Page 30 of All That Glitters

Mentally, I’m preparing for a hit.

I turn toward the floor length mirror and hold the dress against my skin.

There’s a woman looking back at me.

A woman in her own right, not one who stands on the brink, right there in her mother’s shadow, waiting for the moment to shine on her own. Thinking of Mom again has my expression shuttering as I watch. If we’ve only got fifteen minutes to go before we leave, and then I need to hurry and make sure I’m prepared.

Except I start to slip into the dress, and the straps catch on my leg. My arms. They tangle near my elbow. The fabric snares on the strapless bra and strains when I pull too hard.

“Shit, shit—” I topple over and hit the side of the bed, tangling my fingers in the sheets for balance.

And I sent my help away.

I definitely do not have this. If I struggle any more, then I’m going to tear the dress, and I’m not sure which will be worse to deal with: a pissed off Marcus now, or a furious one if I ruin the gown before we leave the house.

“Marcus!” I call out, too frustrated to even start to feel ashamed. “I need help getting into the dress. Please.”

The door opens seconds later, and he stops, staring at me where I’m half in the dress and half out. I catch a brief glance of him in his suit jacket, the black emphasized by his pure white button up shirt underneath. No tie, no belt, only the white gold watch at his wrist.

“I’m stuck.” It’s self-explanatory, but it takes him a second to compose himself—less than a second, and when he blinks, the tense moment passes.

“Get the fabric up to your waist, and I’ll help you with the rest. You’re making a mess of things,” he growls, stalking forward and holding several of the straps away from my body until I get the dress in place.

“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to untangle myself.

“Well, here’s the problem. You’ve got one of the pearls stuck on the bra hook. How in the world—” He breaks off, but his fingers are gentle as he pries the fabric loose and hooks the bra correctly.

He turns back, and I’m holding the front. “Help me lace the back.”

My breath catches in my throat at the first brush of his fingers on bare skin, the softest skim before he takes the straps in hand and begins to lace them up. Slowly. Reverently. The longer he touches me, the more heat fills my body until I’m grateful for the barely-there fabric. Otherwise, I’d burn right up.

He pauses at my shoulder, and my pulse speeds until it’s thunder in my ears. It’s back to the two of us, alone in this house, the door closed, no one to interrupt and no one to tell me this is a bad idea. I’m half dressed, and Marcus looks like a king.

A dark king, the kind more than capable of having their wicked way with anyone they please. Even a girl like me.

When the dress is finally in place, I release my hold on the front bust and turn to face him.

“What do you think?” I ask.

Marcus dips his eyes along my body and takes me in. I’ve never felt this sexy, this bold.

“You look stunning, Empire,” Marcus murmurs.

“Thank you for picking out such a nice dress. How did you know it would fit me?”

“I always know.”

He holds contact with my eyes long enough for a shudder to run through me, completely outside of my control. Something tenses in my stomach, coiling tighter and tighter at the expression on his face, and I forget. I forget about everything and everyone outside of this room and my racing heartbeat. There’s only the two of us, and in a flash, I remember how it felt to be on his lap.

The same kind of heat. But I’m not the part he wants me to play for the film.

I’m only me.

And right now…

Going against logic, I close the space between us and lift up on the tips of my toes, brushing my lips against his. It’s barely a kiss, barely anything, and yet I feel the sharpness of his next inhalation, and I pull back, terrified of how he’ll react.

This is Marcus.

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