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“Ah, yeah, sorry about that.” Dean’s low voice sends desire running through me again. “I have a dress for you, if you want to wear it. If not, we can go down there wearing regular clothes and they can go fuck themselves. Up to you, princess.”

I snort and stretch out a hand to grab the hanger. Dean stays behind the door, the picture of politeness.Yeah, right. I’ve seen what he’s made of and I’m not buying it. Still, I appreciate the gesture.

I hang the garment bag from the hook on the back of the door and unzip it, inhaling sharply. Silky fabric, a shade between gray and green, whispers as I touch it, soft and sensuous beneath my fingers. A thick paper bag hangs from the top, and I pull out lacy black underwear.

My eyebrows shoot up.Wow. Yes, I needed underwear, but for him to buy it for me? Presumptuous. And a little bit sexy.

I put the underwear back in, gauging the dress. It’s the right size, shimmering in the bathroom lights as I carefully unhook it and slide it overhead. Tugging it down, I arrange myself in it, then study the effect in the mirror.

Dean Evans, eat your heart out.It’s a far cry from a dirty bikini and a filthy sundress. This is… sexy.

Maybe not exactly what I’d pick, with the slit up to midthigh and the drape in the front putting my cleavage on display. Okay, so nothing like what I’d pick.

But hell. I feelpowerful. And I’ve felt too little of that lately.

Dean clears his throat. “Do you like it? I told the saleslady to pick out shoes, too, when I called in to buy it.” Two black heels dangle from his fingers in the crack in the door, and I slip them on.

“You’re really quiet… We don’t have to go down if you don’t want to. If this is too much.” The strain in his voice is clear.

I swing the door open and my jaw drops. Dean is in a black suit, tailored to show off his broad chest and wickedly muscled arms. No tie, his tanned skin highlighted by the white dress shirt open at the collar.

He left the gray and black stubble, but tamed his hair with some gel.

Maybe I’m not hungry for dinner after all.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

DEAN

I can’t tearmy eyes away from her.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” The words come out unplanned. “Stunning.”

A rosy blush blooms on her cheeks. “You clean up pretty nice, too.”

The image of her in that dress is branded in my consciousness. No matter what happens between us, I won’t forget this moment, how she looks in that dress, how she makes me feel.

How she looks at me, like I’m worth something, like she wants me.

I can’t stop staring.

“Who is John Brandon?”

Jealousy surges before my senses reclaim my brain. “It’s me. It’s a light cover. Not my real name.”

“Oh, that’s good. Dean Evans is your real name, right?” She fiddles with the slit of her dress, exposing more smooth thigh. I inhale, stepping closer.

“Yes.”

“Good. That would be really awkward, if I’ve been fantasizing about you and I didn’t even know your real name.” She grimaces, and I chuckle.

“That right, princess? You’ve been fantasizing about me?” I want her. I want to run my hands across that smooth skin, explore every inch of her.

“I’m the one asking questions,” she says, arching an eyebrow.

I snort. “As you wish.”