Page 93 of Play the Game

One strap falls down to my elbow, then goes the other. A chill moves down my spine, and I know Emory notices. Surprisingly, he says nothing. He stares down at my bra after I discard it to the floor, then his lazy gaze moves to the mirror.

In an attempt to hide my betraying breasts, I place my hands there to hold the dress up.

It’s a beautiful dress, and the feel of silk against my bare skin tells me it’s worth the eight-hundred-dollar price tag. The color looks good too, even if Emory was trying to irritate me by pulling all the red dresses off the racks.

Though it isn’t a low-cut dress, it’s still sexy. It’s classy with a tight bodice full of pretty lace that shows some of my skin underneath. It flows gracefully around my hips and to the floor. When Emory’s hands fall to my waist, the movement pulls some of the fabric out of the way. We both stare at the slit in the front that gives a clear visual of my leg.

It’s hard to see myself in something like this.

I didn’t go to prom. I’ve never had the opportunity to wear a dress besides the moment I put one on for our wedding photos, and this one makes me feel…desirable.

“Well?” he asks.

I look everywhere but the mirror.

Emory steps backward, and the second he removes his hands, I want them back.

Clearing my throat, I shrug. “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” he repeats.

Still keeping my stare pinned to the hanger laying on the floor, I nod.

I feel him move close to me, and I can’t keep myself from meeting his face in the mirror.

His light eyes darken like a storm, and his heavy brow line deepens. “It’s more than fine.”

In an attempt to look away, I drop my chin, but he’s there to catch it.

His fingers squeeze it gently, and his whisper brushes against my ear. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you how irresistible you are?”

I stare into his eyes and refuse to acknowledge the heat simmering underneath my skin from his touch.

“What can I say to get you to see what I see when I look at you?”

I swallow my pride. If he’s being sincere, then I guess I will too. I lower my shackles, and a quiet, sad laugh leaves me. “I’m pretty sure that every time you look at me, you’re reminded of how we met. You probably see nothing but desperation and selfishness.”

“I wish that’s what I saw,” he admits.

His rough, callused fingers drag down my neck and over my collarbone until he lands at my waist. I tremble in his grip, and Icurse my body for giving me away. It craves the contact between us, and he knows it.

Suddenly feeling like I need to gain some type of control, I take the initiative and ask my own question, instead of only allowing him to ask them. “What do you see, then?”

“I see a ring on your finger.”

I glance down at the diamond glistening under the soft glow of the fitting room light.

“A ring that says you’re mine.”

I go to protest, but then Emory’s hand starts to grip the silky fabric of the dress. My leg is fully exposed, and we’re both drawn to it. My pulse thrums, and my heart races.

What is he doing?

His hot whisper sends heat in between my legs. “The only desperation I see is how desperate you are for me to touch you again.”

Deny it.

“You’re only supposed to touch me when people are around.” My voice is breathy. “That’s what the contract says.”

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