Page 73 of Blindside Sinner

He shoos me out the door toward my apartment. I’m frowning, but I let him do it. When I get to the guesthouse, I push the door open, then leap backwards, just in case there’s, like, a bucket of slime poised over the door to ruin my night or whatever. He didn’t have his normal impish grin on his face, but I wouldn’t put anything past Beck.

There is a surprise, though.

Just not the one I was expecting.

My mouth falls open as I walk closer to the bed where a dress—thedress, if there ever was such a thing—is laid across the mattress with a note on top. The note has just two words, printed neatly in boyish block letters.

WEAR ME.

It’s deep navy blue, long, embellished with sequins and crystals sewn into the bodice. I don’t know how he knew the right size but when I put it on, it hangs like it was fitted to me.

And the shoes—oh my, the shoes. Same deep blue. Same crystal and sequins. When I turn, he’s standing in the doorway, framed by the setting sun. His shoulders are broad and beautiful, encased in the black of his tuxedo.

“Y… You did this?” I stammer awkwardly.

He nods. “Guilty.”

“You could’ve just asked me to go, you know.”

My pulse is racing and my hands are trembling. Not because I’m going to be his date—well, notjustbecause I’m going to be his date—but because I’m going to be his date dressed inthisdress.

It says something. I’m just not sure I’m brave enough to spell it out.

“Consider yourself asked.” His smile is softer, like a secret we’re sharing, and then it’s gone. “Get finished and meet me at the house. I’m driving tonight.”

I go back to the house once my makeup is done, heels clacking on the stone pathway, the hem of the dress in my hand so it doesn’t drag through the yard. My stomach is a zoo’s worth of butterflies.

When I walk inside, he’s standing at the fireplace with his phone to his ear. He turns, smiles, looks me up and down, then hangs up without bothering with a goodbye.

“You are really wearing the fuck out of that dress,” he murmurs. His voice crackles with the kind of sizzle that says he chose the very tamest of his thoughts to share.

“How did you know it would fit?”

“I’m a man of many talents.” He smiles. “You look beautiful, Sloan.”

He holds out a hand and I slide mine into his.

In the car, I try to breathe through my mouth, both to focus and to not inhale his cologne, which seems to have a direct route to the heat between my legs. I’m half a cocktail away from making a real fool of myself if I don’t pull it together.

“How did you get involved with this charity?” I ask.

Nice. Good question. Very innocuous, very safe.

“The league sponsors it in every city where there’s a team. We all donate time and money to the local hockey program.”

His hands are huge and confident on the wheel. It’s weird how attractive that is, to see a man so in control of a powerful machine.

“I think that’s very admirable.”

“That’s a first.” When we arrive, he pulls into the valet line and looks over at me. “Nervous?”

“Should I be?”

He gives me another up and down, lips pursed like he’s thinking about it. Then he shakes his head. “Not in that dress.”

And then my door swings open and a white gloved hand is extended to help me from the car. I’m about to take it, but before I can, Beck is coming around the front of the car and shouldering the unwitting valet out of the way.

I blink in surprise at the ferocity on his face. It’s only there for a second, but I could swear I saw something there. A violent, vengeful possessiveness. A fire in his eyes that says,Don’t touch her. She’s mine.

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