“That’s really…” She waved her hand in the air and stood. “Not necessary…you can tell him that—”
Brock reached for her hand and lightly tugged her back. “Sit. It is necessary. And although I typically wait until the third date to buy a woman gifts, I think your nearly getting trampled allows me to break that rule.”
Still tense, Jane nodded and took a shaky look around the small, private room.
“To new shoes?” Brock grabbed his drink and lifted it in the air toward her.
She lifted her glass and clinked it against his then took a small sip. The champagne was pink and sweet, with a tart aftertaste. “It’s good.”
“You sound surprised.” Brock’s lips lifted in a smile.
She scrunched up her nose. “I’m not much of a drinker, and I typically don’t like drinks that are the same color as my underwear.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she froze, barely managing to suppress the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. She wanted someone to run her over with a car.
With a choke, Brock nearly spit out the sip he’d just taken. Face flushed, he stared her down and then whispered, “You’re making me regret my decision to send out for boring black shoes.”
“I didn’t…I mean, pink is fine.” Stop talking, stop talking. “Not all of my underwear is pink. I have black, too.”
Brock’s lips parted with a greedy exhale, and he downed the rest of his drink. “Oh?”
Hell in a handbasket.
Why was she giving him a rundown of her lingerie drawer? As if he were a naughty Santa with a checklist in front of him, putting down little marks on the little boxes that read “red lacy thong”? Check. “Black boyshorts”? Double check.
“I’m more of a boxer brief sort of guy,” he said smoothly, bringing her back to the present.
“Huh?”
“Too far?” He chuckled. “I figured if I knew the color of yours…I should at least show you mine.” He leaned forward.
Had he said show?
Just how drunk was he? Maybe that was the reason his eyes were zeroing in on her mouth. He blinked, and then seemed to sway a bit.
Was he okay? And why was he still staring at her mouth? Did she have something on her face?
Self-consciously, she pressed her fingertips to her lips only to have him suck in a breath and lift his right hand from his thigh as if wanting to touch the place where her fingers had just been.
“Got the shoes!” a male voice yelled as Jane jerked away from Brock.
What had just happened? And how had enough time passed for someone to find and buy her shoes? “Holy shit, you’re hot.”
She recognized the man from before. He was about an inch shorter than Brock, but had the same perfect auburn hair. “I’m Bentley, and since this one’s about to get married, I feel like it’s only fair to let you know that out of the two of us, I’m the single, available one, who’s also—lucky for you—been given a higher rating in the sack.”
Married?
He was getting married?
And hitting on her?
Or was she hitting on him? After all, she was the one who’d mentioned underwear. Ugh, she wanted to crawl under the table and die.
Chapter Five
Bentley!” Brock barked and shook his head.
“What?” Bentley shrugged then smoothly walked over to Jane and pulled out a box of black high-heeled pumps in a size eight and a half. “Your foot, milady?”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, Bentley. She can put on her own damn shoes.”
Bentley completely ignored him. “I love a woman’s foot.” He grabbed Jane’s broken shoe and tossed it to the side while his hands danced along the arch of her foot. His fingertips danced along her skin. Seduction by foot rub? That was new.
“It’s sexy, the arch.” He leaned over her, his lips parting just enough to give her the impression he was thinking about kissing her. “The curve of a woman’s foot reminds me of her body…see? Sexy.” He slid the shoe on a very terrified looking Jane and stood. “Perfect fit.”
Jane’s mouth opened then closed as a rosy flush crept over her face. “Th-thank you.”
“I bought you my favorite brand.”
Her eyebrows arched. How did he know about Manolo Blahnik? “Oh.” And then she nodded and said loudly, “Ohhhh! That makes sense!”
Bentley’s eyes narrowed. “Me buying women’s shoes?”
“You wearing them,” she explained. “That’s great. I mean, good for you. I’m sorry I’m so awkward at things like this, but it’s good you’re…you know…” She bobbed her head and sputtered. “Out and…comfortable with it.”
“Out?” Bentley repeated. “I’m confused.”
“Of the closet,” she said slowly then saw the scowl on Bentley’s face. “Or maybe you just like to dress like a woman?” She straightened her shoulders and tried again. “In either case, congratulations on your choice to wear women’s clothing!”