He remembered the words of the song I sang him! My heart flipped in my chest and my eyes grew misty. I clutched onto him. “God, I love you.”

He lingered another moment, his gaze fixed on mine.

A rush of…something…swept through my body. It was impossible to pinpoint the exact emotion, and I suspected it was a combination of a whole lot of stuff—melancholy and lust and love and adoration.

But, even with all the good stuff, under all that, there was a steady pulse of dread.

He narrowed his eyes, studying me. “What is it, precious?”

“I don’t know.” How could I explain this unwarranted feeling that the beautiful thing we had was right on the edge of shattering? I brushed my hand across his cheek. “Sometimes, when you go, I’m left feeling off kilter.”

“Trust me, precious, the feeling is mutual.”

I thought about his response long after he’d left, wondering what he’d meant. Maybe he hadn’t realized that my statement wasn’t exactly a compliment.

Or maybe I had him just as off balance as he had me.

***

Mira tugged at the waistband of the blue floral A-line I was wearing. I couldn’t see myself in the mirror from where I was standing in the dressing room, but from what I could see, it looked pretty damn good.

“Turn,” she demanded.

I spun half-heartedly. I was tired of spinning, frankly. It was nearly three and after trying on dozens of outfits, we still hadn’t found the perfect one for her reopening. Scratch that. Mira hadn’t found the perfect outfit. I’d found several.

“Hmm.” She studied me with narrow eyes. “I love this one, but it’s not as good on you as I thought it would be.”

I swallowed back my sigh. “Maybe I’m not a very good model.” I suddenly had a ton of appreciation for those who modeled for a living. I loved clothes. I loved trying new clothes on. I did not, it turned out, love being poked and prodded and scrutinized by a feisty fashion expert.

Mira shook her head. “That’s the thing. You’re too gorgeous and this dress dulls you.”

Dulls me? That was a new one.

“There’s too much material,” she went on. “It’s like I’m trying to hide beauty.”

“Whatever.”

“There’s got to be something else.” She rifled through the dresses on the rack that I had yet to try on, which was not many. “All of these have the same problem. We need a perfect balance between the dress and you. We need one that shows more skin.”

“Don’t make it too skimpy or Hudson will kill you. Or me. Or both of us.” Thoughts of Hudson were never far away when I was in Mira’s shop. We’d had amazing sex right in that very dressing room— my hands pressed against the mirror, his c**k thrusting in from behind—

“Hudson can bite my ass.”

Leave it to Mira to bring me back to reality. Sharply. Except now I was thinking about Hudson biting my ass…

Mira pulled a dress from the rack, looking it over. “Did you figure out if Hudson has any plans for Celia?”

“Unfortunately, I think he doesn’t.” That was what my heart was truly telling me. It was probably also why he wanted me out of town. “And did you see Celia was there at the restaurant last week?”

Mira whipped toward me. “Oh my god! She was? I didn’t see her. With Mom and everything, I guess I was distracted. Did she say anything to you?”

“Nope.” She’d skirted past the Sophia incident, so I took that as a sign she didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Thank goodness for that.” She turned to put the dress back in its place and began shuffling through the outfits we’d already been through. “I can’t believe she has time to dedicate to that. I mean, she doesn’t need the money, but she has a job. Does she just ignore her clients?”

I’d actually lost jobs in the past due to my own obsessions. But for once, I didn’t want to compare. I decided to go for a lighter approach. “I know, right? Maybe she pays an assistant to do all her work.”

Mira laughed. “Or she canceled all her projects this month.”

“And put up a sign in her office that says: Closed for Stalking.” We were both laughing now. The release felt good. It broke the ever-present tension sort of in the same way sex did. If I couldn’t spend all my days in bed, I definitely should spend more of it laughing.

“Well, at least we can find the humor.” Mira moved behind me, apparently giving up on the clothes rack. “But there’s no humor in this horrid dress. Let’s get you out of this lousy thing.” She loosened the ties that threaded across my back, then started removing the pins she’d put in to tighten the dress at my waist.

There was a tap at the dressing room door. Stacy entered without waiting for an invitation. “Here’s some for that one.” She handed a pair of cherry red heels toward her boss.

I hadn’t seen much of Stacy that afternoon. She’d stayed relatively busy with another customer, but as soon as she was finished, she had popped her head in. Mira had sent her on errand after errand, asking for a different bra, another box of pins, and so on.

But even just seeing her sporadically, it was enough to send my mind back to the video she’d offered to show me. I’d told Hudson I didn’t need to see it—and I didn’t—but that didn’t stop me from being slightly curious. Okay, more than slightly.

Mira waved the shoes away. “We’re scrapping this one. It’s not quite right.” Her eyes lit up. “You know what? We should try the Furstenberg piece. The new one. What do you think, Stacy?”

Stacy tilted her head and examined me, perhaps trying to picture me in the dress they were talking about. “It would look great with her skin tone. And the fit is meant to accentuate the bust line, which works with her body type. Is it still in the backroom?”

“Yes.”

Stacy turned to leave.

“No, wait.” Mira stopped her. “I pulled it for Misty to try on and then she chose something different.” Her brow pinched. “Crap. I don’t know where it is now.”

“I can look around,” Stacy offered.

“Let me go. I don’t expect you to figure out where my hormone-influenced brain left it. Will you help her out of this one?” Mira handed the pin box to Stacy.

Maybe it was my imagination, but Stacy’s expression didn’t seem too pleased. “Certainly.” And her voice was tight.