Page 59 of The Charmer's Gambit
“Problem?” he asked, voice low.
I pursed my lips as the purpose of this game became obvious. When he referred to their practicality, he meant they were too tight to enjoy the benefits. It was false advertising.Hey, look at my assets, but good luck getting to them. “At least they look good on,” I muttered.
“But what’s the point if you can’t take them off?”
Oh, I could, but it would dampen the moment. Just like it did now. I narrowed my eyes up at him. “You win this round, Mershano. Next outfit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tilted that nonexistent hat at me again as he disappeared behind the curtain. I snickered a little when it took him over ten minutes to change, which was just in time for the tailor to return with the champagne. I suspected he took longer than needed to give us privacy.
Will thanked him and set his flute aside to fix the collar of his shirt in the mirror. It gave me a great view of his backside, which was as flawless as ever in his dark suit. The navy blue was almost black, and the jacket fit him perfectly, though the tailor made a few comments about arm lengths in French. They conversed for several minutes as the white-haired man measured the inseams of the pants, his arm, and a few other interesting places. When he finished, Will looked over his shoulder at me.
“Fishing for compliments?” I teased. Not like his ego needed it.
“Always.”
I rolled my eyes. “You look amazing and you know it.”
He smiled broadly at that. “Amazing?”
“Handsome, gorgeous, mouthwatering, delicious.” I threw them all out there, each deepening the dimples at his cheeks. “Oh, whatever. We both know your ego doesn’t need any more stroking.”
“From you? I always welcome stroking.” He winked and disappeared behind the curtain to try on several more outfits, all of them equally breathtaking.
“Well, at least you have a backup job should this vineyard thing not work out,” I said after we left. He left his suits with the tailor, promising to be back in the morning for a final fitting. That kind of turnaround couldn’t be typical, especially since tomorrow was Sunday, but the store seemed more than happy to accommodate him.
“Yeah, and what’s that?” Will asked, referring to my backup-job comment.
“Modeling.” He could easily work in the fashion industry or star in one of those male fitness magazines.
He laughed and shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with my vineyards, darlin’.” His arm settled on my shoulders as he pulled me into him. “But I vote we see how you measure up as a lingerie model.”
I scoffed at that. “Uh, that would be more suitable for Sarah.” She had curves in all the right places, while mine were too slim for that industry. I had the height for it, and maybe even the legs, but my B-cups weren’t all that exciting.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said as we entered our final store. Will greeted the female storeowner and introduced me as his “lady friend” who required at least two weeks of undergarments. Everything was in French, which was on par with the rest of our trip so far, including his list of desired lingerie items. Apparently, he knew his way around women’sunderwear better than I did, something I didn’t want to think on too heavily.
I frowned when the saleswoman started bagging all the items he requested. “Am I’m not trying these on first?” He’d already proven to know my sizes, so it shouldn’t have surprised me, but I expected him to request I model them first.
“Oh, you will. Later.” He nailed me with a look that left me weak in the knees. Hunger mingled with promise in those dark depths and sent my thoughts directly south. “You still owe me a modeling session, Rachel. And I intend to collect on that soon.”
My lips parted, but I had no words. He couldn’t mean . . .
“I held up my side of our bargain,” he continued in that deep rumble. “Not my fault you chose the store as a location.”
“Not fair,” I managed in a whisper.
He grinned at that. “I warned you, darlin’. With you, I’ll never play fair. Now, where should we go to dinner?”
23
Sweet Freedom
Will kept his promise. By the time we returned to the hotel, Ryan was the last thing on my mind. Then my phone binged as we entered the suite.
Several emotions barreled into me at once, leaving me light-headed. Panic, annoyance, and fury battled for purpose as I moved on shaky legs toward my purse on the dining table.
“Rachel?”
“I’m okay,” I replied. And oddly, I found that to be true. The crippling fear from this morning fled throughout the day, leaving a simmering anger in its place. Ryan wished to remind me of his control from afar and used a tactic he knew would unsettle me to do it. He wanted to ruin this experience for me, and potentially my career in the process. Without Baker Brown, I would have nothing. What did he expect? That I would turn to him for help? I’d sooner move home to Indiana.
