by Landra Graf
“Dev?”
“Hmm?” His little thought about her carpet took a turn for the gutter.
“Pull the plastic over the headboard and down to the bed legs. Make sure to wrap the cover around the leg, and then I’ll tape it.”
“Got it.”
A few minutes later the bed was sufficiently covered and pulled away from the wall toward the center of the room. They repeated similar steps with her pair of oak nightstands. Natural wood seemed to be her preference of choice.
“So where are you hiding it?”
She raised an eyebrow while tearing off another piece of tape for the cover they’d begun to hang over her dresser. “What?”
“The mess.”
“Excuse me?” She leaned down, and he glanced at her backside once more.
Damn. Pathetic creature that he was, he needed to keep his visuals to above the waistline. “No bedroom is this perfect, even my own.”
When Kat straightened, her face held a little more color, and she looked guilty as hell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I will happily disagree. I think you do know and are afraid to admit it. It’s just me.” He held the other side of the plastic tight so she could secure the tape on the other side of the dresser. “I’m no one who can tattle on you, but honesty is a problem spot for you. So go on, tell me your naughty secrets about this room.”
If anything, her blush deepened. Confession was good for the soul, at least it would be for him. He needed this as much as her—a silly, childish way to try to erase some of the unwanted desire.
“I’d like to add that my mother used to call me el toro. It means the bull. My reputation for discovering truths and hunting them down like a bull seeing red is practically world-renowned, at least in my family.”
His confession earned him a small smile and a shake of her head. “Fine, I shoved everything in the closet, as much as I could get in there, before my company came. The rest I shoved into my dresser drawers. I’ll be afraid to open them tonight. Probably a job for tomorrow.”
Relief flood his entire body he was so thankful she wasn’t neater than him. He needed things to set them apart from one another. A way to dampen his growing attraction to a woman he shouldn’t—strike that—couldn’t want, for the sake of his company and the future he planned to have with said company. The admission allowed him to shove her back into the client space, gorgeous backside and diamond-shaped face and all. They would be horrible together. He liked things clean and tidy and had no time for disorganization.
“There will be time. This will also be a way to know if your electrician—”
“Mr. Sparky.”
“Who?”
“The electrician. His name is Mr. Sparky. At least that’s what I’m calling him in my mind. I forgot his real name.”
Unbelievable. “Do you do that often, assign people random names when you forget theirs?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe.”
“What’s my name?”
“Dev, and don’t worry, you’ve always been ‘Dev.’ Though I also assign names to people I don’t like sometimes.”
The idea at first horrified him, and then as she talked unabashedly about her habit, he found he liked it. Something unique and endearing. Dulce Madre. “I’m not on the list of unlikeable people?”
“Not yet.”
That didn’t bode well for him. He didn’t mind the idea of having a nickname, something personal assigned by her, which meant he was an idiot. Regardless, goading words came out of his mouth. “I’ll endeavor to work harder.”
With all the furniture covered in the bedroom, they moved to the hallway. At that point, he had to ask. “Why all the electrical work?”
Wrapping a piece of tape around a plastic-covered hallway table leg, she sighed. “I recently found out my house wasn’t to code. So I have to get it fixed by order of the city.”
“Not cheap.”
“Nope, this is eating up everything I have. So you can hopefully understand why I need to ask you to help me cover the floor.”
The wood panels underneath them were oak, shined to a polish and old, most likely as old as the house. He couldn’t imagine the cost to replace something so fine, even if the panels had been laid over a concrete slab. “I wouldn’t want to repair this if something went wrong, either.”
“Exactly.” She gave him a smile, a big one, one that spoke of friendship, understanding. They were forming bonds slowly between helping her with clothing selections to covering furniture. A relationship built on aiding one another gave him pride as well as fear. He didn’t need to care, but his damned protective nature made him susceptible.
Once the last piece of tape was secured against the baseboard, Kat went off to tell Mr. Sparky he could begin whenever he wanted to. Dev stayed behind checking his phone and going over the plan for his trip with Kat. The only thing to accomplish today involved shoes. In particular, ones that got her away from the flip-flops she wore now and the other disasters she kept choosing with her other attire. The clothes he’d outfitted her with required more than combat boots and the latest on-sale cross-trainers.
When she came back, ponytail swinging as she walked, he got a mental image of her in the dress, black, slinky, and with a low enough neckline to see her cleavage.
“All ready?” His question came with him shoving his phone back into his pocket and jamming his middle finger against his keys. An accident but much appreciated. He wouldn’t deny the current situation was just about how things had unfolded with Pru. A latent attraction, which grew to ungodly proportions as they got to know each other, to trust each other. Only after he’d throw his chips all in had she revealed herself to be nothing like the woman he’d thought her to be.
