Page 30 of Resisting the Billionaire

She lets out a soft chuckle. “Gabriel, you know you’re attractive.”

I actually didn’t know she thought that of me, especially after that first night in the bar. I’ve caught her staring at me occasionally, but I wasn’t sure how to interpret it, not after her earlier rejection. “Go on.”

“Stop,” she laughs. “Are you dressed yet?”

I button the tux pants and slide on the jacket, straightening it before opening the curtain. “What do you think?”

I swear there’s interest in her eyes before she shuts it down, going back into professional mode. “I see why she picked this for you,” she murmurs, circling me. “A modern fit is perfect for your build. You’re too broad in the shoulders for anything slimmer. Do you already have glossy shoes?”

I nod, savoring the sensation of her gaze trained on me.

“Here,” she steps close behind me, placing her champagne on a table to smooth out my jacket, her touch featherlight along my upper back. She moves to my front, adjusting my collar, the smell of gardenias tantalizing me. Did she notice that I placed a vase of them on her desk last week?

“How do you feel about a silver bow tie?”

“Can you put it on me?” I ask, my voice thicker than usual.

She steps away briefly to pick one off the rack. “You’ve never tied one?”

“No,” I lie, wanting her to do it. Wanting her close.

“You don’t seem like a bowtie kind of guy.” Her hands come up to pop my collar. “Either a tie or nothing at all.”

“Would you like to see me in nothing at all?” I ask, remembering at the last moment to tack on a grin so she won’t take me seriously. If she did, she’d never let me so close.

“You’re incorrigible,” she smiles, crossing one silver length over the other around my neck.

Her steady breaths are sweet on me, fingers sure in their actions as she finishes the bow tie, but she doesn’t step back right away. Her hands linger as she straightens it, then my shirt, my jacket, each place she touches confusing me further. Is she just doing her job or is it… purposeful?

The ends of her caramel curls brush my chest, the top of her head barely reaching my nose, even in her heels. How easy it would be to gently tip her chin up and gaze into those hazel eyes, see what she’s really thinking. To lower my head and-

“All finished,” she says, spinning me toward the mirror.

I clear my throat, concentrating on my reflection. The cut of the suit, the color. She’s right that it makes my eyes pop.

“Do you like it?”

My gaze cuts to her, unable to help myself. “It’s perfect.”

She stands next to me, the baby blue figure-hugging dress she’s wearing today complementing me perfectly, and stares at the two of us in the mirror, only looking away once she realizes where my attention is.

“Great.” There’s the merest suggestion of nervousness in her voice, which she covers up with busily returning ties and dress shirts to their proper places in the drawers. “Do you want to try on the others?”

“No.” This one is as good as any. And if she approves of it, there’s really no better endorsement.

“I can call Louise back in to take your measurements for tailoring.”

“I’ll bring it to my tailor.”

She makes a face, likeof course you have your own tailor, the action breaking the tension.

I change back into my polo and slacks, finding her in the shoe section examining a pair of heels, presumably for brides since they’re white. She strokes a finger along the satin material then checks the price tag, gently returning it to its display.

“You like those?”

“Not exactly in my price range,” she shrugs modestly, leading me to the front register. I pull out good old Dad’s trusty credit card to pay for the tux. Who knows if I’ll ever run into a limit on this thing.

Well, I guess I would if I’d refused to marry Serena.

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