Louis' POV
I'm seated in the living room, going through some documents on my tablet, but my mind keeps drifting back to earlier.
The plan was simple: to go and ask her about any concerns she might have and clear any unnecessary thoughts or misunderstandings.
I also wanted to invite her to dinner tonight.
That was it. Simple and concise. But between her proclamation about not knowing anything about me and her asking about my parents, I pretty much blacked out.
My jaw tightens slightly at the memory. I couldn't even control my reaction—couldn't mask the irritation that crept in. It was not irected at her, obviously….never at her. But at the mere mention of them.
My parents and I were not on good terms. We hadn't been for a long time. Not even on talking terms.
They lived their lives like they don't have a son, and I've learned to do the same, not acknowledging their existence. They never cared for mine, so why bother. It was easier that way.
Still…at the back of my mind I knew, it won't last. The silence was bound to be broken.
A quiet sigh leaves me as I adjust my tie, the knot suddenly feeling tighter against my neck.
If the tabloids don't get the news and carry it across to them, Grandmother definitely will. She won't be able to help herself once she speaks to her precious son again.
And when that reaches them… I didn't finish the thought.
The soft padding of footsteps pulls me out of it.
Claire trudges down the staircase and into the living room, not noticing me in the corner chair. The light from my tablet is now completely dim from me not using it , and since I'm shrouded in the dark, I don't blame her.
"Betty?" she calls softly, glancing around.
The warm light from the stairs surrounds her as she walks into the dining area. She steps further into the light, and my breath hitches.
She looks… stunning. Absolutely gorgeous.
I immediately felt my chest ignite with pride, I felt fulfilled knowing I picked the right dress.
The dress hugs her perfectly, every curve accentuated without trying too hard. The lilac shade against her skin, it suits her more than I imagined. No wonder it's her favourite colour.
The contrast was beautiful against her glimmering skin.
Was I staring too much? I definitely am.
I force myself to drag my gaze away for a second, almost irritated with myself. I feel like a stalker, blatantly staring at a victim from the comfort of the dark.
I've never seen her dressed like this before. Since she started working for me, she's always dressed moderately, strictly professional. Nothing loud. Nothing attention-seeking.
And yet… she always had mine anyway.
"Do you need help with something?" I ask, breaking the silence in the room.
She gasps softly, startled. She must not have expected to find me here. "Oh…uh, no, I was just…" She hesitates. "I needed help with something."
I stand, setting my tablet aside, inching closer to her.
Up close, it's worse. Her makeup is flawless. Her lips—glossed and full, the curve of her cupid's bow catches my attention longer than it should.
I swallow, staring without shame. "What did you need help with?"
She shifts slightly, definitely aware of my gaze.
"I needed a little help with my dress zipper," she says with a nervous laugh. "It seems to be hooked. I think I pulled it too hard, and I don't want to ruin it, so I was looking for Betty."
"Well.. Uh, Betty isn't here," I reply. "She has the night off, since we won't be eating at home."
"Oh." She looks a little deflated.
Before I can think twice, I cut in. "But I think I could be of some assistance, if you don't mind, of course."
She looks surprised at that. There's a brief pause as she considers it… then she slowly turns her back to me.
Heat creeps up my neck as I catch a whiff of her scent, soft and maddeningly familiar. Her hair brushing just close enough to undo me.
Seriously?
I exhale quietly, trying to steady myself. I'm acting like a damn prude.
I've had experience, this shouldn't feel like this. I may not believe in love, but I've had my share of experience. But with Claire… with Claire… it does.
The zipper is stuck halfway up her back. Her skin is smooth, almost distracting.
For a second, I hesitate. Then I shake it off and step closer.
She shudders slightly at the proximity. Even I resist the urge to press closer to her. She smells absolutely divine. The faint scent of raspberry lingers, with a hint of something different—flowery and intoxicating.
I gently move her hair to the side, gathering the soft strands over her shoulder. The pads of my fingers brush against the back of her neck, warm and smooth beneath my touch, and she reacts instantly, her spine arching ever so slightly.
A soft gasp slips past her lips.
I don't miss it.
My hand stills for half a second longer than it should, my eyes fixed on the delicate line of her spine before I force myself to move again. She shifts, the motion subtle but telling, like she's suddenly aware of just how close I am.
'Focus, Louis', I chide myself.
"The zipper's really caught," I murmur, my voice lower than intended. "Careful… it's hooked badly."
"Okay," she replies, her voice quiet, unsteady in a way I'm not sure she realizes. She stiffens in response, careful not to move any further.
I exhale slowly, steadying my hands as I reach for the zipper again. My fingers brush her skin once more as I try to free the fabric, and it sends an unwelcome tension through me.
I grit my teeth slightly, forcing my attention onto the task.
This is simple, it is just a zipper.
But the proximity, the faint scent of her perfume, the warmth radiating from her body—it all makes it anything but simple.
I adjust my grip, more careful this time, easing the caught fabric free inch by inch. She inhales softly when my knuckles graze her back again, and I swear my pulse spikes at the sound.
It was maddening and my pulse was skyrocketing quicker than I'd like to admit.
After a few more careful attempts, it finally loosens.
Thank God.
I pull the zipper up smoothly, all the way to the top, sealing the dress against her skin.
I let out a quiet breath of relief.
Done.
For a moment, I don't move. My gaze lingers longer than it should, taking in the way the dress fits her perfectly, the way it hugs her small waist perfectly, the mould of her ass shooting out at the waist.
She was incredibly sexy, if I were a very selfish man. I could close the distance, press myself against her. Let her feel how much she affected me.
Check to see that this attraction I feel wasn't just one sided and that she felt it too. But I couldn't do that.
We have an agreement, there was a clause against physical contact.
Then I step back. Quickly. Putting space between us before my thoughts can catch up to me.
My heart is beating harder than it should. She looks beautiful. Not just beautiful, stunning, sexy. Perfect.
And for a brief, reckless moment, a thought slips through, uninvited and dangerous—
I wish this were real.
I wish I were the lucky bastard who had a right to touch her. The one who didn't have to pretend. The one who could stand this close without restraint… without rules.
The one who could take that dress off her tonight without second-guessing himself. The one who could roam his hands on her body, claiming and moulding every soft skin.
The one who could take her right here and right now, make her skin flush with pure need. I just badly felt the burning desire to just touch her, in a very inappropriate manner. Fuck, the things I'd do.
But I can't.
My jaw tightens.
Damn. I'm so fucked.
I clear my throat, forcing the thought away, forcing myself back into control. Back into the role I'm supposed to play. The fake husband.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
"Are you done?," her soft voice asked, a little breathless I observed.
Pulling myself out of my miserable pining and improper thought, "Yeah.. it's all good now, I choked out. I finally realized how long I'd just stayed at her, trapped in my gutter filled head.
She turns to me now, her hands smoothing over her dress. "Thank you. Let me go get my purse so we can leave."
I watch her leave, my gaze lingering a little too long as she moves up the stairs.
She comes back down not long after, her purse in hand, her bracelet dangling loosely at her wrist, catching the light.
"Ready?" I ask, my voice steadier now, carefully neutral, as if nothing just shifted.