‘Dancing. Getting your photo in the paper is the quickest way to let news of our engagement slip to the world.’
Alice’s eyes shifted—reluctantly—from Thanos’s face to the boulder she now wore on her finger, then to the reflective wall panel just a little way across the room. She’d come directly from the office and still wore an ill-fitting brown suit. It was hardly the stuff of elegant nightclubs, nor the kind of thing Thanos’s real fiancée would, she presumed, be caught dead in.
‘Dancing.’ She found herself nodding. ‘I can meet you at a club...’
He frowned. ‘But you’re right here.’
‘I need to get changed first,’ she pointed out, looking down at her figure.
His eyes narrowed and a smile played about his lips. ‘So you do.’ Then, with a confident gesture of his tanned fingers, he motioned for her to join him as he strode through the penthouse.
Curious, she did exactly that, until he paused in the middle of a large, cream-coloured bedroom.
A dress was hanging against another door, a slinky red colour with spaghetti straps, made of silk, that she suspected would fall to mid-thigh, at best, and which looked to dip dangerously low over the cleavage.
It was the complete opposite of anything she’d ever buy for herself, and yet she found herself fascinated by its delicate construction, its beautiful design.
‘This is for me?’ She flicked her gaze to his in time to catch a hint of speculation in his eyes.
He nodded though, brusque and efficient. ‘There are others,’ he offered, ‘but this is the one I liked best.’ His wink did funny things to her gut. ‘I’ll be waiting outside.’
She nodded, not quite equal to making a verbal response, pulling the dress from the hanger a little uneasily and running her fingertips over the sensual material. A quick inspection of the wardrobe showed several other dresses, all of them designer, all somehow—mysteriously—in her size. Then again, Thanos was no doubt an expert in women’s bodies—he could probably guess her measurements to within a millimetre’s accuracy despite the fact he’d only ever seen her in business suits.
She scanned all of the dresses, and though there were some which were far more conservative and in keeping with her normal dress code, she found her attention continually returning to the strappy red he’d expressed a preference for. Finally, with a guttural noise of surrender, she undressed and pulled it on over her head, catching her reflection almost as soon as it had settled on her body.
And she forze.
Because Alice never wore anything revealing. She never showed more than a hint of cleavage, nor anything above the knee.
Her mother had been strict when Alice was growing up. ‘Men are only ever after one thing, Alice Smart. Don’t be like I was—fooled by any handsome man with a silver tongue.’
And the one time Alice had defied her mother and gone out in a skimpy halter-neck top and miniskirt, she’d met Clinton—and everything her mother had said had been brought vividly to life.
Now, as a grown woman, and despite the fact Jane Smart was no longer able to deliver sermons on virtue and men’s general failings, Alice remembered the lessons that had been drummed into her again and again, and chose to wear clothes that hid her figure completely.
This dress hid nothing.
And yet she liked it.
With a small smile on her pale pink lips, she dropped her gaze to the ring she wore and breathed out. Because she was ‘engaged’. She wasn’t going to fall prey to some guy who just wanted to get her into bed.
She was going out with the man she planned to marry. What did it matter that the marriage was a ruse?
Holding onto her determination, she fluffed her hair around her face, so it fell a little wild and abandoned, and pinched her cheeks until they had a pleasant flush.
Several pairs of high heels were lined up in the closet, and this time they were in different sizes, so when she settled on a pair that fitted—strappy sandals with a small heel—she felt a little like Cinderella.
Just as she began to contemplate what her own handbag would look like with this chic outfit, she spied another wardrobe. A quick inspection showed several handbags had been laid out on shelves, as well as jewellery that she knew—despite its glistening diamonds—wasn’t costume.
Swallowing, she grabbed a clutch purse that matched the shoes, and turned to check her appearance one more time.
A stranger looked back at Alice.
A woman who was confident and in control. A woman who was sexy. The word came to Alice out of nowhere and a hive of bees seemed to take up residence in her belly, buzzing and swarming through her body.
Thanos was sexy.
He was sex appeal on a pair of very strong, long, lean legs.