Made to be His ( The Archer Family 1)

Chapter 4

"You look great." He swallowed hard. “I think we’ve found your outfit for the day.”

"Hold up. You didn't say I had to wear this today," she scoffed, looking herself over from her trashed shoes to her sexy dress. “I thought this was just supposed to help me find clients.”

"How will you look comfortable if you don’t have practice?" he asked.

"This was not part of the agreement." She crossed her arms over her chest and he nearly closed his eyes to avoid staring at the enhanced crease between her breasts. Instead he focused on her dirt-caked Reeboks.

She was fidgeting. Moving one foot from side to side in a familiar, steady beat.

He knew that move. It was the one she used to do in the library before finals, the one she did in the hallways just before an exam. She was nervous.

He looked beside him and noticed what it was she was avoiding—the paneled mirror in the center of the room. Behind her, he caught a glimpse of the dressing room. Her oversized jersey hung from the mirror and he could only catch a slice of it at the bottom.

"Are you not looking at yourself?" He squinted at her.

She sighed. "Looking is a relative term, I think—"

Women were baffling sometimes. How could a woman who looked like Andy ever worry about what the mirror would show her? If the way she looked before stepping into her shower was even a fraction of how she looked in that dress, he could hardly begin to understand why she didn't just join a nudist colony.

He stalked toward her and grasped her forearm before hauling her over to the paneled mirror.

"No, really," she protested, "I'm good. I'll take your word for it."

He halted her in front of the tri-fold and she closed her eyes.

"You are the biggest baby I've ever met," he said.

Her only response was to stick out her tongue.

"Open your eyes, Andy." When she didn't, he let out a deep sigh and added, "If you open your eyes, I'll buy you a drink. Just think. Free stuff."

"Dinner,” she countered. “And you have to say that hockey is better than baseball."

"Don't push it."

She smirked and her eyes fluttered open. For a minute, he wasn't sure if she was really looking at herself, but when she took a step forward, it was clear. Even with the disgusting sneakers still on her feet, she could tell she was a changed woman. She pushed her brown waves over her shoulder, then nodded gruffly, swallowing hard as if to hide her own amazement.

"It's all right, I guess." She patted his shoulder a little rougher than usual, then headed back to her stall. "Good job, pal."

He bit back the urge to laugh and grabbed her hand before she ducked into her hidey-hole again. "I think they'll let you wear it out," he said.

Her gaze flicked to where his fingers grasped her silky skin. And when her eyes met his again, he was all too aware of the rising color in her cheeks.

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was force of habit, or maybe it was because that sweet, red blush was so inviting, but he took another step toward her, making his presence impossible for her to deny. The air between them singed with electricity, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

At last, he broke the silence. "Now, come on. If I'm taking you out, we'd better find you some heels."

He pivoted toward the sales floor before the inevitable new onslaught of protests began.

* * *

"This had better be a really nice restaurant. I'm talking five stars, seven courses, and the whole shebang." She glanced skeptically at the stilts he'd insisted on buying before taking them from his outstretched hands.

"You won't be disappointed," he said.

"At least we're done now," she countered. "That's the most important part."