Page 28 of Against the Clock

“I want to see you in it,” I say gruffly.

Her chocolate eyes go wide, and the pink pout of her mouth curves up in a smile. “Going to be hard for me to wear it if you don’t hand it over.”

“Just making sure the terms and conditions of my clothing loan were clear.” I hold the wad of soft material out to her.

“Crystal,” she says. She wraps the sheet around her waist, covering up her small, perfect breasts.

My hands flex at my sides, my mouth gone dry at the reminder of her body beneath mine, at the delicate curves in all the right places.

She puts the shirt over her head, tugging her hair out the neck, and at first, I think maybe she’s unaware of the effect she has on me.

Until she looks up at me from beneath her makeup-smudged lashes, heat in her gaze.

I swallow a groan, then smile at her, wide as I can.

“The shirt looks good on you,” I rasp.

“The height of couture fashion,” she says.

To me, it is. So was the sheet. I want to kiss her so bad I can hardly stand it.

I don’t want to scare her away. I don’t want to fuck this up any more than I already have.

She shimmies into the pants, the sheet puddling around her bare feet, and I’m transfixed. Fuck. I rake a hand through my hair, sure I’ve messed up the careful styling I did so I’d be up to travel dress standards, but I don’t care.

Better I mess my hair up than mess this up with Kelsey Cole.

“It’s going to look great with my work heels.”

“I have house shoes you can borrow,” I say. “Moccasins. Whatever they’re called.” I would give her the shoes off my feet.

She huffs a laugh, her eyebrows raising up. God, she’s pretty.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk in your shoes.”

“It’s too late,” I say, shaking my head. “You need the complete look. The heels won’t work, nope.”

Another chuckle trickles out of her, her smile making my heart leap. I tug the shoes off the shelf, then kneel next to her, a fuzzy house shoe in hand.

It’s way too big for her, hilariously so, and we’re both laughing as she slips her little foot into it. She presses one hand on my shoulder for balance as I slide the other one on.

I glance up at her from my position on the floor, kneeling at her feet.

“My Cinderella in sweatpants,” I murmur.

“That would make you my prince.” She holds up her foot though, and the shoe slides off. “I think you’re looking for someone with bigger feet. Much bigger feet. Much, much bigger.”

I stand slowly, and her gaze follows me up.

“Well, you know what they say about big feet.” I arch one eyebrow.

She snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve seen the evidence for myself.”

“Excuse you.” I arrange my face into faux shock. “I was going to say that I needed big shoes.” I wink at her, unable to stop the corny gesture.

To my relief though, she laughs again.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, her expression sobering. “The Uber is here.”

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