black sheath, dripping with shimmering silver ribbons that flowed from the low-cut neckline, past the short hem of the underdress to knee-length.
With a spurt of mischievousness, she held it against her body. “What do you think?”
His gaze traveled the length of the garment, eyes glittering with what looked suspiciously like humor. “You show up in that, doll-face, and I’d better be packin’ heat.”
This time, she did crack a smile.
She pulled the dress away from her body, turning it and making a show of taking a critical look. “Too much?”
“Not nearly enough.”
She could have sworn there was a sensual edge to his tone. But his cell phone chimed, cutting it off.
She hung the dress back on the rack, battling a wave of prickly heat that slowly throbbed its way through her system. Faking, she reminded herself ruthlessly. Faking, faking, faking.
“Alec Creighton,” he said into the phone.
His glance darted to her for a split second, then he turned away, lowering his voice.
She told herself to focus on the costumes and give him his privacy. He had his own life, and she had hers. As he’d so clearly just pointed out, this intersection between them was completely temporary.
Still, she couldn’t help catching snatches of the conversation. She heard him say tomorrow, then airport, then Cedarvale.
It sounded like he was leaving, and a wave of disappointment surprised and worried her. It was good that he was leaving.
But then she heard him say her brothers’ names. She blinked at his back, listening unabashedly to the final snatches of the conversation.
As he signed off, she quickly grabbed another dress, pretending to be absorbed by it.
“This one?” she asked.
It was a soft, champagne silk, with a low V-neck, spaghetti straps and covered in sparkling, criss-cross beading. The silk came to midthigh, while a wide, sheer, metallic lace hemline, slashed to points, rustled around her knees.
“They don’t have anything with sleeves?” he frowned.
“It’s the roaring twenties,” she told him, trying not to wonder about his phone call. “I’m supposed to look like your moll. What do you think? A wide choker and a long string of pearls?”
“I think you’ll be the death of me.”
“What about the red one?” she lifted another from the rack. “It comes with satin gloves and a feather boa.
Alec’s nostrils flared. “Better stick with the gold.”
“It’s champagne.”
“Not the red, and definitely not the black.”
“Fine.” She put the red one back, wishing she was brave enough to ask about the phone call. Was he leaving? And why had he mentioned her brothers? “What about a long cigarette holder?” she asked instead.
“Absolutely not. You’re pregnant.”
“Shhhh.” She glanced quickly around, worried someone would overhear.
He moved closer, leaning down to whisper. “You’re pregnant.”
“I wouldn’t really smoke anything.”
“Don’t even joke about it.”
“Who was on the phone?” she blurted out.
“A friend.”
“Does he know my brothers?”
Alec’s brow furrowed. “No. Why?”
“No reason,” she lied, glancing away. “I thought it might be about the Ryder International review. Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
She looked back up at him again, puzzling over why he’d hold back the truth about the phone call. If the friend didn’t know her brothers, Alec wouldn’t have mentioned their names. “I need to get Wesley prepared,” she told him.
Alec’s jaw tightened, eyes squinting further. “I’m staying.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
He gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment.
Moving away from yet another uncomfortable moment, she gestured to the rack of suits. “Did you find something to wear?”
“I’m not wearing pinstripes.”
“How about a hat?” She selected one with a center dent and a wide, satin band and tried to place it on his head.
He jerked sideways, out of the way. “How about a suit jacket
With a spurt of mischievousness, she held it against her body. “What do you think?”
His gaze traveled the length of the garment, eyes glittering with what looked suspiciously like humor. “You show up in that, doll-face, and I’d better be packin’ heat.”
This time, she did crack a smile.
She pulled the dress away from her body, turning it and making a show of taking a critical look. “Too much?”
“Not nearly enough.”
She could have sworn there was a sensual edge to his tone. But his cell phone chimed, cutting it off.
She hung the dress back on the rack, battling a wave of prickly heat that slowly throbbed its way through her system. Faking, she reminded herself ruthlessly. Faking, faking, faking.
“Alec Creighton,” he said into the phone.
His glance darted to her for a split second, then he turned away, lowering his voice.
She told herself to focus on the costumes and give him his privacy. He had his own life, and she had hers. As he’d so clearly just pointed out, this intersection between them was completely temporary.
Still, she couldn’t help catching snatches of the conversation. She heard him say tomorrow, then airport, then Cedarvale.
It sounded like he was leaving, and a wave of disappointment surprised and worried her. It was good that he was leaving.
But then she heard him say her brothers’ names. She blinked at his back, listening unabashedly to the final snatches of the conversation.
As he signed off, she quickly grabbed another dress, pretending to be absorbed by it.
“This one?” she asked.
It was a soft, champagne silk, with a low V-neck, spaghetti straps and covered in sparkling, criss-cross beading. The silk came to midthigh, while a wide, sheer, metallic lace hemline, slashed to points, rustled around her knees.
“They don’t have anything with sleeves?” he frowned.
“It’s the roaring twenties,” she told him, trying not to wonder about his phone call. “I’m supposed to look like your moll. What do you think? A wide choker and a long string of pearls?”
“I think you’ll be the death of me.”
“What about the red one?” she lifted another from the rack. “It comes with satin gloves and a feather boa.
Alec’s nostrils flared. “Better stick with the gold.”
“It’s champagne.”
“Not the red, and definitely not the black.”
“Fine.” She put the red one back, wishing she was brave enough to ask about the phone call. Was he leaving? And why had he mentioned her brothers? “What about a long cigarette holder?” she asked instead.
“Absolutely not. You’re pregnant.”
“Shhhh.” She glanced quickly around, worried someone would overhear.
He moved closer, leaning down to whisper. “You’re pregnant.”
“I wouldn’t really smoke anything.”
“Don’t even joke about it.”
“Who was on the phone?” she blurted out.
“A friend.”
“Does he know my brothers?”
Alec’s brow furrowed. “No. Why?”
“No reason,” she lied, glancing away. “I thought it might be about the Ryder International review. Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
She looked back up at him again, puzzling over why he’d hold back the truth about the phone call. If the friend didn’t know her brothers, Alec wouldn’t have mentioned their names. “I need to get Wesley prepared,” she told him.
Alec’s jaw tightened, eyes squinting further. “I’m staying.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
He gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment.
Moving away from yet another uncomfortable moment, she gestured to the rack of suits. “Did you find something to wear?”
“I’m not wearing pinstripes.”
“How about a hat?” She selected one with a center dent and a wide, satin band and tried to place it on his head.
He jerked sideways, out of the way. “How about a suit jacket
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