“Yes. Mr. Sparky claims he’ll be working on this until five tonight. Enough time to get me to my fairy godmother for my glass slippers, right?”
“Indeed.”
His answer must have been a little off-beat or distracted because he was, but she put a hand on his forearm. Her body heat bled through two layers of fabric, and he beat back the urge to shrug her off. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
She let go. “Just looked like something was bothering you.”
Maybe it was her proximity. Maybe he’d finally lost it. Regardless he blurted out. “Something is bothering me—images of you in a black dress.”
They’d been slowly taking steps toward the front door, and she stopped—paused, eyes wide like a doe in headlights. “Excuse me?”
“Images of you ruining the dress by wearing one of the three pairs of shoes you own. Tell me you have shoes worthy of a dress like that?”
Way to cover yourself.
She shook her head.
“Exactly what I thought. Let’s go then.”
“Where?”
“Nude.”
9
Five minutes later they were back in Dev’s car and en route to the shoe store whose name made her think of hot bodies, one hot body in particular. “What kind of shoe store is this?”
“A boutique. The only place I trust with my client’s feet. Greg, the designer, is poised to take over the entire shoe fashion industry within the next two years. Think the next Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik.”
She heard the names and vaguely remembered seeing logos for one of the brands. Those types of shoes were always out of her price range and didn’t fit her style. No, simple and relaxed summed up her preferences quite nicely. Like the pair of flip flops on her feet today. “Besides a pair of dress flats, I don’t need any shoes. And if your designer buddy is anything like those other Mr. Fancy Shoes, then I’m not sure I want to try those shoes on.”
He flipped on his left blinker, pulled into the left-hand lane, and came to a stop before turning a focused gaze on her. “Those combat boots you wore the other day, your Saturday sneakers, and those flip-flops won’t cut it with all these new clothes. You need some fresh kicks to go with the new dig
s.”
“I will happily go if you refrain from using the words kicks and digs in the future.” Kat still didn’t know if she could trust him, but he’d said some pretty funny things at the house, disarming her about her hidden mess and helping her with the furniture. There were elements to him that made her think maybe he wasn’t sleeping with the enemy or in the art of abandoning people he said he’d help.
“Alright,” he said chuckling. “I’ll keep the slang terms to a minimum.” His laugh acted as a balm and didn’t grate against her skin like her ex’s had. She’d been single for a while; maybe she suffered from sexual deprivation. Had to be the answer for why she wanted him near, why her skin heated when he made comments sounding more like innuendo than mere advice on her appearance. Like the dress bit… the words came out more like a confession, not a comment about her ruining anything with her shoes.
She kept quiet about her other fears as they got on the highway and headed south a couple of exits. She didn’t know how to broach the topic of Purple People Eater and his connection to the woman ruining her life. Between that elephant and her growing attraction to the man who’d started to become a regular part of her weekends, she went mute. At least until they pulled into Village on the Creeks, a small shopping complex not far from the major mall in the area.
“Not an ideal location for your friend.”
Dev parked the car and turned off the engine. “No, it’s not. But he got in here on a good deal, and the lease will be up next year. This was a decent place to start, and his business keeps growing.”
They both exited the car and began to cross through the parking lot when a car honked at them. Kat stood a few steps behind Dev, and he reached back, pulling her in close to him. His firm body seemed to fit against her soft one perfectly. She exhaled sharply and took a few steps to the side, providing a gap, but the tension still remained, stretching between them like a rubber band, more present now than at her place.
“What kind of shoes do you enjoy?” He asked as if nothing had occurred.
She moved forward with the same attitude. “The kind that don’t hurt my feet.”
“What about heels, what’s your big aversion to them?” Dev stopped outside the store door, and she stopped with him. Their eyes connected, and the thread of tension between them flexed again.
“I wouldn’t say I’m a fan. My last experience with heels put me flat on my face, and not because I wanted to be there.” It sounded like a bad sex innuendo but needed to be admitted. Heat flared in his eyes momentarily, as if the amber sparks around his irises came to life.
They’d reached the doors of Nude, which gave no hint as to what was inside. The glass in a textured, old-style format told you something or someone existed beyond but offered no clarity about the person or object.
Dev pulled open one of the doors. “Then I’m going to ask you to keep an open mind.”
She didn’t move, frozen on the sidewalk. The answer to what scared her was located dead center—a pair of red, spiked stilettos on a rotating, nude-colored display platform.
He glanced inside. “I’d never suggest those for a beginner. Now, come on.” He took one step toward her, balancing the door against his right leg, and wrapped his arm around her back. The proximity triggered unwanted desire, which was incredibly difficult to fight against as she let him usher her forward.
He finally removed his arm when she was through the door, and walked in beside her.
