She walked past him into the bedroom and stopped.
There, carefully spread out on the bed, was the blue dress she’d admired in the window.
“It’s the mermaid dress.” Her heart in her throat, she turned to look at him. “I told you I couldn’t afford it.”
“But I can, and it’s a gift. Not that I’m an expert in the whole fairy-tale approach to relationships, but when a girl meets Prince Charming,” he drawled, “I’m guessing it’s probably best not to do it while wearing a wet towel.”
He’d bought her a dress? “I already have a dress.”
“A dress that didn’t make you excited. If we’re going to this damn ball, then at least you’re going to feel excited. I’ll leave you to change.” There was a raw, sexy quality to his voice that suggested that if he didn’t he’d be helping her undress.
She stared after him for a moment and then shook her head to dispel the dizzy clouds of longing.
He’d bought her a dress. Not just a dress but the dress.
She should probably refuse, but it was gorgeous. Easily the most gorgeous thing she’d ever owned. Refusing would be rude, wouldn’t it? And the fact that he’d seen how much she wanted it, and bought it for her—
Her imagination raced, taking her pulse with it.
Why? Why had he bought it? What did it mean?
She hadn’t even realized she had tears in her eyes until she had to blink to clear her vision.
Crap.
It didn’t mean anything except that he was generous. She absolutely couldn’t get soppy about Lucas. The point of going to the ball was to meet someone, not fall for a man who didn’t want a relationship.
* * *
Lucas poured himself a drink. He knew it was going to be the first of several if he had any hope of getting through the evening ahead.
His tux felt uncomfortable, as if it belonged to someone else, but he knew the problem didn’t lie with the clothes. It lay in the woman in the next room.
“How do I look?” Eva’s voice came from behind him and he downed the whiskey in the glass and turned.
He was grateful that he’d swallowed before looking.
“You look—” His mouth dried and he licked his lips. What the hell had he done? He was finding it hard enough to keep his hands off her, and he’d just made it even harder.
“What? You were going to say something?” She stroked her palms over the curve of her hips and gave him a shy smile. “It fits perfectly.”
“Yes.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Good.”
“How?”
He tried to absorb the question but his brain had ceased to function normally. “How what?”
“How does it fit so perfectly? Did you drug me and measure me in your sleep? Did you steal one of my dresses and send it to the store?” She lifted her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Listen to me! I’m starting to sound like you. You’ve turned me into a suspicious cynic in less time than it takes to bake a cake. Are you proud?”
He wasn’t sure what he was, but it was very uncomfortable.
“Say something.” Her hand dropped. “It isn’t easy finding clothes to fit me. I’m a weird shape. How did you do it?”
Her shape looked perfect to him.
“I called your friend Paige. As I’m officially now a client of Urban Genie, it entitles me to full concierge services. I can ask you to send flowers to my grandmother, bake me a cak
e or walk my dog.”