Page 80 of Legally Yours
“Okay, I have to stop,” Brandon said. “Otherwise I’ll embarrass the hell out of David. He already has to wear headphones.” He shook his head. “Is it possible that you became even more alluring while I was gone?”
He dove in for another quick peck, then slid back to his seat, but kept one hand on my knee.
“Say something,” Brandon said. “Preferably something unsexy, if that’s even possible for you. Shit, do I have lipstick on my face?”
I giggled as he dug out a handkerchief and started to blot his mouth furiously. I opened my clutch, a vintage beaded piece I’d found that morning, and pulled out my hand mirror and lipstick to reline my lips with the dark-red color Jane had also chosen for me. When I finished, I looked up to find Brandon staring again, desire etched so fiercely into his handsome features that a small line had appeared between his brows.
I raised mine, amused. “You all right over there?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Brandon said. He shook his head and muttered something about “the goddamn tickets.” Then he pushed out another slow, labored breath as he rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s going to be a long night, Red. A long damn night.”
* * *
The car stoppedoutside a building similar to many of the ones on the Harvard campus, with their brick exteriors and white ionic columns. I recognized it instantly.
“You got us symphony tickets?!” I pressed my hands against the window, eager as a schoolchild.
I had regularly scrounged student tickets to the New York Philharmonic until I graduated from NYU, but I had only seen the Boston Symphony play a few times in the nearly three years I had been here. I didn’t even care what they were playing; this was a treat.
“I thought you might like it. I know nothing about classical music, Red, but Margie said this was supposed to be a good performance. I’m trusting you to educate me.”
After David opened the door to let him out, Brandon came around to open mine. I stepped out and immediately threw my hands around his neck.
“I love it,” I whispered into his ear. “Thank you so much.”
Brandon wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me off my feet so he could nuzzle my neck again. His five-o’clock shadow scraped deliciously against the sensitive skin.
“Glad you like it, gorgeous.” His low voice vibrated with pleasure. “I’d kiss you, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stop this time, and we’d miss the whole thing.” He set me gently down and offered the crook of his arm. “So, shall we?”
We followed the scattered groups funneling through the brass doors. I accepted a program from one of the ticket agents and gaped at the cover.
“Oh my God, we’re seeing Caleb Chung?” I yelped, tugging on Brandon’s coat sleeve. “Do youknowwho that is?”
Brandon grinned. I was going to have to send a note of thanks to his assistant. As we made our way to the coat check, I continued to babble about the performance.
“He’s probably the best pianist in the world right now,” I said as Brandon helped me out of my coat. “Total prodigy—apparently he started playing at two or something crazy like that. Seriously, people call him the next Glenn Gould. Damn, and he’s playing Beethoven’s Concerto Number Four? Do you have any idea how amazing this is going to be? Brandon?”
After a few more seconds without a response, I turned around to find Brandon standing in front of the coat-check box, still clutching both our coats while he gaped. His mouth actually hung slightly ajar.
I blushed. He didn’t blink.
“Everything all right there, Mr. Sterling?” I asked.
I took the coats and gave them to the attendant, who handed me a chip with a knowing smirk.
“Christ, Red,” Brandon said. “You weren’t kidding about the dress.”
There was such an intense mix of awe and naked lust on Brandon’s face that I immediately blushed again. I looked down, surveying the outfit that Jane and I had found.
I couldn’t have told you at the time why I had been so intent on finding something special. I wasn’t a huge shopper, although I did like fashion. While living in Paris, I had come to appreciate the power of the classic lines and simple patterns that epitomized French style. It made for a consistent style that I could count on, but the simple black and neutral separates that made up the majority of my wardrobe didn’t exactly scream “special occasion.”
This dress, however, definitely did. It was dark-red crushed velvet—a nineteen-thirties-inspired, bias-cut frock hemmed just below my knees. The modest neckline draped Grecian style over my collarbone and then disappeared into thin straps that dropped directly to my waist from the shoulder, making the dress completely backless. Because of the back (or lack thereof), I wore sheer black, thigh-high stockings (instead of tights) to match the charmeuse lining. My hair was pinned on one side and spiraled down my back in generous barrel curls. The deep-red lipstick Jane had chosen for me matched the dress—and my coloring—perfectly.
Maybe I didn’t know at the time why I needed such a special dress, but I knew now. The look on Brandon’s face told me everything.
“Brandon?” I smiled, shy even though this was exactly the reaction I’d hoped for.
Brandon blinked, finally able to move. He shook his head again.