It shouldn’t at all.
Except it always fucking did. Her boldness was my Achilles’ heel when I first met her, and it’s doing a number on me now too.
6
Lola
The pink-haired woman with the pierced lip raises one finger. “I’ll be right with you, sweetie. Let me just finish with Sabrina.” She scurries to the corner of the shop, joining a customer who’s surveying brass buttons.
“Thanks,” I say, a little strained because I want to get this show on the road.
But I have to wait till she’s free.
Maybe this will be a chance to scope out the competition for the award. Dig into his approach for his presentation. Except how the hell do I butter him up to tell me a damn thing?
By chatting more.
A simple conversation.
Yes, that’d be the best way.
As the two women talk, I wander past the pink pastel shelves, checking out jars of buttons. “So, here we are,” I say, with an impatient sigh. “Exactly where I thought I’d be spending my Friday night.”
“Where did you think you’d spend it? Did you have a hot date you had to cancel?” Lucas ends the question with a saucy little sound, like he’s toying with me.
Time for me to toy with him.
I tap my chin, staring at the ceiling. “Not tonight. Pretty sure the hot date was slated for tomorrow. I wonder what I should wear . . .”
He scoffs. “Is he taking you to the mall? Or a fast-food restaurant?”
I shoot him a withering look. “No. A club. Dancing. I think I’ll wear something sexy. Maybe that shows a little midriff,” I say, teasing him too, because I know his weakness. His eyes always went a bit glossy when I wore short shirts. I don’t even think he was aware of his addiction.
Or . . . that he still has it. Because he licks his lips when I describe the possible outfit. Oh my. Lucas still loves a hint of skin. “How does that sound?” I ask innocently.
His expression is stone-hard. “Don’t wear that.”
I crease my brow. “No? Are you sure? It sounds like good clubbing attire.”
“A sweater is better.” His voice is rough now, like he’s having trouble getting the words out.
I tap my chin, like I’m deep in thought. “A sweater? That doesn’t sound like I can shimmy my hips easily in it.” I give a little sway for demonstration. He’s like a dog watching a piece of steak. “I think something nice and snug would do the trick on a white . . . hot . . . date.”
His jaw ticks. His lips are a ruler. “I hear overalls are hip.” It sounds like he drank battery acid.
Oh, I could put him out of his silly jealousy-fueled misery, but I don’t want to. And playing the flirt is much more fun than the thought of playing Double-O-Seven.
I smile widely. “Good idea. Overalls can be hot. Maybe I could get some overall shorts and just wear a teeny-tiny sports bra underneath.” I turn my attention to a jar of rhinestone-encrusted buttons, grinning privately.
He steps closer, then clears his throat. “So, you do?”
“Do what?”
“Do you have a hot date tomorrow night?”
I peer at him out of the corner of my eye as I dip a hand into the jar, fingering some buttons. “I don’t know. I’d have to check my calendar.”
“Guess we better finish by tomorrow night, then,” he says, like the words are strangling him. “Don’t want you to miss a possible date.”
Or maybe he’s strangling the words, because it sounds like he wants to throttle the idea of me having a date. I spin around, meeting his gaze.
Holy shit.
His eyes blaze at me, dark and shimmering with envy. It’s unexpectedly arousing. Tingles spread down my arms as gooseflesh rises over my skin. Lucas Xavier is jealous, and it turns me on.
Just like it did years ago.
“Exactly. I wouldn’t want to either.” I toy with him as I run my fingers over the buttons, like they’re on a man’s shirt.
His eyes pin mine. He’s like a gunslinger in the Old West, refusing to back down. “I’m sure Mr. Fabulous will take you to a perfectly average club, engage in by-the-book dancing, mix in some standard getting-to-know-you conversation, then walk you home like a perfect gentleman and ask if he can call you the next day. That sounds terrific, doesn’t it?”
Sounds like the battery acid is now mixed with arsenic.
I tap my chin, considering such a date, toying with him more. “That doesn’t sound too bad. But what if I don’t want him to be a perfect gentleman?”
Flames lick over his eyes. Plumes of jealousy rage around him. But he doesn’t say anything. He reaches into the jar, fishes around for a button, and brushes his fingers across mine.
I gasp.
A blatantly obvious gasp.
Dammit. I gave myself away.
He grins, the satisfied smirk of a man who knows what he’s doing. Right now, he’s doing me. Stroking one long finger across the top of my hand. “Then make sure to tell him you’d rather he toss you over his shoulder, carry you up the steps, and show you all the ways he can be ungentlemanly.”
My knees go weak. My breath hitches. And my hand defies me, staying there, asking for more of his touch. More of these taunting little strokes, like he’s proving I don’t have a date just by touching me.
His talented fingers feel so damn good on mine.
But I have to get a handle on this latent lust. I can’t let it control me.
Squaring my shoulders, I remove my hand from the jar. “I’ll be sure to give him that message,” I say in my best cool voice.
I swivel around, suddenly fascinated with a jar of pink buttons.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure he can figure that out on his own,” he whispers.
Yes, I suspect Lucas has figured that out too. And his jealousy turns me on too much for my own good, so I choose another tactic.
Honesty.
“I don’t have a date,” I say, going for directness. “Not tonight, not tomorrow, not for the foreseeable future.”
His expression shifts instantly. Gone is the caveman. In its place is a thinking man, asking questions. “You’re not seeing anyone?”
I shake my head. “No. Work keeps me busy.”
He swallows roughly, nods, then says, “Same here.”
It sounds like it costs him something to admit that, and that’s why I let my guard down a little more. “I was supposed to have coffee with a client this evening. To go over some of the designs I’m working on for him. But I pushed it to the morning to deal with this.”
He wiggles his brows. “Ah, so I did ruin your Friday night plans. Or wait, maybe this makes me your one night stand-in?”
I laugh. “Yes. That’s exactly what you are. My one night stand-in for work. Since that’s what I’m usually doing at night. I started my own design firm a few months ago. I went to a contract role at Bailey & Brooks. I’m working insane hours, but I love it,” I say, and right now I love this honest moment with him. It reminds me of how we used to talk to each other. When we were friends. When we shared our hopes and dreams.
And those dreams didn’t involve spying on the competition, so I let that notion go. As much as I want to win the award, I’m not a secret agent. I’m just a woman who loves her sister like crazy. That’s why I’m with Lucas tonight—for Luna.