Now, at four forty-five, dressed in the skimpy black dress Carrie had brought around, tottering around her studio in matching six-inch heels hell-bent on killing her, she cursed herself for saying yes.
She truly needed her head read.
“Wow.”
Zach’s soft chuckle made her stumble to a halt.
He pursed his lips with a cheeky whistle. “Now you look like someone who belongs in our family.”
She huffed at him. “I feel ridiculous.”
“You look beautiful.”
“Shut up.”
“No, serious. You do.”
She raked her fingers through her hair. The dress—a shimmery black thing that barely reached mid thigh—hugged her hips and butt, was completely backless, and had a deep, loose scoop for a neckline that drew attention to the shadow of her cleavage. Every time she moved, her nipples rubbed against the silky soft fabric, making them pucker into points. She wished to hell her hair was longer so it could cover her breasts. Of course, it wasn’t longer, and she didn’t own a convertible bra so she would no doubt be spending the night with her arms crossed a lot. On her feet were the strappy black torture devices Carrie called stilettos also borrowed from her best friend. If she wasn’t so damn nervous about the evening, she’d be embarrassed by the fact that, at twenty-six years of age, she didn’t own a pair of shoes appropriate for a formal event.
She was letting down her gender.
Although, surely going to said formal event with a man almost every woman in the country lusted after was enough to make amends?
She turned to Zach, the balls of her feet already aching. “Do you think I could swap the shoes for flip-flops? Maybe I should stay home? I don’t think you’re old enough for me to leave—”
A sharp knock at the door silenced her.
With a smirk, Zach ran to the door.
She lunged after him. And stumbled on the borrowed killer heels. “Zach, don’t—”
“Hello, Zachary.”
James’s deep voice filled her studio.
“Hello, Mr. Dyson.”
She bit back a groan at the smile in Zach’s voice. Great, he’d decided to like the guy now.
“Not insulting me today? Why not?”
Zach laughed. “It’s complicated.”
James laughed in return. “It is, isn’t it?”
She fixed her stare on the twisted strap around her ankle, not willing to look up at the man at the door chatting so amiably with Zach. Not until the heat in her cheeks faded. Not until she regained some control of her frantic heart.
“Who’s this?”
At Zach’s unexpected question, she jerked her stare from her shoe. James had brought someone…
Her gaze locked on the tall man with messy blond hair, melt-your-resistance good looks, and devilish blue eyes standing beside him. A man dressed in jeans and a Lego Darth Vader T-shirt.
James’s dark gaze flicked to her, and for a split second, she was undone by the raw desire she saw in his eyes. And then he was smiling at Zach again, adjusting the cuffs on his tuxedo jacket as he tossed a casual nod at his companion. “A friend of mine. Thomas St. Clair. Do you know who he is?”
“Are you freaking kidding?” Zach’s excitement reverberated around Sienna’s home. “I’ve read every book you’ve written.”
Thomas St. Clair grinned. “Thanks, little dude.”
Zach swung around to face her. “Thomas St. Clair, sis. You seriously know all the celebs. Any chance Chris Pratt will come visit soon?”
Determined to show how cool, calm, and collected she was, she began walking to the door. “No, but I’ve invited Ian Somerhalder around for lunch tomorrow.”
Zach’s forehead furrowed. “Who?”
St. Clair laughed.
James shook his head, his smile relaxed. “I don’t think that was the correct thing to say, Zachary.” His dark gaze slid to her, raw desire smoldering in their depths. “You look stunning, Sienna.”
She smiled, willing the stiletto heels to remain stable under her feet as she drew closer to where he and St. Clair stood watching her. “Thank you.”
“I say she does.” Thomas stepped through the doorway, holding out his hand as he walked toward her. “I have one of your paintings in my office. Mason sent it to me a while ago, and I have to say, I’ve been obsessed with meeting you ever since.” He ran a slow inspection over her, his fingers warm and firm around hers. “Wish I’d come sooner.”