Page 36 of French Martini

“You know I have money, right? I’m not some broke chump who can’t afford new clothes.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t think you were broke. It’s just that you spent all that for me on this fake thing.”

“The events aren’t fake, Low. I need clothes.”

“Right.” I blow out a breath. “Of course.”

Oakley searches my eyes with his lips parted like he’s planning to say something, but he doesn’t. He simply peers into my soul, stripping away my defenses without a single word.

“What else?” I ask, shifting the focus to something else.

Oakley grins. “Be right back.”

As he turns away, I exhale slowly to calm my racing heart and the surge of heat pulsing between my legs. God, this man is so sexy. We really shouldn’t do anything else though. We’ve already crossed too many lines. It’s best if we stay on the friendship side of things. If my cock would get the message, that would be fantastic.

I sit back on the couch, tapping my foot in anticipation, but he calls my name.

“Can you come back here?”

Setting my glass down, I get to my feet, smooth my sweater, then walk down his hallway. When I enter his bedroom, my eyes automatically go to his bed for some reason. It’s clear from the boring furniture and thin bedding that his sense of coziness didn’t make it to the bedroom.

Oakley steps out of his closest, only half-dressed. His light blue dress shirt is unbuttoned and he’s not wearing his slacks yet. My mouth literally waters as my eyes roam over all that sexy bear flesh.

“I’m not sure about this,” he says, holding out a vest. “Sam said it would ‘fancy shit up’ a level. Whatever that means.”

The second mention of Sam’s name irritates me, but I push it back and approach Oakley. The vest is gorgeous, silky with an embroidered pattern on it. Whoever thisfriendof his is, they have good taste.

“It’s amazing. Button your shirt and we’ll try it on.”

Oakley nods, quickly buttoning his shirt up. I help him into the vest, adjusting it around his broad shoulders and chest, then fiddle with the buttons. It wraps around his form like it was custom made.

“All this came off the rack?”

He nods. “The clerk said I was one of the lucky ones with a standard fit.” He steps back. “Let me add the pants.”

I watch him tug on the trousers, tuck in his shirt, and adjust the vest again. Without a tie on yet, he looks like the party just finished and he’s ready to sit back and enjoy a cocktail.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

He pats his stomach. “Not bad. A little buttoned up, but I can handle it for a few hours. More importantly, do you like it?”

I nod, flicking my tongue over my dry lips. “Yes.”

“Does it meet your standards?”

“Exceeds them.”

He raises his eyebrow as a sexy smile spreads across his lips. “Ooh, bonus points. I like it.”

“You didn’t have to do all this, but I appreciate the effort.”

“You’re worth it, you know?”

I react with some kind of weird gesture, halfway between a shrug and a head shake. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He flicks the first button of the vest open, but I step forward to finish them for him. When I move on to his shirt, his eyes heat as he gazes down at me.

“Just so you know, I’ll be wearing some pretty out-there outfits. Out there for Willow Bay. For Paris, not so much.”

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