The sapphire-blue three-quarter-length-sleeve top was deceptively simple. With a scoop neckline outlined by a double line of black stitching and mock tuxedo tucking in the front, it was tailored in along her torso to emphasize her curves. The semi-transparent silk was worn over a bra in the same color. Not overtly slutty with the pleats in front, it still did a lovely job of highlighting Chanel’s femininity.
The black silk trousers appeared conservative enough. Until she sat down, bent over or walked. Then the slit from midthigh to ankle hidden by the tuxedo stripe when she was standing gave intriguing glimpses of naked skin.
She’d never worn anything so revealing, but Laura insisted the peek-a-boo slit was interesting and not cheap. At the prices Chanel had paid for each piece of the outfit, she supposed cheap would not be a term that would ever apply to the clothing.
It had looked sophisticated in the boutique’s full-length mirror, a little more scandalous in her own.
Laura had insisted on styling Chanel’s ensemble as well, adding a demure rope of pearls knotted right below her breasts in an interesting juxtaposition that drew attention to the curves as effectively as the blue silk.
Her heels were strappy black sandals with what Laura called a do-me-baby heel. Chanel hadn’t bothered to admonish her sister about the description.
She’d decided years ago that Laura was light-years ahead of Chanel in the girl-boy department. She didn’t know if her baby sister was still a virgin like Chanel had been when she met Demyan, and honestly she had absolutely no desire to know.
The limousine slid to a halt and Chanel took a calming breath that did exactly no good.
She resisted the urge to pull at the carefully styled curls her sister had worked so hard to effect and waited for the driver to open the door.
It wasn’t the chauffeur’s hand reaching in to help her out of the limousine, though.
It was Demyan’s, and his dark eyes glittered with lust as he took in her exposed thigh before meeting her gaze. “Hello, sérdenko. I am very happy to see you.”
She made no effort to stifle the smile that took over her features as she surged forward to exit the limo. If he hadn’t been there with a steadying hand and then his arm around her waist, she would have fallen flat on her face.
But he was there and part of her heart was beginning to believe maybe he always would be.
He tucked her into his body protectively before leaning down to kiss her hello, right there in front of the crowd making their way into the theater.
She responded with more enthusiasm than probably was warranted, but he didn’t seem to mind.
The kiss ended and he smiled down at her. “You look beautiful tonight. Very sexy.”
“Laura played stylist.”
“Your younger sister?”
“Yes. She’s got even more acute fashion sense than Mom.”
“Tell her I approve.”
“She said you would.”
His gaze skimmed her body. “Though I am not sure how I feel about everyone else seeing your body.”
“They’re just legs.”
“Nice ones.”
“It’s the tae kwon do.” Chanel’s mother had heard somewhere that taking martial arts could improve Chanel’s grace.
It hadn’t done much for her poise and composure, but Chanel had discovered she enjoyed the classes. She’d insisted on continuing when her mother would have preferred she take a dance class.
Just one of many arguments between her and Beatrice during Chanel’s formative years marked with parent-child acrimony.
“Then I am very grateful for your interest in Korean martial arts.”
“You’ve never asked what color belt I am,” she observed as he led her into the theater.
His thumb brushed up and down against her waist as if he couldn’t help touching her. “What color?”
“Third-level black belt.”
“Sixth-level black in judo,” he said by way of reply.
“Want to spar?” she teased breathlessly.
The silk of her shirt transmitted the heat from his skin to hers and she wondered if she was the one who was going to end up teased to distraction by her outfit tonight.
“I spar with my cousin. I prefer less competitive physical pursuits with you.”
She looked up into the side of his face, loving the line of his jaw, the way he held himself with such confidence. “Me, too.”
He groaned.
“What?”
He stopped in the lobby and pulled her around so their gazes locked.
His was heated. “How can you ask what? You are dressed in a way guaranteed to keep my thoughts off the play and on what I plan to do to you once we get back to my condo.”
CHAPTER SIX
HE SHOOK HIS HEAD as if trying to clear it. “What do you think has me groaning? It has been three nights.”