“God, you’re just...” She trails off, trembling in my arms, overcome with the same desire coursing through my veins. “...I don’t particularly like white. Fair warning.”
“You’re beautiful in any color. And you never finished that thought about me, Dakota Poe. What do you think I am?”
“Bossy. Way too flipping bossy for your own good. One day it’ll give you a bruising,” she whispers.
“As long as it’s you leaving marks,” I say with a shrug.
Then I take her hand and lead her to the upper cabin near my suite, where the two largest cabinets with the clothes are set up.
“Oh, no. Are we doing that thing where you tell me what to wear and I have to do it because girls and weddings and you’re my boss and blah, blah, blah?” She makes a funny face.
“We are. I want a private show with you modeling everything for me. Don’t bother going anywhere between dresses, I want to see you changing.” My tongue flicks across my lips like the fucking serpent I am.
She hesitates, and I smack her delectable ass lightly.
“Everything’s in there. My tuxes, too.” I point to one door and use my thumb to gesture behind me. “Let’s change separately for this first round and I’ll meet you in the room in fifteen minutes?”
“Sounds good.” Her shoulders are high and her spine straight as she marches into the cabin where I had the gowns laid out for her.
I’ll hold off on round one before I see her naked. If it happens too soon, there’s no way we’re getting through this little trial run.
Fuck.
I still hope this isn’t too much for her, like a buried mine detonating and heaving up bad memories.
I put on a black tux and barely manage to tuck my raging cock into my charcoal pants during the impatient fifteen-minute wait before crossing to the main suite.
When I do, I stalk across the corridor like a tiger and knock.
She answers the door immediately. My eyebrows dart up when I notice she’s still in her black sundress.
“Don’t tell me. You’re backing out?”
She scans up and down my body with her mouth slightly open.
“Classic look. I like it a lot! But what else do they have over there?”
“Navy blue and seersucker, I think, but first I want to know why my bride isn’t dressed?” I glare at her.
“Your decoy bride, you mean?” She smiles. “Honestly, I spent all fifteen minutes trying to pick a dress...”
I smile and shake my head.
“You’re not Cinderella getting dolled up for the ball. Try them all. That’s the whole point,” I tell her.
She gives a rigid shrug.
I wonder if it’s so simple. Her reluctance to choose a dress might be connected to her hatred for all things wedding related.
“You’re okay with this, right?” I grab her hand, pushing her thin fingers through mine. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. No money ever minted is worth your tears, Dakota.”
She gives me a slow look, something dark and melancholy spinning in her eyes.
“That’s really sweet but...you don’t need to treat me like a victim. I’m fine, Linc. Everyone has crap to deal with. Go try another tux on and I’ll be dressed in fifteen minutes.”
She gives me a firm look, a promise set on her face.
“All right, I’ll hold you to it.” I lean over and kiss her before I exit.
This time, I choose a cream tux I didn’t notice before.
Fifteen minutes later on the dot, I knock on the door again.
When she doesn’t answer, I nudge it open since it’s unlocked.
My jaw instantly hits the fucking floor.
Dakota stands in front of a full-length mirror in a long white dress. Pale silk flows around her like a foaming waterfall. She’d be beauty incarnate, Aphrodite come down to smack every man ever born with her glory—especially this damn man—except for the fact that her jaw is clenched so tight her temples bulge.
Her reflection in the tall mirror beams back glossy eyes.
My heart crash lands in my gut. I have to do something.
“I thought you hated white? You look like you could be the swan in some Russian ballet. Nice change from the raven schtick, Poe,” I say, playing up the sarcasm.
She whips around at the sound of my voice, turns to face me, and smiles. It doesn’t touch her eyes.
Damn.
“That’s a really nice color for you,” she says softly, her eyes trailing down my body. “Your chest is accented.” She scans further. “Oh, and your legs. They look powerful in those slacks.” She meets my eyes. “That’s the one for sure. Anything less would do the photos a disservice.”
“Glad we settled that.” I brush my hands together like our work is done and close the space between us, wrap my arms around her, and twirl her to face the mirror again. “Do you know how fucking hot you look right now?”