knows how much I feel for her in my bones.
I slide my hand down her bare arm, loving the goose bumps that rise on her skin in response. Slowly, I curl my fingers around her wrist, pausing to feel her pulse. It races like mine. She’s inviting me to remove her armor; she’s got to be terrified. Nobody gets this close to her. Nobody.
I move my fingers to the handle on the scissors and she loosens her grip on them so I can slide the blades free of her hand. “Touch me,” I tell her as I nuzzle into her neck, breathing her in.
Her now empty hand moves to my jaw. She lifts my head to kiss me. I give in to her silent demands for more, more, more.
Harder, faster, more.
We’re both breathless and groaning by the time I have the sense to break the kiss. She licks her lips like she wants to capture every last taste of me there. I reluctantly let go of her waist so I can hook a finger in her bodice again, to pull it away from her skin.
I move slowly so she has time to stop me if she’s changed her mind, placing the blades of the shears against her sternum facing downward. She shivers, eyelids falling closed, tilting her head back.
She’s giving herself to me, and I feel like my entire world just quaked underneath our feet. “I can stop,” I whisper in the dark, my eyes on the rise and fall of her breasts around the blades of the scissors.
“Don’t stop,” is her breathy reply.
I open the blades ever so slightly, trapping the neckline of the bodice between them. I pause, still terrified to ruin one of her dresses. I know how much time she spends on them. I know how they’re her heart and soul on display for anyone who knows enough to simply look.
I know it’s just fabric and beads and thread, but destroying it feels sacrilegious. Like I’m shredding the pieces of her I love. It’s the opposite of what I came here to do.
She’s begging you to do it.
Eyes still closed, she gives me a slight nod of her head. Green light. Hand trembling, I press the blades closed. The crisp sound of metal slicing fabric rings through the deathly quiet loft, and Andie gasps.
I still, waiting for her to pull away. To change her mind. To run.
Her eyes flutter open, and she meets my gaze. I must look maniacal—so turned on I can’t see straight, and so fucking terrified at the same time.
She doesn’t run. Instead, she uses both of her hands to begin unbuttoning my shirt, her lips gently parted.
I open the scissors and move them downward. Another slice of fabric comes as she’s halfway down my shirt.
Our breathing is the only other sound in the world. I’m mesmerized by this moment. It’s like seeing one of my blueprints rise from the ground, in three dimensions. Everything is precarious and I question every equation and line until suddenly it’s done. A testament to a leap of faith and an appreciation of art.
The scissors’ blades glint in the moonlight as I keep working my way down the bodice, inch by glorious inch. Andie’s fingers curl around my open plackets, and in one breathless look, she asks a silent question.
She knows how careful I am with my clothing, how little of it I have. She’s asking for my consent to break me free. To remove my armor, just like I’m removing hers.
I let out a low noise of approval.
She rips my shirt open. My buttons join the beads on the floor, and I know I’ll never find them. I don’t care. I’ll buy another shirt. I’ll ask her to embroider her name on the tag, Property Of.
Her hands explore my bare chest, nails scraping my skin and threading through the hair there. I’m so hard, my vision blurs around the edges. I don’t trust myself with sharp objects at the moment, so I toss the scissors on the floor. They sound like gunfire, scattering beads and buttons on impact. Andie doesn’t flinch.
I trace the deep V I’ve cut into her neckline, her skin hot and smooth under my touch. I need to see more of it. Mimicking her motions, I grip the loose edges of the bodice in my fists and meet her eyes.
“Do it,” she whispers in the dark.
I gather every last reserve of control I have and tear her dress wide open. She gasps and licks her lips.
I let the fabric fall from my hands. It sags for a moment before the weight of the bodice slips over her hips, the skirt billowing out as her dress falls to the floor. Some beads roll across the floorboards, caught in the dress’s downfall.
Andie’s not wearing a bra. Jesus. She’s only in a lace thong, her dress around her ankles.
This. This is definitely the sexiest thing I will ever be lucky enough to lay eyes on in my lifetime.
And I’m still wearing pants.
What the hell am I doing?
I roll my ruined shirt off my shoulders. “If you think my thighs are great, you should see you right now.”
Andie’s fingers fly to my belt. “Shut up.” She’s got my pants on the floor in record time, and I wrap both my arms around her, skin on skin, crushing her to me with a hot kiss and a groan.
Her hands are everywhere, her nails sinking into the muscles in my back with a delicious bite. More.
Crazed, I lower us both to the floor, spreading her dress over the mess of beads on the floor, too impatient to make it to the bed upstairs.
She trembles as my hands slide to her thighs, tugging that lace thong down, down, and away. I push her legs open. Wider. Wider still.
I lower myself to the ground in front of her. The seams of her dress bite into my stomach as I settle in, licking my lips. “Hold on tight.”