Page 89 of Bodyguard By Night
Ransom walked in front of us, lifting his arms with a wince. “It’s a bit tight.”
His biceps looked as if they were going to bust the seams. I knew firsthand how impressive they were when flexed.
Roll up your tongue, girl.
His stormy gaze drifted over me from neck to ankle. Heat suffused my skin, leaving a flush in its wake. “You’re gorgeous.”
Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t put my hair into pigtail braids. They’d been cute when I dressed up my jeans and shirt, but now I felt silly. Definitely not gorgeous. “Em is a magician.” I cleared my throat. “Good choice on the tux.”
“Classic seemed best. Better than the shiny one Clay wanted me to wear. Trendy asshole.” He glanced at December. “Sorry.”
Em stood. “Trendy has its place, but I’m sure you can tell my preference is old school finery.” She smiled over her shoulder at me. “Why don’t you get down and try on a few of the other things? Just don’t mess with the pins.”
I started to hop down, but Ransom held a hand up to me. I changed course to the two steps off the fitting stage. His hand was warm, his fingers blunt. A quick memory of them on my body made me wish I’d worn a better bra. This one didn’t hide anything.
The flowy skirt of the dress swung around my calves as I stepped down and my breast brushed his chest. He stared me down, his gaze never breaking. His hold unbreakable on my hand.
Em was barely six feet away and I couldn’t move. The air between us charged with awareness as my skin buzzed in reaction.
This would be us in a few weeks time, walking down the aisle together—for my sister. For his best friend. Maybe a slow dance or two for formality.
Or was that just me making a wish because I liked when he had his arms around me. All I could do was marvel how well we fit together. Generally, I felt gangly and too tall for most men. He was only a few inches taller than I was, but in all the right ways.
Too right.
Finally, I backed away. “I’m just going to try on a few more things.”
He nodded, his gaze drifting to my mouth before he stepped onto the fitting stage.
I escaped to the dressing room, my heart racing as if I’d just run a mile.
Carefully, I slipped out of the dress, only poking myself a half dozen times. My skin was too tight and flushed to boot.
I collapsed on the bench and got my bearings. Surely all these overwhelming feelings would dissipate once we got this whole sex thing over with.
That had to be why I couldn’t think about anything else. I liked sex. I missed sex. It was a great way to get rid of stress. But with Ransom? No, his kind of naked shenanigans weren’t in the same league. I couldn’t imagine laughing with him over a pint of ice cream post-orgasm.
Passing out face-first on the mattress and hoping for mercy, maybe.
“Get a grip,” I mumbled to myself. “He’s just a man.”
Grumpy and intense with a side of asshole. I needed to remember that part. Not the fact that my knees stopped working when he looked at me as if I was his next meal.
I blew out a breath and threw myself into trying on the pile of clothes. I discarded a few pairs of jeans. Obviously, some things couldn’t be fixed.
Like being four inches too short.
One of the many problems with my long legs and narrow waist. Beanpoles had just as much trouble as any other woman. Sleeves were much the same.
As usual, my reject pile outnumbered the ones to keep.
But the peacock blue dress was a dream. I left it for last because I didn’t want to be too disappointed when it didn’t fit. Before I could get too wired about it, I unclipped my bra and stepped into the cocktail dress.
The straps were thin and criss-crossed down my back in an intricate pattern. I spun around to check out how it looked and marveled how it made my freckles seem interesting rather than as if they belonged on a perpetual twelve-year-old girl’s body.
The material hugged my chest, showing off my slight curves in a way that made me feel feminine and maybe even sexy. My neck looked long and elegant and the dress hit me at mid-thigh, showing off my long legs.
Now I just needed a pair of heels.