Page 25 of Undo Me

“You like it.” She glanced up at Bone Daddy’s harsh whisper, but his gaze had shifted over her shoulder to study the mirror behind her. The one that showed a brightly lit, unvarnished view of her not insubstantial ass.

She stood up quickly. “This wasn’t a good idea. Let’s just buy those, I’ll find a dress, and we can go home.”

He spread his legs, adjusting his erection in a way that should have been crude, but instead stole her breath. “The rest, Beth. Take off the rest.”

There was nothing but desire in his expression. Desire for her. It gave her the courage to reach behind her, sliding the bra, with the attached locket, onto the floor beside her pants.

“Magnificent.”

She looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. “You’re honest, remember? I’m sure you’ve seen better.”

“I believe you need a lesson, Blue Eyes. You don’t seem to know sexy when you see it.”

He was wrong. Sexy was sitting right in front of her, studying every curve and imperfection of her body with lust in his eyes.

“My Aunt Sally was one of the highest paid models around before she had to give it up to take me in. She started her own agency, and sexy was her stock and trade. Before I got to high school I knew more about facial symmetry, body measurements, and what heels can do for your calves than I ever wanted to.”

For a while she’d tried to make Bethany care about shoes and clothes and waistlines as much as she did, but it was a lost cause. She was too introverted and cerebral. Too awkward, her aunt told her time and again.

She didn’t care. It meant she had more time alone, more time to read and reread the dusty old books her father had loved. She walked on her treadmill every day, so she wasn’t weak, despite her sedentary lifestyle. But she never fooled herself into believing she was something she wasn’t.

She wouldn’t let him fool her either.

“Turn around and look in the mirror.”

Bethany obeyed silently, part of her wondering why she’d shared so much with him. Did he feel safe because he was so temporary? Like some seductive, immortal confessional?

Maybe you trust him.

Wouldn’t that make her foolish?

As the seconds stretched, she covered her breasts with her hands and stood awkwardly in her white undies with the stretched out elastic band. Why hadn’t she worn her lucky, pretty panties? Hindsight was a bitch.

She let out an embarrassing sound when two large hands appeared, tugging her underwear down until she was forced to step out of them. His breath was hot and heavy against her lower back, and she bit her lip, a shot of need arcing up her spine.

“I don’t know this aunt of yours, but I believe I’m far more qualified than either of you when it comes to the subject of sex.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“The bustle, the corset, the string bikini; women have always twisted themselves in knots to conform to the current idea of beauty. To be desirable to others. To be considered attractive according to someone else’s standards. I’ve seen how industries and fortunes were built on this premise. But it’s all an illusion.”

Still kneeling behind her, he lifted her foot to slide one leg through the black lace.

Her heart was racing, her breath growing shallow as he slowly covered her, his fingertips caressing her skin as he went. When the panties were on, he reached behind him for the matching demi-cup bra.

He stood and, like a child she opened her arms, allowing him to dress her.

“If what you wear feels good, and caresses your skin in a way that reminds you of a lover’s touch, that is sexy. If you can look at your own body, appreciate it for what it can do for you and how it responds to the right person…”

He closed the rosette clasp, his arms around her, body pressed firmly against her back. He pushed her braid to the side, draping it over one shoulder, placing his chin on the other. “Look at yourself, Bethany. See what I see.”

The bra made her breasts look bigger, rounder. Her nipples were hard with arousal and poking through the black lace, the color giving her skin a creamy luster. His hands covered her, fingers circling her nipples until they ached.

“If you weren’t the Love Doctor Loa, you could make a living selling clothes,” she offered breathlessly. “I mean it. I’m not sure what you’re seeing, but I’ll never look at bras the same way again.”

His laugh was short and surprised. “You are a puzzle, Bethany. One I plan to thoroughly enjoy solving. Now stop distracting me and keep your eyes on that mirror.”

He caressed her sides, her hips, and traced the high cut of the underwear that seemed to make her legs look longer, sleeker. She watched, riveted, as one hand slipped beneath the lace to cup her damp curls.

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