Page 41 of Love Me Knot

Bash grins. “Well, you’re practicing shopping with your husband, right?”

“Oh shit,” I whisper.

Trying on dresses by myself is brutal. Having an extra set of eyes_male eyes_critiquing my body will be downright torture. Time’s wasting, and you’ve got a job to do, Marine. I jump out of the SUV to keep from saying so, and Jackson quickly follows me toward the store.

The gentlemanly SEAL rushes to catch up, placing his hand on my back while reaching for the door handle. He coos in my ear when I stiffen up. “Easy now. This is what I was talking about. I’ll be expected to behave this way tonight. If you cringe like that, you’ll blow our cover. I won’t touch you outside what’s socially acceptable. I promise.”

I suck in a shallow breath and force my body to relax. My mouth opens to make some sarcastic reply, but my brain blanks completely. I take one step and then another, driving my legs forward until met by a gaggle of attendants.

A tall, dark-skinned woman with sharp cheekbones and the bearing of royalty steps up to greet us. “You must be Chelsea and Jackson. My name is Amina. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get some measurements and get you into a robe so we can get started.”

Ten minutes later, I tug on the robe, making sure it’s closed up top and loose around my hips. The light color doesn’t hide the parts I would prefer, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I clench my jaw and step from the changing room to find Jackson and the beautiful attendant waiting. Next to her, I feel like an absolute dumpster fire. I can’t look at either of them right now.

Amina leads us around the store, talking of skin tones, lines, and ideas to best accentuate my athletic frame. She marks several dresses with a blue tag without me giving much input. Jackson surprises me by pointing one out, but I keep my thoughts to myself.

Amina tilts her head to study the dress, and Jackson says, “The color matches the lighter flecks in Chelsea’s eyes.”

Amina smiles at Jackson in approval and tags the dress. In no time, an ungodly number are tagged, and I march back to the changing rooms as happily as someone headed to the gallows.

Jackson settles on a plush chair facing a round dais while Amina guides me to a dressing cubicle. Amina and her team set out to collect the numerous dresses, and I change into the strapless bra and thong laid out for me.

With the lingerie in place, I accept the first experiment, a navy corset dress with a flowing A-line skirt. The top is sheer with strategically placed appliques and ribbon at the boning. Pretty, but not my style.

Amina zips me up, and I walk out to look at myself in the full-length mirrors. Jackson had been joking with the other attendants but went eerily silent when I emerged.

My steps falter at the longing in his eyes, but Amina ushers me forward, gesturing to the dais. Jackson stands, his expression unguarded as he walks a circle around me. I fidget under his intense scrutiny, wishing to be anywhere else.

When Jackson makes another lap around the platform, I brace myself to hear what’s wrong with the dress or how it looks on me, but instead, I hear, “That… You…” Jackson clears his throat and tries again. “Wow.”

My cheeks redden, and I look away to see Amina studying my reflection. “It does look good, but I think we can do better.”

I try on dress after dress, with Jackson growing increasingly entranced with each one. I expected the exact opposite. He’s not just a spectator, either. Jackson offers input on each selection. Some dresses he likes better than others and says so, but not once has he made a negative comment about my body or the way a dress looks on me.

When I get to the one Jackson picked out, I find myself hoping it fits and feels as good, if not better, than the others. The dress is light blue, asymmetric, and has a gemstone flower on the shoulder. It cinches in the waist and flares at the hip, the heavier fabric flaring softly at my feet.

Amina zips me up and exits the small room. I turn toward the narrow mirror and swish my hips. The thick fabric isn’t as heavy as expected, and I love the color. I feel damn good in the dress.

For that reason alone, I don’t want to walk out that door. What if the look isn’t what Jackson imagined? What if I don’t wear it well?

When I’ve kept the audience waiting too long, Amina interrupts my paranoid musing. “Chelsea, is everything alright?”

“It’s fine. I’m coming out.”

I open the door to hear Amina say, “Oh yes. That is the one.”

“It’s perfect,” Jackson declares. “We’ll take that one and the red one.”

The man presumes to choose for me? My glare darts to his, finding his eyes trained on my face. Jackson’s grin grows in response to my annoyance. He knows what I’m thinking and shrugs. “Those were the only two you wore a smile with.”

I will my face not to react, even though my heart is on the verge of melting. “Yes,” I croak. “I think these will work fine.”

The gowns are packaged while I put my uniform back on over the new lingerie. The bra and panties I wore earlier go into a separate bag, and we’re soon on our way. “That was faster than I expected,” Bash says when we return to the car.

Birdie looks back and asks, “Find something you like?”

Though I don’t know why, I fear admitting Jackson picked out my dresses. I give Birdie the safest answer by simply nodding. I also use both hands to hold onto the bag containing my underwear so Jackson won’t reach for me.

Bash starts the engine, and Jackson takes the bag from my hand. He slides closer, picks up my hand, and places it on his thigh. I keep still to avoid feeling the firm muscles beneath my fingertips.

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