Page 73 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 14

Jennifer

Ispent Saturday afternoon with Libby at Chaz’s downtown studio—a large, high-ceiling, exposed beam loft located in the heart of the Fashion District. Chaz had invited us to pick out dresses from his All That Chaz line for the exclusive art gallery gala he’d invited us to later in the evening. It was an opening for a painter who went by one name that rhymed with his—PAZ. He’d scored the invitation through the co-owner of the gallery, who was one of his major clients. After much leg-pulling, I’d convinced Bradley to come along. He hated these kinds of things, so I promised him we wouldn’t have to stay long. His idea of an exciting night out was a boring night in—ordering takeout from his favorite vegan restaurant, watching reruns of nineties shows on Netflix, and going to sleep early with a quick fuck thrown in. We were barely engaged but acted more like an old married couple.

Sunlight beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. As I ploughed through the racks of dresses, each one more dazzling than the one before, my mind was distracted. I couldn’t stop thinking about my boss. I could barely eat my breakfast this morning. I was too roused up from his sensual massage that affected him as much as me, and when he told me my lips were kissable, I almost jumped out of my skin. The drive home was painful. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. The whole way, I had to keep my legs crossed to quell the throbbing between them, and my eyes anywhere else but on him. Oh, that heart-stopping, gorgeous face with that cocky dimpled smile and those piercing ocean-blue eyes that burnt holes through me. If it wasn’t for the seat belt, I might have jumped him and gotten us into a major accident.

Visions of him naked danced in my head. Those long muscled legs and chiseled arms. His broad shoulders. I hadn’t actually seen his chest or ass, but in my mind’s eye, they were sculpted male perfection just like the rest of him. And then there was his cock. That magnificent tower of sexual power. Fuck. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. My pulse was in overdrive, and the lingering ache between my legs wouldn’t go away.

When he’d texted me earlier to thank me for the referral to Bradley, my whole body lit up. Not just my eyes. I’d longed to hear his voice, that sultry, manly voice. How badly I’d wanted to call him back. I’d fought back the urge by convincing myself he might still be in a pain and not be able to talk. Despite his cockiness, I’d found myself caring about him as much as I wanted him in forbidden places. There was something seriously wrong with me. Here I was engaged to be married to the man I’d been with for over five years, and I was melting over another I’d known for less than a week. A deep pang of guilt knotted my stomach and sent a shiver down my back. Was fantasizing a form of cheating? I couldn’t focus on picking out a dress.

“Darling, let me help you find something,” offered Chaz, coming to my rescue. “You seem distracted.”

That was a fact.

I continued to listlessly scour through the dozens of dresses. “They’re all so short, Chaz.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “That’s the point, Jenny-Poo. They’re fuck-me dresses. You know, you seriously need to change your look. Sometimes you dress like someone’s mother.”

I cringed. He was right. I was not very adventurous when it came to fashion. And I definitely didn’t dress with sex appeal in mind. I lifted a sparkly pink number off the rack. My size—four. “What about this one?”

“One of my faves, but not right for tonight. An art gallery opening requires an LBD.”

I arched my brows. “An LBD?”

He shook his head with amused disbelief. “A little black dress, honey.”

I watched as he shuffled through the dresses until he landed on one to his liking; he yanked it off the rack. A smile lit his face. “Perfection. This one is calling your name.”

He held it up in front of me. It was itsy bitsy and strapless. Folding it over his arm, he pivoted on his heel and told me he’d be right back. In a flash, he returned with a pair of sparkly black stilettos with spiky six-inch heels that looked like they could stab someone. “They’re your size. Try these on with the dress.”

“Where’s the try-on room?”

Chaz grinned sheepishly. “Darling, this is not a department store; it’s a friggin’ studio. The try-on room is right here. Off with your clothes.” A sweeping hand gesture accompanied his command.

Hesitantly, I stripped off my sneakers, jeans, and crew neck sweater. Clad in just my cotton bra and panties, I was practically naked. A wave of embarrassment swept over me, but then I reminded myself Chaz was gay and more like a brother. And he probably saw a lot more flesh with his daily slew of fitting models.

I slipped on the dress and the shoes.

“Oh my God. That’s so amazeballs on you!” It was Libby, with a handful of little black dresses strewn over her arm.

“Really?”

“Girlfriend, take a look at the new you.”

Libby led me to a nearby full-length mirror. Unsteady in the killer heels, I held on to her shoulder. Chaz pranced behind us, belting out “I’m Too Sexy.”

Removing my glasses, I gawked when I saw my reflection. Wow! The LBD accentuated every little curve in my body and made my long legs look impossibly longer with the six-inch heels on my feet. I did look unbelievably sexy.

“Bradley better have you on a tight leash tonight,” teased Libby.

“Nah, sis. This girl needs to get unleashed.”

Chaz’s words whirled around in my head as I stared at myself in the mirror. But it wasn’t my reflection that filled my head. It was the image of Blake Burns.

The art gallery was located not far from our house on chic Melrose Avenue. While we could have easily walked there, I was glad Chaz was picking us up in his Jeep. The thought of walking in my six-inch heels scared me. Given how accident-prone I was, the possibility of tripping and breaking my ankle was a reality.

While the event began at six o’clock, we showed up at seven—fashionably late as Chaz put it. We were not the only ones. We stood in a long line of expensive cars—Mercedes, BMWs, and Ranger Rovers, not to mention a few Bentleys, Rollses, and limos—waiting our turn for a valet to take our vehicle. Paparazzi were lined up outside the gallery.

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