Page 101 of Into the Dark
“Feeling is perfectly mutual, Mr. Lawrence,” I wink.
“Well,” he says, lifting the dress up to inspect it once more. “I’m buying you this anyway. You seen anything else you like? I’m getting hungry.” He pouts slightly, making him look a lot like Caleb.
I smile. “Me too, actually. I’m about an hour away from becoming an entirely different person.”
“Why can’t I take you for dinner in that dress again?” He looks down at my body.
“Umm….because you threw me onto the bed and fucked me wearing it?” I whisper. His eyes blaze white-hot. “And I like to look un-fucked when I go to dinner, I suppose.”
“Stupid rule, if you ask me…” he mutters.
I laugh as I move past him toward a dress that’s just caught my eye: a very deep rich purple, almost navy. It has a slightly high neck and an intricate rib detail running through it. On the back runs a sturdy-looking silver zip from top to bottom. It’s slim-fitting—very slim-fitting, in fact. With a dark smoky eye and my hair down and dried straight it would look good. Sultry almost. Praying they have it in my size, I flick through the rack. They do, and I unhook it and move quickly over to the shoe section to scan for a simple black heel. Jake follows behind me.
It feels extravagant, purchasing an entire outfit just to go to dinner, but I haven’t bought myself anything new in a while, and going on a second date with Jake seems as good of an excuse as any to treat myself. He mentioned something about paying, but obviously that’s not going to happen. On the middle shelf I spy a suitable black shoe: a suede pointed toe and silver stiletto heel, not too high. I ask the harried-looking assistant to see if they have it in my size and ask her to bring them to me in the fitting room if they do.
“I’m going to try this on,” I tell him. “Wait here for me?”
He gives the dress a cursory glance and nods, sitting down on one of the low leather stools meant for trying on shoes. “You’ll come out and show me it on?”
“Yes.”
He moves to settle back on his elbows on the stool, but someone chooses that moment to sit down behind him and he springs back up, throwing his hands up in apology. The girl tells him not to worry, all heart eyes and shy smiles.
Inside the fitting room I send a silent thank-you to the designer of the dress. It is very slim-fitting, but as soon as I step into it I notice it has an inner layer that pulls me in in all the right places. A soft, tight Spanx-like layer that gives me a delightfully smooth silhouette. The small round of my belly is still unnoticeable, but in a dress this tight it could have been a very different story. When I slip it on with the heels the girl brought in my size, it lifts my bum up into a pert round shape too. I unravel my hair and let it fall down my back, fluffing it out to give it some semblance of life in its post-messy bun state. I pinch my cheeks and lick my lips and widen my eyes in the mirror. Yes. It’s a good find. Not that expensive either. The mussed hair and rosy cheeks, together with the heels, make me look like a different person from the one who walked into the fitting room in flat strapped sandals and a crumpled yellow sundress.
Jake is frowning hard at his iPhone when I come out.
“Well?” I say, hovering by the entrance.
His head snaps up immediately and his mouth drops open. “Fucking hell,” he says, running a hand over his mouth. The look in his eye makes an embarrassed smile spread across my lips. I drop down on my heel and bite back my smile by catching it in my teeth.
I turn to look at myself in the side mirror. “It’s very tight,” I say.
“Yeah,” he replies.
“Too tight? Does it make me look bigger?”
He stands up and comes toward me. Catching the end of my hair between his fingers and brushing it back over my shoulder, he leans in to press his mouth to my ear. “I want to shove it up and fuck you in it. That’s how it makes you look.” He looks over my shoulder. “How many people are back there?”
“One or two.” I smile. “Lots of mirrors.”
He smirks. “Kinky…” He brushes his thumb gently over my nipple, and it hardens instantly. “Go get changed now. We’re done.”
“Yes, sir.” I smile. When I turn to retreat back to the dressing room he smacks me loudly on the behind. I turn to gape at him in playful shock, and he just gives me a hot, dirty look that makes my blood sing.
As I round the corner inside the fitting room I hear him apologizing to the shop assistant for crowding the entrance to the ladies’ fitting rooms. At the counter we have a mini argument over who’s paying. Jake says as the date was his idea and he got my current dress dirty, it’s his place to pay. It’s not for that reason I let him—it’s that I like the new level of intimacy it provides, his buying me something like clothes. I’ve always considered myself independent, able to buy myself the things I want when I want them, but as I stand in that shop I realize maybe I don’t always have to, and that’s okay too.
We take the tube back to his, Jake for all the world looking and acting as though he’s never been on it before in his life, though he assures me otherwise. He growls at people who push past us, staring down any guy who gets too close to me or smiles at me in that way people often do on the tube.
Showered and changed, I emerge from the downstairs bathroom to where he’s sitting at the dining table under the large ceiling-height window. The sun has begun to sink into the Thames, and it casts a warm, honeyed glow over him. There’s a cold, half-finished bottle of beer in front of him on the table, and that’s when I realize I’m going to have to come up with yet another believable story about why I’m not drinking tonight. Still detoxing? Christ, I’m tired of this. Why am I so bloody scared to tell him?
He lifts his head and stares wordlessly at me for a few long seconds before shaking his head. “Wow,” he says. “You look so fucking hot.”
He looks fucking hot himself. A gorgeous, rough, edgy incredible that makes my heart beat dangerously fast. He’s dressed in what seems to be the suit he wore to Rob’s dinner party, minus the waistcoat, the jacket draped behind him on the dining chair. He’s paired it with a sky-blue linen shirt, brown leather belt, and matching brown shoes. The open collar and rolled-up sleeves of the shirt make the smart look seem more effortless. It shows off strong, tanned forearms, the sun glinting brightly off his watch. His hair is still wet from the shower, and he’s trimmed his beard back quite substantially. It looks more like well-designed stubble now. He’s so bloody gorgeous it makes me wonder if there’ll ever be a time when he doesn’t render me speechless. Will there ever be a time when I look at him and don’t feel the flapping of a hundred thousand butterflies in my tummy? I doubt it.
“You look very fucking hot yourself,” I tell him.
He tuts, presumably at my cursing, and stands up. “Still way out of your league though. I’m going to call one of the club drivers—we’ll wait forever for a taxi at this time.”