Chapter 16 #2
Chest heaving, I swallow my pride and turn slowly toward the sound of his voice in hopes of finding the door. When I do, I
bend over until my hands are at doorknob height and pull down on the metal handle.
I straighten as the door clicks open, and for a second it seems like no one is there until Oliver’s voice says, “You know
you were just meant to try the dresses on, not turn them into an avant-garde fashion project?”
I ignore his attempt at a joke, too embarrassed at being this helpless in front of him trapped in my underwear. “Undo the
zip,” I say louder than I mean to.
He’s seen me like this before, except this time it’s not my choice. My eyes sting with undropped tears as I realize I’m completely
vulnerable to his course of action.
“Of course, just try to breathe.” He goes quiet, clearly sensing my mood.
“Jesus, it’s so hot in here.” He pulls me out of the bathroom into the much cooler bedroom and grips the sides of the dress, heaving it back down my body.
My dead arms drop to the side as I pull in a lung full of cold air and his peppery scent.
“You’re okay,” he assures me, smoothing down my frizzy hair, the look of concern and confusion making his amber-laced eyes
darken under his brow. His hands move to my jaw, tilting my head upward to scan my face as a tear finally escapes down my
cheek.
I take another long breath, looking him in the eye this time. “I just need to get out of this dress,” I say, my breathing
regulating but my voice still shaky, turning around and grabbing for the zip.
“It’s all right. I got it.” He curls my hair around his palm and places it over my shoulder, moving it out of the zipper’s
path. His fingers leave a trail of heat across my neck, but I barely register it compared to the adrenaline streaming through
my veins like river rapids.
After a few failed attempts, he grunts. “All right, just . . . hold onto the wall.” He pinches the fabric in the middle of
my back as I press both palms against the textured heather-gray wallpaper.
He tugs at the zip, grunting lightly.
“Maybe scissors?” I suggest, mentally tallying how many months’ payment plan I would need in exchange for a quick escape.
He hums nonchalantly. “It would be a bummer to cut up a dress you look so good in.”
My brain zeros in on his hands, focusing on the feel of his palms against me instead of the dress’s tightening grasp.
“Stop trying to distract me,” I say through gritted teeth, even though it kind of works.
“Sorry.” He drags the zipper down, and it immediately glides over the gathering of thread I got it stuck on. The cool air
hits my sweat-laced lower back as the dress folds open like an envelope.
We stand in heavy silence for a few beats too long as his hands smooth away from the zipper and onto my waist.
He squeezes my side and says over my shoulder, “Think you can get it from here?” My body shivers, reacting to the warmth radiating
from his chest.
“Yeah, thanks.” I nod, unhinging my fingers from the wall and leaning into his hands on me, gentle but supportive. I place
my right arm across my waist, the ends of our fingers ever so slightly overlapping. My limbs go heavy as electricity jumps
between our fingertips.
Our deep breaths move in sync, calming my nervous system.
He leans in and speaks in a quieter tone. “And if I let go right now, you’re not going to drop to the floor?” I can hear the
slight twinge of amusement on his breath. He must have seen my shaking knees earlier. My breath hitches as his mouth lingers
near my ear. He huffs a laugh, the breath tickling my skin. Maybe he can sense that the last thing I need right now is someone
asking if I’m okay.
“What?” I ask, clutching the front of my dress to my chest with my other hand. I turn around to face him, his hands dragging
across my middle over the fabric. I tighten my fist on the dress, bunching it in the center of my chest. Unable to slow my
racing pulse as his eyes dip to my lips.
His fingers loosen their grip as I move my free hand to grasp his forearm, keeping him in place.
His voice is low, amused but self-assured as he glances down at my hand.
“Did you get yourself stuck in that dress because you wanted a reason to be alone in a hotel room with me again?” I have to stop myself from biting my lip.
My heart feels like it’s about to burst through my chest and make a hole through the door like Wile E. Coyote. “No.”
We stand in charged silence for a few seconds before my mouth parts on a muted gasp as Oliver slowly moves his hand up to
my face, my grip staying on his arm. His warm fingers cup my chin as he drags a rough thumb across the underside of my bottom
lip, smoothing out my smeared red lipstick and setting my nervous system alight like it’s New Year’s Eve.
“It’s a shame you want nothing to do with me,” he says down onto my lips, almost out of breath.
The need itches like a freshly formed bruise. If I was braver, I would kiss him. Use my free hand to pull his shirt toward
me and slam my lips into his. Collide my body against his until his back hits the wall. But I don’t. I don’t move. I don’t
do anything. Because that kind of risk is something I can’t take.
“I . . . don’t.” I clear the desire from my throat, reaffirming it to myself as well as him.
The left sleeve of my dress slides down my arm; he runs his hand up my arm, tugging the fabric back over my shoulder, and
then, much to my chagrin, he pulls his torso away from mine.
“I’ll send an intern for the dresses,” he says on a slow exhale. His dark eyes flick back and forth, studying every tiny moment
I make like he just asked me a final question.
I look everywhere but his face. “Uh-huh.”
He slips his hand into his pocket before stepping away and heading for the door. Leaving me breathless, half naked, and surrounded
by expensive fabric.