As promised, it’s an evening jacket worthy of opening night, but with embellishments that pay homage to the production. The velvet is a deep, shimmering claret with black silk lapels and gold stitching on the cuffs. I fancied it up with ornamental pieces befitting a soldier, including hand-sewn black studs and tiny gold crystals on the leather shoulder patches. I also added gold chains to loop across his shoulders and connect to the gilding on the breast pocket. It’s both masculine and extravagant – which sums up Dash pretty well, in my mind.
“Damn, it’s perfect, Kate.” I smile as he preens in the mirror, and I can’t resist moving around him to adjust the fabric against his body. “I can’t wait to try it on with my tuxedo pants – or maybe a pair of fitted leather trousers.” I smirk at the wicked gleam in his eyes, and he bites his lip. “What can I say? I was born to strut.”
“You definitely were,” I agree. “And I think you should go bare-chested under it, like you are now.” I can’t resist running my fingers over the lapels, soaking up some of his body heat. “Your torso is incredible, and it will play up the deep V of the jacket.”
Heat licks through his eyes, and he grabs my hand, pressing it flat against his chest. “You make me feel incredible, Kate.”
“I had something pretty amazing to work with.” Our gazes cling for a moment, tension building between us, but then I huff out a breath and click my fingers. “Come on, soldier. That needs to be pressed and wrapped until opening night.”
He sheds the jacket with great reluctance, but I’ve barely hung it on the rack before he presses his bare chest against my back. I’m wearing a cream cashmere sweater, and his hands slide under the fluffy fabric to cup my breasts. “Look how pretty you are,” he croons, nuzzling my neck as he stares at our reflection. “I like it when you dress me, but Ireallylike undressing you.”
I’d smirk at his cheesiness if he wasn’t swiping a hot tongue over my scent gland. He teases the sensitive skin for a moment, his hips rocking against my ass so I can feel his erection. A shudder of need goes through me, and when I brush a hand down his side, he growls low in his throat. It’s all the invitation he needs to peel the sweater off my shoulders, giving him better access to my neck. I have my hair down, but he grabs it in one hand, holding it tight so he can lick up my throat. When my pencil gets in the way, he plucks it from behind my ear and tosses it on the floor. I cock a brow at him, curious to see how far he plans to take this, and he pinches my nipples through my silky camisole.
“No bra?” He turns me in his arms, lowering his head to gently bite my breasts through my sweater. “Damn, you get me so hot, sweetheart.”
He nuzzles me with renewed hunger, and I grab the rack, his scent swirling around me in a heady mist. When he starts tugging at the zipper of my linen trousers, I glance at the velvet drapes, but it’s not like the salon is bustling with customers.
It’s probably the only time in my career that I’ll appreciate my lack of clients.
Dash seems beyond such considerations, peeling my pants down my legs and running his fingers up my thighs. Another growl leaves his throat as he reaches the silky triangle of my thong. But instead of touching me there, he draws me back to the dais in the middle of the room. “Your turn to be put on a pedestal,” he purrs, but when I go to kick off my shoes, he swats my ass. “Keep the pumps on, sweetheart. Legs like yours need to be adored.”
I’m not so sure. “I’m out of proportion,” I tell him, giving my upper thigh a critical tap. “Too many curves downstairs.”
Dash looks scandalized as he swats my hand aside. “You’re joking, right? These thighs were made for riding my hips.”
I snort at the Dash-centric compliment, but he just pulls my tape measure from around my neck and sinks to his knees in front of me. “I clearly have something to prove, so it’s time to take your measurements, Ms. Valentine.”
I’d scoff at him, since my vital statistics are burned into my brain, but Dash is already snaking the tape around my ankle. It feels cold against my skin, and I shiver as he pauses at my calf, pulling the tape tight to read the measurement. “This is hot-as-fuck inches, just like I suspected.”
I laugh, but he’s leaning in to gently kiss the skin of my calf, and I shiver at the brush of his lips. “Oh, I like your style, Mr. Devereux.”
“Isn’t this how every designer does it?” he asks with a coy look, already sliding the tape higher, encircling my dreaded thigh. But he barely looks at the tape, his gaze holding mineas he leans in. “Mind-blowing sex, if it had a shape and circumference,” he says as he feathers his tongue over the heated skin. “Mmm. And pretty high on the tasty scale, too.”
I squirm, but he’s already moving on, looping one end of the tape between my thighs and around my back. When he pulls it taut, the slippery plastic rubs against the damp fabric of my thong, and I give a needy gasp. “Dash…”
“And saving the best for last,” he goes on in his honeyed purr, “we have the gateway to paradise. I don’t need to look, because I already know it’s a perfect ten out of ten.”
His mouth suddenly replaces the tape, and I have to reach down to clutch his shoulder. His muscles are like hot rocks under my fingers, but I’m too distracted by the way he’s ravaging my clit to comment on the tension humming through his body. I thought we were just playing around, but he seems intent on bringing me to a screaming orgasm right here in my salon, and I can’t say I object. In fact, when he slides a finger in beside his tongue, stars start to flicker behind my eyelids.
But then I catch the scent rising off him, like smoky florals doused in honey.
“Dash… Wait.” I’m right on the edge, but I force myself to take a step back, his hooded eyes staring up at me in confusion. “You feel really warm, sweetheart. Are you okay?”
“Blissful.” He reaches for me again, but I give his shoulder a soft nudge.
“Your scent is really strong, too. I’ve never smelled that honey note.”
He’s still pouting as he sits back on his heels, but then his pupils blow wide and I’m pretty sure I know why. “When’s your heat due, Dash?”
He blinks at me, then sticks his hand down the back of his pants. “Oh, crap.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - DASH
In the excitement of unveiling Kate’s masterpiece in her new salon, I’ve clearly missed the signs of my approaching heat. Nataniel commented a couple of times on how jumpy I seemed at rehearsal, but I just assumed that was my happy little heart taking flight. I’ve been floating on cloud nine since last night, when Corbus let his sexy alpha side out to play. I’m a greedy little monster at the best of times, but when he’s giving me orders to make Kate come on my tongue, I want to beat my chest and roar.
My very hot, sweaty chest, I realize now. Maybe our sexcapades last night gave me a jumpstart, since my heat’s still a week away by my calculation. A month ago, I was worried that it would come right on opening night, and I stocked some blockers in case I needed to soldier through. Not that we’re allowed to perform while in heat, but blockers can reduce the length and intensity of the haze, getting me back on stage faster.
“It rains, you get wet.” Kate’s eyes widen, and I roll my own. “I’m quoting De Nero, in the movieHeat.”
