Page 38 of Back in the Texan's Bed
She mentally slapped her palm to her forehead over and over. As if that could shake some latent sense of self-preservation loose.
What was it with her continually falling for the same unavailable and totally inappropriate man? What did that say about her? What was it about herself that made her believe she wasn’t worthy of a man who would put her first, be proud to claim her as his own, be fully committed to her?
For most of her life, she’d longed for a relationship like her parents. Total devotion. Yet, the first time she’d fallen in love, it was with a man who’d been okay with keeping her a secret from his family, his friends, the world. Yes, she’d had her reasons for agreeing to the clandestine affair, too. But deep inside, where the most vulnerable desires of her heart hid, she’d longed for him to say, “fuck that,” and shout his delight in being with her to anyone who would listen. Just as she’d longed for him to stop her from going to California, to ask her to stay for him. Forthem.
She’d promised herself she’d never place herself in that predicament again. But now, here she stood. In a gorgeous home she could never afford on her own, in the exclusive, gated community of Pine Valley, living with Ross Edmond as his baby’s mother. Falling for the same man again.
And her love for him was still a secret.
“You look beautiful.”
Her head jerked up, heart pounding a double-time cadence. Ross leaned against the doorway, a shoulder propped against the jamb, hands in the pockets of his black tuxedo pants. As if her body had a “clap on” switch, just the sight of him had her belly clenching, lust lighting up her veins like the Vegas strip, and her sex pulsing.
Dammit. She returned her gaze to her reflection in the mirror, but that didn’t eradicate the image of him from her brain. Dirty blond hair tamed and waving away from his stunning face erected of strong, arrogant angles and carnal curves. Tall, big body clothed in a white shirt, bow tie and pants that showcased the lean, muscular perfection of his frame. She intimately knew the strength of that body. Knew how he could restrain and unleash its power.
A curl of heat spiraled through her, whispering over her nipples and winding down to the empty, aching flesh between her thighs. Deliberately, she reminded herself that he’d probably uttered those same words to hundreds of women.
The compliment wasn’t anything special to him—and neither was she.
“Thank you,” she said, giving herself a mental fist pump when her voice emerged even, unaffected. “Although that has more to do with the dress—which you would know since you had it sent over,” she added dryly.
The deep purple, sequin-embellished, floor-length gown skimmed over her curves like a lover’s caress. The wide dolman-style sleeves cuffed at her wrists, and the neckline plunged to a point beneath her breasts. A skinny belt of the same material cinched her middle, emphasizing the indent of her waist.
It was the most beautiful, expensive thing she’d ever owned besides the necklace he’d given her.
He moved fully into the closet and appeared behind her in the mirror. At five foot eight, she wasn’t a short woman, but he dwarfed her. And then quickly, a visual of them from the night before flashed in her head. Her, on her hands and knees. Him, behind her, covering her...
She briefly closed her eyes, but the image burned brighter, hotter. When she opened her eyes, they clashed with Ross’s hooded, ice-blue gaze. No, not ice. Heat and smoke.
Tension filled the closet, winding around them, and she could feel the stroke of his perusal over the skin bared by the daring neckline. She tried to smother the shiver working its way through her body. Tried and failed.
Apprehension that was purely feminine flared inside her, and she could do nothing but watch him. Wait for his next move. Half hope, half dread he would strip her of the dress and take her down to the closet floor and ease the sensual pain spasming in her sex.
Strip her of her dignity while he was at it.
“What’s ridiculous?” he asked.
She blinked. Relief and disappointment cascaded through her, and she quickly recovered, running their conversation back in her head and realizing he must’ve been standing in the closet doorway longer than she’d noticed.
“All of this.” She waved a hand from the top of her hair, which the stylist had fashioned into an elegant yet edgy Mohawk, and down her body, encompassing the gown. “I’m a chef. Not a socialite. I should be at my restaurant, cooking on a Saturday night, not attending some party. The most talking I do is giving orders in the kitchen and meeting customers tableside. And even then, I try to keep it as short as possible. This—” she once more flicked a hand up and down her frame “—isn’t me.”
“How do you know?” he countered, shifting closer so his chest brushed her spine. “Maybe this is just an aspect of who you are. Your dream is to become a master chef. That could take you around the world, to television, to endorsements. And all of that requires socializing with people, selling yourself. Consider this a training ground for the future.” His words painted a picture she’d dreamed of, craved. She lifted her gaze from her neckline to meet his eyes. Did he believe she could obtain that future? Did he believe in...her? A merciless hand squeezed her heart, and she silently cursed herself for even caring about his opinion—caring about his esteem. Shewasenough, dammit!
“And Jeremy obviously thinks the same, since he approved and fully supported you attending thisparty.” His lips twisted into a sardonic smile around her terminology for the swank event scheduled for this evening. “He understands you are the face of Sheen and the connection with Soiree on the Bay will only increase his profile in Royal as well as nationally, perhaps internationally.”
He skimmed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, dropping to caress her throat before lowering his arm back to his side. Her skin pulsed and tingled from the contact as if it’d been sunburned.
“Besides, Brett Harston, Lila Jones and Valencia Donovan will be there,” he added, referring to the other members of the advisory board.
Since joining the board, Charlotte had become friends with the other members. She snorted. If anyone had told her just a month ago that she could claim a self-made millionaire, a Chamber of Commerce employee and the founder of a charity as friends, she would’ve escorted them to a waiting Uber with an admonition about drinking too much.
But here she was, chummy with members of Royal high society, wearing a gown that probably cost more than her car down payment, and getting ready to attend an event at the famed Texas Cattleman’s Club.
She sighed, about to rub her damp palms down her thighs, but catching herself at the last minute.This dress isn’t your food-splattered chef jacket, she silently scolded.
“Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ev—”
“What’s this?”
