Page 56 of Silver-Tongued Devil
Her dress wasn’t anything like he’d expected. It wasn’t red, and it wasn’t black. It was a yellow floral print with wide-set straps and a halter top, cut close to her body. It wasn’t too tight, it wasn’t low-cut, and it wasn’t too short. It was the way it showed off the smooth skin of her upper chest and arms, though, not to mention the length of her legs and the curve of her waist. And as for the way it hugged that gorgeous ass… Lord have mercy.
Or maybe it was the shoes. They had a little platform and a high heel that made her even taller, a strap that tied below her perfect red toenails, and another one that tied around her ankles. Those shoes were hot in the most accidental way possible.
Or her hair. It could have been that. She’d cut it, maybe, and it tumbled around her bare shoulders and down her back. He missed seeing that chain in her ear. On the other hand, if he brushed her hair back behind her ear, he’d be able to uncover it just for him, so he could kiss her there again. She had a silver heart on a chain around her neck, and that was all. No other ornamentation. Nothing but soft skin and all that personality.
She was made up, though, and he loved it, even though he liked her face just fine naked. The eyes that were normally hidden behind her glasses were almond-shaped and tilted up at the corners under her black-winged brows, her cheekbones sliced across her face like she was daring you to take her on, and her mouth was painted rose, the lips looking richer and fuller than ever.
She still wasn’t cute. He wasn't sure she was even pretty. She was beautiful.
He realized, all of a sudden, that she was just standing there and looking at him, a hand on her cocked hip and a sexy tilt to her head, while a smile played over that rose-red mouth.
“Uh…” he said, then shook his head to try to clear it. “I’m trying to think what to say. What happened to my painter? And darlin’, I’m not even going to try to kiss you hello, because I’m scared to mess that up. You look great. I’m going to say that and shut up.”
Dakota’s smile was the tiniest bit smug. “Russell says you’re a silver-tongued devil. I don’t call that your best effort.”
Blake laughed out loud. “What do you think, Russ? Think I’m good enough for her?”
Russell settled back into his chair with a sigh. “Nope. Guess you’ll just have to do your best. Game’s back. You two should go on and go out.”
Dakota bent and brushed her lips over his cheek. “Bye. I’ll text if I’m going to be late.”
He reached for her hand and gripped it. “You remember,” he said, his voice low. “You’re just as good as everybody else there.”
She straightened up fast, blinked, and asked Blake, “You ready?”
“Yeah,” he said, breathing in the rich, exotic scent of her. “I’m ready.”
You look great,Dakota told herself.You’re going to do fine. Just be quiet and let Blake do the talking. He’s good at it. Meanwhile, you are poised. Classy. Mysterious.
Well, no. She was a house painter, and everybody knew it. But she’d pretend.
Everybody would be looking at Blake and not her anyway, because (a) he was the one with hundreds of millions of dollars, and (b) he looked fantastic. He was wearing the Cowboy Angel of Death clothes again. Black T-shirt, dark-gray pants, tooled black cowboy boots. He’d shaved, too, which was flattering, although as far as she was concerned, he needn’t have bothered. That dark stubble of his looked nothing but hot. She might have spent some time imagining how it would feel against her skin the next time he was kissing her neck. Maybe.
He shut her car door, hopped in himself, and took off, and she said, “So how’s it—” at the exact same moment he said, “So how is—”
They both stopped talking, and Dakota said, “You go on.”
Blake shook his head. “Can’t believe I’m nervous. I was just thinking, walking to your door, that this feels exactly like picking up my date for the senior prom. Except that I didn’t bring you a corsage and I’m dressed better.”
“Now, why in the world would you have been nervous about your prom?” she asked, feeling better already. This was a big deal to him? Really? “Don’t tell me you weren’t homecoming king.”
He glanced at her, that little grin starting to form, and she sighed and said, “It’s too depressing. So, what? Did you do a little dance with the queen, like the bride and groom at a wedding? Did you save your crown?”
“Yeah, to the dance thing. It meant a lot to my date. She was a cheerleader. Man, she loved that night. And that’s a big nope on the crown. Tossed that thing the next day. A guy who keeps his homecoming crown is a guy who wears his Super Bowl ring.”
“I bow to the knowledge of the master. So wearing your Super Bowl ring isn’t done?”
“If you’re a tool, it is. Or if you’re going to be in a fight, maybe. They’re big suckers.”
“How many do you have?”
He glanced at her again, then sighed. “Crushed once more. One.”
“What, I was supposed to memorize your stats? Sorry.”
She was smiling, he was, too, and her tension of the past hours was gone.
“So how aboutyourprom?” he asked. “Who’d you go with? Anybody I’m going to have to punch tonight because he kissed you first?”
