Page 81 of Leather & Lark
“Can’t imagine so, no.” I hold up both hands when she gives me a teasing, skeptical grin. “This piece is pretty close to a corset, so feathers were obviously involved.”
Lark laughs and I think I see her cheeks blush in the dim light. “It’s beautiful, Lachlan. I’m going to wear it tonight.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, trying not to let my chest swell with pride.
“I know I don’t. But I want to. And I got you something too. Wait here.”
Her legs unfold from beneath her and she rises from the couch. She pads to her bedroom, the door closing behind her with a quiet click. I wait in silence, hands shoved in my pockets, my thumb pressed against my wedding ring as I try to remember all the shit that used to come so naturally for me when I wanted a woman. Give her a lopsided smile. Maybe tease her a little bit, but only enough to make her laugh. Be confident, but not cocky—I’m not sure I ever mastered that one. Definitely don’t be an asshat.
But when Lark walks out of the bedroom a few minutes later, all those thoughts of how I’msupposedto act suddenly evaporate.
“You, um … look … uh …”
Fan-feckin’-tastic.Now I have neither confidence nor cockiness. I’ve somehow regressed into some teenage version of myself, and even that guy had more game than me.
And Lark revels in it.Of course.
“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she says with a shimmering laugh. With a small box clutched in her hand, she gestures down to the gauzy layer of the sheer black dress that flows over the bralette and opaque skirt beneath it. The harness fits tight across her upper body over the layers of fabric, looping over her shoulders and crisscrossing her torso to hug the contours of her breasts. “Imagine if I didn’t have the bottom layer on and it was just the tulle.”
My heart roars in my ears.
“The compliments would be rolling in,” she continues. “Just one long ‘uhhhhhhh.’ That’s some real Irish charm.”
“Duchess,” I growl, and she beams at me like she’s walked right into my brain to shine a light into every hidden corner, even the one where I keep my need for her stored in darkness.Especiallythat corner. No matter how much shit I pile up around it, she finds that feral desire and feeds it.
I swallow and try my best to stack the blocks of my crumbling walls back into place. “You look great. Really great.”
Lark smirks. “‘Great.’”
“Yep.”
“Cool. Thanks. You also look fine. Just fine.”
I snort.
Lark bites down on her grin. “I must admit, I was expecting maybestunning, orbeautiful. Or, God forbid,feckin’ sexy.”
Chrissakes. Lark is all those things and more. She’severything. She’s fierce and unique and surprising and so goddamn gorgeous it sometimes feels like my heart is trapped in a vise when I justlookat her. There isn’t a single word I can think of that captures what Lark has become to me. And when I try to open my mouth to say any of them, they dissolve on my tongue. So the only thing I can do is tell her the truth. At least, maybe a little bit of it.
I step closer to where she stands next to the couch, her hand resting on Bentley’s enormous head as she strokes his ear. When I stop, I’m just within her reach, but I don’t touch her despite how badly I want to feel the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.
“You’re always stunning, Lark. Always beautiful. Always feckin’ sexy.” My voice is a husky rasp that coaxes a fleeting blush into her cheeks. “But I don’t want you to feel as though I’m trying to compliment my way into forgiveness. I know it won’t fix us.”
Lark’s smile fades. “What do you think will?”
“Time.”
“How much time?”
“That’s not up to me.” Before I truly realize what I’m doing, my hand is out of my pocket. Lark doesn’t break her gaze away from mine when I let my knuckles graze her bare arm, a slow sweep that goes from her shoulder, past her elbow, all the way to the edge of her hand, where it’s wrapped tight around the box. “It’s up to you. But I don’t want you to ever think I’m pushing you into it because of the way I feel.”
Lark swallows, her pulse a steady hum in her neck. “And how do you feel?”
“You don’t know?” I let my hand fall away from hers. She shakes her head. “Probably not the same as you. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“You sure about that?” Lark holds my gaze for a long moment before she drops her attention to the box in her hand. When she extends it in my direction, there’s very little I can tease from her expression. Her voice comes out quiet and a bit breathless when she says, “This is for you. But you can’t open it until I’m on stage, not until I give you a signal.”
“What kind of signal?”
