Page 38 of The Unplanned Wedding

He looks fierce, like he’s fighting a battle or about to start a war. The tendons on his throat pop, and the veins on his forearms stand out in relief. And his biceps… Good god, they’re as big as my thighs, and I’m not a skinny person. I love my curves; I love dressing to show them off. Something I’m unable to do with all the office wear he sent me. The blouses are formless enough to mask my curves and are, without fail, high-necked.

"Considering your shopper got my size right for the dress to the event, and my footwear fits perfectly, I don’t understand how they messed up with my office wear," I venture.

He lowers the weights into their cradle, then slowly sits up. “A shopper didn’t choose them; I did.”

“Oh!” A fierce burst of pleasure squeezes my belly.Hechose my clothes. I'm wearing the blouse and the skirt thathedecided I should wear. My heart seems to descend to the space between my legs. A thick syrupy pleasure invades my veins.

After days when he's barely noticed me, and I was sure I imagined that scene at the royal reception when I almost came on his foot, to have the full focus of his attention is so heady. Too heady. Too much. Shivers grip me. Goosebumps crowd my skin. I’m sure I’m going to self-combust any moment. I need to find a way to keep his attention on me. I manage to bring my emotions under control enough to whine, “But my blouses andmy jackets are so loose, they should, technically, be two sizes too big, except the sleeves fit." I glance down at where the edge of my jacket sleeve brushes my wrist. So that’s a perfect fit. But the garment droops around my chest. "It’s so strange." I push up the spectacles on my nose. “Maybe I should get them tailored, so they fit better?”

“You will do no such thing.” His tone rings with such authority, I almost drop to my knees and prostrate myself at his feet.Oh my god, he’s looking at me.In fact, he’s scowling at me. My heart blooms in my chest. To be the cynosure of his focus is everything.

I squeeze my thighs together then choke out, “Why not? Have you seen how my clothes hang off me?” I have enough presence of mind to gesture to myself.

As expected, his gaze darts down to my chest, and oh god, instantly, my nipples pucker. He slowly raises them to my face, by which time, I’m flushed.

“I look ridiculous,” I splutter.

“You look perfect,” he says with such finality, I blink.

“The clothes render me shapeless.”

“Good.”

My jaw drops. “Did you… Did you just say?—”

“You should know by now that I don’t do anything without a reason.” He rakes his gaze over me from head to toe. Every cell in my body feels like it’s about to catch fire.

I've worked so hard to get his approval, and finally, finally he notices me, and more than just as a fuck toy. It's just sinking in that he said I look ‘perfect.’Oh. My. Gosh.

He hasn't complimented me yet for how I’ve kept myself in control around him, but that will come, too.I’m sure he’s going to reward me... If I’m lucky, with another spanking? Or perhaps, I have to go against his wishes for that?I frown.Is this a test? Does he want me to challenge his authority and give him a reason to punish me? Hmm.And while the thought crossed my mind to have my clothes resized, now that I know it wasn’t his shopper but he, himself, who chose the clothes, no way, am I going to change anything. I rub my hand over the cloth of my skirt. He notices my movement and his gaze narrows.

In fact, I think I’m going to sleep in them from now on. Consideringhow loose they are, they’ll be comfortable to wear to bed, too. I frown. “I don’t get it. Why would you ensure that my clothes don’t fit?”

He sighs, the sound meant to convey that I’m slow on the uptake. “You’re my employee; you’ll do as I say.” He goes back to bench pressing.

I shake my head. “I thought you wanted me to be well-dressed. Apparently, you don’t care that my clothes are too big for me.” Then a thought crosses my mind. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that the clothes I used to wear were a size too small, and that’s what you think attracted the attentions of your Finance Director?”

He doesn’t reply. But his biceps bulge and his shoulders tense, and it has nothing to do with the massive amount of weight he’s pushing. In fact, his movements speed up. That’s when I know, I’m right.

“Oh my god, you did it on purpose, so no one could see my figure! You think this will shield me from the eyes of your employees?” I cry.

He continues to bench-press those colossal weights. But his lack of reaction is an answer in itself. My instinct tells me I’m right.Whoa. He cares. He does. No matter how much he insists otherwise, some part of him wants to protect me. Some part of him wants to keep me for himself.It’s why he fired his Finance Director and was so pissed off with Connor at the royal reception. It’s why he punished me after both those incidents.

I want to do a jig and dance in celebration. I want to confront him with the result of my deduction, but that won’t help. He’s going to deny it. Worse, he’s going to ignore me even more than he normally does. I’m going to have to wait for him to arrive at the conclusion himself. Meanwhile... I’m going to look my fill, at this fine specimen of masculinity.

Since he told me I need to keep to my role as an employee, I’ve stolen quick glances at him. But now, I stare at him outright.

I take in how his chest heaves and his shoulders swell. The way his biceps bulge, and the way the muscles of his forearms inflate as he pushes up the barbell with a grunt that rolls over my skin and arrows straight to my clit. Goosebumps pepper my forearms. The sweat on my throat dries in the air-conditioning and I shiver.

I feel so lightheaded from his nearness.Maybe I need to take a break from the cloud of testosterone that’s pressing down on my shoulders?"I, uh… I’ll only be a minute. I just need to, uh, use the little girls’ room." I cringe.

Little girls’ room? I couldn’t come up with a better excuse?

I turn, and promptly trip on a plate weight, I didn't see. The water bottle in my hand hits the floor, the towel slips from my fingers. I throw out my hands to break my fall and find myself suspended an inch from the floor.

The breath whooshes out of me. Then suddenly, I’m upright, and my feet don’t touch the floor because two big broad palms are squeezing my waist. Heat sizzles my back, the scent of sweat and sandalwood teases my nostrils. The fine hair on the back of my neck rises and I realize, it’s him. He caught me? But how did he even see me? He was on his back, bench pressing, when my feet brushed against the weight.

"You... You can let me down," I manage to squeak.

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