“Alright,” Dorothea called. “Open your eyes. How does this one look?”
Sylvain did as he was told, jaw dropping. Dorothea could pull anything off, that was a given, but this particular number was somehow even more flattering than any of the last five. Black lace hugged all her curves, a slit skirt exposing the pale expanse of her left leg. Like most dresses she favored, the bodice was a halter-style top that attached to a thick bejeweled choker—and of course, when she twirled, the back was entirely open.
“Amazing,” he said without missing a beat. “And also too much.”
Dorothea scoffed, though her cheeks were a delightful red. “We’re running out of options, Sylvain. You can’t honestly think all of them are too much.”
“This guy has probably never been with a woman half as pretty as you,” he argued, leaning back in his chair. “Why do more work than you need to?”
She stepped towards him, the sway of her hips making the fabric shimmer as it shifted over her figure. “You know what I think?” she started, moving to his side, leaning down and touching the underside of his chin with her gloved fingers. “I think you just want me all to yourself. Not wasting my best looks on some fool who doesn’t deserve me.” Her touch migrated up, tracing the curve of his cheek. “I’ll still have this dress after we get what we need. All yours.” Her voice was husky, irresistible. Almost persuasive enough.
But Sylvain wouldn’t fold. He was in far too possessive a mood, and Dorothea was playing with fire.
“I won’t deny it,” he said, resting his hand on her waist. With a gentle nudge she plopped gracefully into his lap, arms draped over his shoulders. “But don’t act like you aren’t doing this on purpose.”
“Me?” she asked with a playful giggle. A shy flutter of her lashes, an affectionate smile that reached her eyes… That, at least, was something he knew she could never quite recreate for a stranger. “Well, maybe. I’d much rather be wearing this for you, too. Obviously.”