A REASON FOR MARRIAGE

And then suddenly the spell was broken as one of her assistants tried to come in the door behind them. Simon cursed and started to do up her buttons again. Sara didn’t know how she was going to be able to go back out there and string two words together.

Her brain was mush for the rest of the day but somehow she managed to keep it together. Her crew feigned extreme lack of interest in the fact that Simon Hamilton was hovering like a bodyguard. But once they’d gone and she was alone with him, he pulled her over so she was practically on his lap on the couch. Sara had given up trying to pull away. He pressed a kiss to the underside of her wrist and looked up at her.

“Boy! Am I glad that they are gone. Aren’t you?”

Sara looked down at him and felt the earth move bizarrely beneath her feet even though they were sitting. Something very suspicious tightened her chest. She nodded, because she had to admit it. “Yes. I am glad.” She bent her head and pressed a kiss to his mouth, reveling in the freedom she had to do this. They’d achieved an immediate level of intimacy that would be frightening if she thought about it too closely.

She was embarking on an affair with a world-renowned playboy and that was going to be her protection: at no point would she be deluded. At no point would there be talk of love, marriage. It would end when it would end. And she’d take the gift of herself that he’d given back to her, like a guilty, delicious secret. That was all she wanted. This was all she wanted.

“I’m attending a charity ball tonight, and you’re coming with me,” he told her.

Sara lifted an eyebrow, “I am?” she asked him.

“Yeah, and I got you something to wear too.” He added proudly,

Sara was genuinely surprised. She’d never been with a man who went through the trouble of getting her a dress to go out with him. It felt weird, but very flattering as well.

“Do I even want to know how you did that? And how do you know the dress you bought is my size,”

“Oh, I know, Sara,” he said and planted a kiss on her cheek before he stood up, “I know,”

_________

Later that evening Sara took one last look at her reflection and turned to leave the room, but just then the door opened. Simon stopped dead for a moment, his gaze raking her up and down, and then he clapped his hand over his eyes. “I can’t believe it.”Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Sara felt like a fool. She knew she shouldn’t have worn the dress-it was ridiculous, too tight, too revealing. “Look, I can change, I’m not even that comfortable.”

Simon wasn’t moving.

She took a hesitant step forward. “What, what is it? Is it really that bad?”

Sara tried to look back at the mirror self-consciously when she heard something suspiciously like a grunt coming from Simon. He’d taken his hand down and was laughing. Then he stopped and walked towards her.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. It was the shock of seeing so much exposed flesh at once.”

Sara all at once felt like laughing and angry. She picked up a small cushion from the chair beside her and threw it at him, but he caught it deftly and kept coming. Dressed in a tuxedo, with his hair still damp from the shower, he was magnificent. She had to speak to try and negate the effect he had on her, the way his teasing wound through her and impacted a place that was so deep, so vulnerable.

“I’m going to change right now; I knew this dress was a mistake.”

She went to undo the zip that was under her arm, and Simon reached her and captured her hand. “Don’t you dare. That dress is beautiful.”

Sara’s face flamed. “It’s not. It’s too-”

“You know it’s beautiful, Sara,” he told her. “Don’t you?”

She couldn’t answer. He walked her over to the full-length mirror and stood her in front of him. His hands rested on her hips. She could feel him, tall and hard and lean behind her, and it was so seductive.

“Look at yourself.”

Sara closed her eyes, her cheeks still scarlet. She shook her head. “I don’t want to,”

“Sara, look at yourself.”

Something in his voice made her open her eyes, and she immediately looked at him through the mirror. She could feel him sigh behind her.

“Not at me, at yourself.”

With extreme reluctance, she did. She saw the black silk dress that was cut on the bias and fell to just below her knees in an asymmetric line. She saw one shoulder, pale and bared, and just a hint of a curve of her breast. She saw the strap that held the dress up over her other shoulder with its flamboyant red-silk flower, a splash of vibrant color.

“Now, what’s wrong with this picture?” he asked,

Sara groaned inwardly. This was so embarrassing. She would bet a million dollars that not one of his previous lovers had had to be reassured about a dress before.

She tried to turn. “Look, it’s nothing, I’m sorry. Let’s just go, shall we?”

He wouldn’t let her. He held her fast, and something in the air changed. It became electric. “You’re beautiful, Sara. This dress is beautiful on you. It’s not too revealing. In fact,” he growled with mock lasciviousness, “it’s not revealing enough,”

He turned her then to face him, his hands warm on her shoulders. She could feel her breasts peak against the silk of the dress. He tipped up her chin so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder what Bruce did to you. What did he say to you? I bet you weren’t always like this.”

Sara struggled not to let the tears brighten her eyes, but there was a lump in her throat. She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t. He just…he just made me feel cheap. That’s all.”

She pulled free of his arms and looked at her watch. “We should really go or we’ll be late and I’m sure you don’t want that,”

He heard the emotion in her voice and watched her precede him out of the room, the dress emphasizing her gently curved shape, the jut of her rounded bottom. He could recall only too clearly the thrust of her breasts against his chest.