Page 12 of Wicked Proposal
I gawk in confusion at the opaque garment bag he thrusts in my hands.
Conflict twists my chest. I may need this money, but no one ever said anything about having to strip naked in a car with a stranger to get it.
In fact, I was pretty clear on thisnothappening.
But Yulian is still staring at me, gray eyes cold as stone, fingers drumming impatiently on his thigh. “Put it on, Ms. Winters. Unless you’d like to back out of our deal.”
With a swallow, I unzip the bag. “Fine. But you’re turning around. And—oh.”
The words die in my throat.
Cool, pale blue silk shimmers in my hands, spilling through my fingers like water. I’ve never seen anything this beautiful, let alone touched it.
The fabric, the handiwork—it’s exquisite. A far cry from any “pre-loved” dress I’ve ever owned.
This piece has never been loved before.
I’m its first.
“And?”
I startle back to the present. “What?”
“You said ‘and.’” A faint smirk paints Yulian’s lips. He’s having the time of his life watching me squirm. “I’m turning around,and…?”
Pettiness flares inside me. “And I’m keeping the dress,” I snap. “Now, do your part, Bright Eyes. Sit and spin.”
With that smug smirk still firmly in place, Yulian obliges.
Yulian.
I roll his name on my tongue as I strip.
It sounds way sweeter than the man it belongs to.
My hands fumble every step of the way. The limo may be big, but it isn’tthatbig. No car is big enough for someone to get naked next to someone else without accidental contact. Every near-brush with him makes my heart leap up into my throat.
I swallow my nerves and do the only thing I can think of to make this bearable: conversation.
“So, uhh… you do this often?”
It’s a lame joke at best, but Yulian doesn’t even pretend to play along. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Bribe women into being your date,” I bite back acidly. “Is that a typical Friday night for you, or do you sometimes scorewithoutthe help of your thick, fat wallet?”
I could swear I detect the faintest hint of a laugh dancing on the edge of his voice. “Nothing about this is typical. Well, that’s notquite true. You’re far from the first woman to strip naked in my car. But you are the first one who’s in it because you got my car towed.”
My face heats up. I said nothing sexual, but we’re thirty minutes into this absurd scenario and I’m naked, he’s talking about all the women he sleeps with, and we’re both probably picturing things we definitely shouldn’t be.
“To be fair,” I mumble, “you deserved it.”
“I thought nurses weren’t supposed to cause harm?”
“I’m sure your car is perfectly fine. And no one at NYU told me that cars fell under the Hippocratic Oath.”
“So that’s where you got your degree,” he muses. “NYU.”
Goddammit. I told myself I wouldn’t let this man know anything about me. Now, he knows my name, where I live, what car I drive, and where I went to school.
