“This is my decision. I’m not asking you to agree. I gotta go.” I hang up and pocket my phone, walking back into the store.
I sit in one of the chairs by the mirror. Nikki catches me in the reflection, and now that I see the front of the dress, I want to hand my credit card to the saleswoman and tell her she’ll wear it out of the store, but it’s Nikki’s decision, not mine.
“Do you like it?” Nikki asks while looking at me through the mirror.
“I could show you how much I like it, but we’d be arrested for public indecency.”
The saleswoman giggles, and Nikki shakes her head at my attempt at humor. This time I’m not rewarded with that smile of hers.
Okay, she doesn’t care for crude jokes, got it.
“I’ll take it then.” Nikki steps down and heads back to the dressing room.
“Here’s my card. She needs shoes and a shawl to cover up when we’re around others.”
“What?” Nikki says, stomping back over to me. She plucks the credit card out of the saleswoman’s hands and holds it back out to me. “I do not need a shawl, and I’ll be paying for it myself.”
“I told you it was my treat.” I take the card from between her fingers and hand it back to the saleswoman.
Nikki grabs it again. “I don’t want to owe you anything.”
“Fine. I’ll buy her the shawl.”
She stomps her foot. God, I love her feistiness. Makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to bed. If only we were there already. “No.”
“Yes.” I look at the saleswoman. “If you could give us a moment.” She walks away, and I set my gaze on Nikki. “Please let me do this. I want to do this.”
She cocks her hip and stares at me. “I’ll let you buy the dress, but no shawl. First of all, I’m not eighty.”
“And second of all?”
She steps closer to me, and the scent of her perfume wafts up to my nostrils, making my dick strain in my pants. “I’m not someone who cheats. Other guys can look, but I’m all yours.”
She turns around and heads to the dressing room, leaving me speechless. I want to follow her, lock the door, and press her against the wall.
Fuck, I’m in deeper than I thought.
Chapter Nine
“I don’t want tonight ruined with me signing autographs.”
Nikki
We’re back in Logan’s suite at the hotel so that no one will know we’re spending the night in two different bedrooms. I put on the earrings that I had to practically put his hands in handcuffs so he wouldn’t buy them and look at myself in the mirror. It feels as though it’s been ages since I dressed up this nice.
When I walk out to the shared living space, Logan stands with a drink in his hand by the window. He turns toward me, and I smile at the man I hardly know but am married to.
“So?” I twirl around.
“Just like at the store, I’m speechless.” He sets down his drink and walks over to me. His black suit forms to his body as if it was made specifically for him, and I’m sure it probably was. “Allow me.” He must remember from the store that I can’t zip up the dress on my own.
I turn around, and his fingers graze my spine until they reach the zipper. The dress pulls snugger as he zips it up to where it stops mid-back.
“There you go.” The hoarseness in his voice says he felt what I did, and a shiver runs up my spine.
“Thank you.” I turn around to face him, and his gaze soaks me in once more, stirring my desire. “We should go.”
“Yeah. Definitely.” He grabs his wallet and phone from a tray by the couch and pockets them before meeting me by the door.
We walk down the hall to the elevator, and it comes in no time at all, as though those who have suites are serviced before the other thousands of guests.
After we step in, the space is quiet and awkward, so I decide to fill the silence. “Are you always in the same suite?”
He glances over from staring at the numbers as we descend. “No, but since my fight is here, the suite comes with the contract.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“It is, because I usually train in Vegas when I’m this close to a fight.”
The doors open, but we’re underground. Another black SUV is waiting for us.
“You pulled out all the stops, huh?” I say.
“I don’t want tonight ruined with me signing autographs and people asking me how I managed to beat Hector Garcia the other night. Everyone has their fans, and surprisingly, I’m not always theirs.” He opens the door, waving off the driver, and I laugh while sliding in.
He follows. The back seat feels claustrophobic with us so close and dressed so nice, like this is a real date. To the outside world, it has to look like that, but now I’m struggling not to let it feel like it is.
This dress was way too expensive, and I should’ve never agreed to let him buy it.
“So how did you beat Hector Garcia?” I ask, not really knowing anything about what he does.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye in a suspicious manner. “I thought you didn’t like fighting?”
“I don’t.”
He turns his big body my way. “Why?”
“I don’t like blood.” That’s the best I can do to describe why I hate it so much. When Jed was younger and got into a fight, it made my stomach turn, but I can’t put a specific reason on why.
“Fair enough.” He straightens in his seat. “But if you want to know, I do a lot of research before a fight. I examine my opponent’s strengths, his weaknesses, and watch films of his previous fights. My trainers help me a lot. In all honesty, when I’m in the ring, it’s the adrenaline that helps me the most.”
“Do you ever think about getting hurt?”
He chuckles. “At first, I did, but belief in myself pushes that fear away. Belief that I’m the better fighter and I’ll come out the victor. If you worry about whether it’s going to hurt, you pull your own punches, and that’s not a path to victory.”
I can’t deny that this confident side of him who knows he’s the best at what he does is attractive as hell. “Glad it’s worked out well for you so far.”
He nods but doesn’t look over. “The next fight is the true test. Brett Rinaldo. He’s younger than me and on the rise. People are saying he might be my demise.”
Vulnerability laces his tone. I have no idea how he trusts me so much with only knowing me such a short time.
“I’m sure you’ll win.”
“I know I’ll win.” He winks, and that vulnerable side of him disappears, replaced with his arrogant one.
I’m reminded that I don’t know this man. Not the true Logan Stone, at least. I’m doing him a favor, and in return, he’s thanking me by taking me out on the town. This is a business arrangement and nothing more—even if we are legally married.
Thankfully, I don’t have to make any more small talk because the SUV pulls up along the curb in front of a restaurant. The valet opens our door and Logan steps out first, holding out his hand for me to take. I step out, and we make our way inside but have to hop on an elevator first.