Page 16 of Undercover Billionaire

"I don’t want to hear it." She pivoted towards the shop, putting him to her back so he couldn’t see the smile. And she was most definitely happy he couldn’t see her heated expression when he said, "I merely wanted more practice."

Chapter 5

As Drake stepped through the doorway, his expression remained neutral, with no hint of what transpired behind those deep emerald eyes. Yet surely he sensed his wager was a poor one, as he viewed the outfits lining the little boutique, which were neither old-fashioned nor outdated, but instead comprised the latest designs, new and in-style. He could probably tell the shop was run efficiently by the gray-haired shopkeeper making the proverbial beeline for them. Would he be upset about his loss or accept it graciously?

The answer was clearly the latter when he turned to her and with a barely noticeable wink, whispered, "Verdict one to Kaitlyn Owens. But an appeal has yet to come."

She arched an eyebrow. "The ruling stands for now. Defendant owes plaintiff one hassle-free evening of obedience and adherence to whatever she has planned."

"Objection," he returned. "Nowhere in the agreement is there any mention of hassle-free. Which means I can do whatever I want..." His voice trailed off just as the shopkeeper reached them. With all traces of slyness vanished, he turned to the old lady with a smile that portrayed nothing but charm.

That scoundrel!The man planned everything perfectly, manipulating matters to get his way. But hassle-free or not, she still had the right to plan the evening. It would serve him right if she decided to spend it cleaning out the storage room. But no, she would not waste her evening in such a mundane manner. For now, she would stand back and enjoy watching Drake deal with Miss Ida, or more accurately, Miss Ida deal with Drake.

“Good morning, Miss Ida. My friend needs clothing for a week.”

The old woman stopped in front of her newest customer and treated him to a long and thorough study. Miss Ida always gave clients a "looking over," whereby she silently noted and recorded all information necessary to produce the perfect wardrobe. Most people were taken aback by Miss Ida’s brusque nature, but Drake’s only outward sign of discomfort was a slight narrowing of the eyes.

"What type of clothes do you want?" The old lady spoke shortly, in a gruff voice powered by wisdom. It was the only question she ever asked her customers. Never accepting advice beyond it, she would quickly thwart any customer’s attempt to plan his or her own wardrobe.

Drake responded in an equally smooth voice, "I would like several things. Perhaps a few gray polo shorts, khaki trousers, a couple of..."

"That’s not what I asked," the old lady interrupted with a humph. "Who comes to a professional when they already know what they want?"

Drake raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer the obviously rhetorical question. Then his face relaxed, and his expression transformed into pure charm. "I’m not quite sure what you mean, ma'am, but you're the professional. Just tell me the information you need, and I'll be happy to provide."

Kaitlyn bit back a smile. Miss Ida would never fall for sly semantics. Silence loomed as the old lady studied Drake. "All right," she finally said in a voice more exasperated than angry. "We’ll figure something out. Come along." She wrapped a wrinkled hand around his shoulder and led the willing prisoner away towards the back room. Kaitlyn was left behind, mouth agape, as she stared at the departing pair.

What just happened? Somehow Drake charmed the one person completely immune, or so she thought. Clearly, he was a better actor than she realized. If he could fool a sharp bird like Miss Ida, then perhaps they could actually convince Cynthia.

Her good humor restored, Kaitlyn idly perused the sale items as the minutes melted into each other. When Drake and Ida re-entered the room, all thoughts of clothing, Cynthia and everything else vanished.

Drake commandeered all attention.

His ensemble was neither designer nor formal, not unusual or standout. A simple yet stylish black silk shirt and tailored black pants, the clothing would have been unassuming on any other man, yet somehow on Drake it underwent an amazing transformation. From simple to splendid, from basic to beyond, the outfit and the man wearing it could be deemed nothing less than masterpieces.

There was nothing simple about the shirt as it stretched taut against rippling muscles, outlining strength it could not subdue. The dark absence of color added mystery, midnight black against smooth skin. The pants fit snuggly against his lean waist, perfectly coating long legs. He looked massive, powerful and authoritative, like an undercover agent defined by danger. No matter the cost, it belonged on their "accepted" list.

"Well?" Drake held out his arms. "What do you think?"

He looked like a Greek God. Or a double fudge sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Better yet, a Greek God eating a double fudge sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

Only she could never tell him that. She shrugged. "It’ll do."

"We’ll take it.” His gaze remained pinned to her as he spoke to Miss Ida. The old lady clucked, no doubt already aware of her success. He strode toward the dressing room, stopped just before entering. “By the way, you can close your mouth now."

Kaitlyn clamped her mouth shut. Obviously, he was enjoying every moment of his effect on her. No doubt he would emerge again and again in equally sexy attire with equally sexy muscles and equally sexy drawls. And no matter her resolve, she would stare like she wanted to devour him.

What a disaster. How could she stand up to a guy she literally couldn't stop staring at? While licking her lips? And drooling?

In minutes that seemed like seconds, Drake emerged from the dressing room in yet another ogle-worthy outfit, this one casual, but no less stunning. It combined long khaki pants and a gray sweater to muscle-molding perfection, and made her want to run up, put her arms around him and see how soft that sweater really was.

And how hard the man was underneath.

This uncontrolled attraction was unacceptable. Perhaps it was time to start dating – a man nothing like Drake, of course. "That outfit's not too bad," she choked out.Like the Atlantic Ocean wasn’t too big.

"Not too bad?" He raised an eyebrow. "Because the way you're looking at me…" He smiled wickedly.

"I’ve changed my mind. It's bad."

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