Chapter 5

“Dios mío, Conor! I cannot wear something like this!”

Irene struggled to keep her voice low. She’d no idea what the young man had been planning while they enjoyed the swift lunch. Other women were perusing the nearby clothing racks deep inside one of the most exclusive ladies fashion shops. A store catering to a much younger, more ... daring crowd.

Relentless, he held a hanger against her front. While cute, trimmed with frilly golden lace, the black dress was also the tiniest in existence. His smile refused to slacken, and those annoyingly gorgeous eyes twinkled like azure stars.

“Au contraire, mademoiselle. I rather believe you’d look incredibly sexy. It’s a much better fit for—”

“Conor, por favor. Estás loco! You are a crazy man.”

Brows furrowed, she whipped the slinky thinness around with a trembling hand. The tangle of spaghetti straps and material would display far more than it concealed. Still, he kept the hanger firm on her upper chest.

“There’s nothing here,” she added, then sighed. “I wouldn’t be able to wear a bra.”

“Even better.”

She lifted her gaze, expecting to meet the leer most men sent to her over-sized, back-aching breasts. Instead, his eyes bore an intensity, scanning her face.

“My tatas are too large,” she mumbled.

“They are not.”

“They’re ugly.”

He snorted.

“They’re lopsided.”

“Lopsided?” His eyebrow arched.

“Off balance. One is larger.”

“Ah, well. That’s common enough. From what I can tell, they appear quite delightful.”

Not about to explain the magic of brassiere technology, she huffed. At first, her fists tightened, ready to peel the offending dress away, but that eyebrow arched higher. Her fingers loosened, then fell to her sides.

“Please, uh, por favor, try it on for me, darling.”

Darling? Her mind wobbled. That word, spoken with such ease. Plus the simple affection in his request. A surge of warmth flooded her core. What choice did she have? After a slow nod, she took the hanger from him. The sharp clicking of her heels echoed across a floor of pale-yellow marble as she headed for a row of curtained fitting booths.

Halfway there, the steady footfalls continuing to follow sent her pulse skyward. As she stepped inside the tiny space, a shadow loomed, and the swish of the curtain closing made her gasp. Heart thundering, she turned to find that smile.

“Y-You, um, shouldn’t be in here,” she muttered.

“No, I probably shouldn’t.”

With a playful wink, he half-leaned, half-sat on a bench. The narrow strip of wood was set high, designed to hold the over-priced purchases from similar stores. As those thick, corded arms crossed, the world throbbed.

Ever mushier, her mind formed words. Both direct and vivid, the light thrown by the overhead fixture would be unkind. All the excuses tumbled. The ones she’d already shared, plus she was so out-of-shape. Not even Oscar came into fitting rooms.

Once more, Conor’s eyebrow rose, and not a single syllable dared escape. Instead, she turned from him and hung the tiny black dress on a hook. Both hands shook as they slid under her hair to find the clasp at her nape.

As the trembling nails clicked, her mind screamed. Was she going to do it? Seriously, stupid Ire, stripping before a strange man? All those muscles. So tall. He might do anything to her inside that cramped space, becoming ever hotter by the second. No, only a thin curtain, so he’d never take such a risk.

A loud gulp accompanied the snick as the dress parted. The world began to throb, and her breathing raced. The zipper dragged downward, letting the thin flower-print peel away in her shaking digits. A spray of goosebumps was followed by a quicker speeding of heat.

With as much grace as possible, she captured the tumbling material on a shoe. As it lifted, her balance failed, and she had to slap a palm on a cold wooden wall. A curt inhale brought her view over a shoulder to find him reaching out, ready to catch her. When he noticed her gaze, he relaxed and sent her that smile.