But, yeah, she could handle Cam.
She smoothed the front of the dress again and looked down at her breasts. “Amazing, huh?”
That, of course, pulled his gaze back to her breasts. “Absolutely,” he said simply, with a nod.
Yeah, she was a very accomplished, unapologetic liar. Except to herself.
She liked his reaction.
She was thinner now than when they’d dated. They’d been seventeen and eighteen when they’d been together but looking back, they’d been kids. She’d never been curvy but she’d been heavier than now. She was now more toned thanks to workouts to manage her stress. And now with Cam’s eyes on her, she was really glad about every one of those sweaty sessions in her home gym and the yoga studio downtown.
“Well then, I’m thinking this dress might be just right.”
He met her gaze. “Turn around.”
She was also very grateful for ten years practicing schooling her reactions because that—the deep, gruff, firm command with the heat in his eyes—was really hard not to react to, even with all the experience she had.
She licked her lips, watched his eyes drop to her mouth, then turned—before she smiled.
She bent her knee, propping her hand on her cocked hip, and just stood, again letting him study her.
What did she have to lose? Her butt didn’t look weird in it so much as she just looked weird in it. This was not her kind of dress. The dress was way too sassy for her. It was a wiggle dress—the hem narrower than the hips which caused the wearer to take shorter steps and added a little wiggle to the stride—and was bright red. She wore pencil skirts but they weren’t this tapered, for one thing. They also didn’t cling to her hips and butt like this. The material of the dress was a silky, stretchy fabric that hugged her body, giving the illusion of far curvier curves than were really there. The bodice was a halter style, cupping her breasts and dipping low between them, with the wide straps hooking behind her neck and leaving her upper back bare.
And she never wore red. She wore black and gray and navy blue. She had one forest green skirt too. But, yes, lots and lots of black.
It was another very, very long minute before Cam said anything.
He cleared his throat though.
And when he did, her stomach clenched. Or maybe what clenched was lower. It was an area that she hadn’t felt clench in a while.
Probably since Christmas when Cam had nearly run her over in the crosswalk on Main and then had to come help her pick up her cookies and panties. She’d been carrying packages of both and had dropped them when he’d scared the ever-living shit out of her.
Watching him pick up the bright blue thong and scrap of a bra—even brighter against the white snow and dark gray of the wet pavement they were lying on—and stare at them, had made her heart pound even harder than nearly being killed.
Then it had gotten worse. The cookies in the box she’d been carrying had been frosted sugar cookies that she’d secretly bought from Buttered Up, Cam’s sister Zoe’s bakery. She’d paid a little girl twenty bucks to go in and buy the cookies for her and then pass them to her behind the lingerie store. Whitney had slipped them into a plain bag so no one would know. The family feud between Buttered Up and Hot Cakes was three generations old and meant she couldn’t freely shop in the bakery. Which sucked. It had always sucked.
Thankfully, Aiden, one of the new Hot Cakes owners, had fallen in love with Zoe and they were quickly obliterating all of the stupid tension between the two businesses. And maybe, just maybe, her working with the guys to build Hot Cakes back up and make it even better would heal the tension between the families.
Maybe.
Of course, she and Cam were a big part of that.
The feud had started with their grandmothers. But Cam’s grandma, Letty, was gone and Whitney’s, Didi, was in mental decline.
But those damned cookies and their icing had come back to bite Whitney. Some frosting had gotten on the thong that Cam held. And as she squatted there on Main Street—in one of her black pencil skirts with cold December Iowa air blowing up underneath—he’d swiped the frosting off the thong, lifted it to his mouth, and licked it off.
She hadn’t felt one bit of cold air in that moment.
“Yeah, definitely not weird,” he finally said, his voice huskier than before.
Whitney breathed out. He’d spoken first. She’d won that round of chicken.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “So I’m good to go in this one?”
“You can’t wear this dress in Appleby,” he said, shaking his head.
She frowned and turned. “Why not?”
“This dress is not you.”
He was right.
She’d been dressing in conservative business attire because of her grandfather and dad. She’d been trying to be taken seriously for the past decade by the very men who should have been encouraging her to be involved in the company and proud of the things she’d tried to do. Not that the skirts and pants had worked. But this dress? No way would this have convinced her grandfather she should be introducing a new product to their line.
These guys though? Cam, Aiden, Ollie, and Grant? They were all in. They not only thought it was a great idea, they were very happy to have her leading the charge.
She couldn’t wear this dress to the big dessert-baking competition and auction they were holding in the town square tomorrow. But she would love to hear Cam explain to her why.
It was too clingy. It was too red. It was too sexy. It was too… not Whitney Lancaster.
Which was why she loved it. She wanted to wear this