“What would you suggest?” Her voice sounded timid against the techno music playing over the speakers.
Nude shocked the senses. Between the music and the rows of stilettos she saw upon entering, she would’ve turned around and left.
“Don’t get freaked out. Follow me,” Dev said with a smile. He cut a path past the rotating displays and flashing lights and around a wall to their right. The turn revealed a treasure trove of wedge heels, sandals, business casual shoes, and other fashions.
“These are the shoes I want you to look through.”
She chortled. “All right, that’s a relief. Because I thought you’d lost your mind when we walked in.”
“Do you like being judged by your cover?”
“Not particularly, but it happens and pisses me off at the same time.”
“And none of us are innocent from doing it. We all commit the crime, even when we don’t want to. We assume something about a person or place based on outward appearance. Hence the reason behind the stiletto’s when you walk in the door. The owners want people who aren’t afraid to be daring as their customers and clients. Those who are tend to explore the whole store. If you walk in and see the stiletto heels and walk out, it’s better for all parties involved. Are you ready to try on some shoes?”
She gulped and straightened her shoulders, like a warrior girding herself for battle. “I can do this.”
He motioned for her to take a seat in one of the fitting chairs. She didn’t argue or fight, just sat down, plain and simple, like she did this sort of thing all the time.
Dev nodded toward one of the store associates, who rushed over. A quick glance at the gentleman’s name tag, and Dev motioned to Kat. “Bill, I wonder if you could assist us by taking the lovely lady’s shoe size.”
She sat patiently, feeling a bit like a doll on display, ready to be dressed up and marched around for everyone to look at.
Bill pulled out a metal contraption she’d seen a dozen times in shoe stores and never used. “Please remove your flip flop on your right foot.”
She did as requested, unable to help comparing Bill’s pale skin and skinny physique to Dev’s tanned, and delectable form. There were other differences to appreciate as well. She liked how Dev’s hairstyle bucked the common trend, he preferred his locks long and to his shoulders. Paired with his goatee, he looked masculine and virile. Bill had short hair and no facial hair whatsoever. He looked like a baby’s bottom. In fact, she decided to call him that as he sized her feet and declared her a size eight to the entire room.
Dev, in the meantime, had taken to glancing at the shoe styles along the walls. Unlike other shoe stores she’d been to, there were no boxes from floor to ceiling, only shoes on display, and they had hundreds of varieties. He motioned to Baby’s Bottom and handed him a shoe. One she couldn’t see, thanks to Baby’s Bottom’s rump. Then said salesperson walked off to retrieve what had to be the shoes.
“What was that?”
“The first pair I’d like you to try on. Bill will get one in your size. Greg’s partner, Zahir, believes having a bunch of boxes on the sales floor takes away from the experience. They want customers to enjoy personal treatment and be given adequate time. This also displays Greg’s designs in every color and pattern they have.”
“Yes, which is exactly why I’m scared because you were standing awfully close to the zebra-striped heels right there.”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Dev focused back on the wall of shoes, picking up different ones and turning back to her as if comparing shoe to woman. How in the sweet summer he could determine if a shoe would look good on her by just a glance she had no clue. Then Baby’s Bottom returned and placed a nude colored box in Dev’s hands.
When he walked over to her, removing the box lid and pulling out a black shoe, her heart did a little irregular pitter-patter. Her gut swamped with butterflies, and she suddenly got an image of Cinderella and a glass slipper. “That will never work for me. The heel—”
“ On the way here you said you would give me a chance. Trust me just a little bit longer.”
He knelt in front of her, giving her a close-up of his warm chocolate eyes and the goatee, dark brown with flecks of red interwoven. He nodded toward her foot with a half smile.
Irresistible, which he probably knew. He put his empty hand out, waiting. She scrunched the toes of her left foot against its corresponding flip-flop to check for moisture. A sweaty appendage in his hands would embarrass her endlessly. But her luck held, and the dry air in the store had k
ept the worst from happening.
She slid her foot from the comfort of the rubber straps and gently set the pad against Dev’s hand. Immediate warmth enveloped her cold toes. Fingers from his other hand slid a nude disposable sock over the extremity.
Every change in his contact with her produced a new undercurrent of intimacy, stoking the fires of desire. She couldn’t turn the damn dial off. She closed her eyes to try and take the edge off. No luck, as the action elevated the sensations.
Then the shoe slid onto her foot, and all the magic disappeared. His hands on her foot were replaced with cold, encasing leather that didn’t feel tight like it normally did in most of the shoes she purchased. A few seconds later, thanks to a brief magical interlude with Dev’s warm hand, her other foot wore the matching partner.
“Time for the real test; stand up and take them for a spin.”
“What are these?” She walked a few steps from the chair and fell in love with the way her feet were caressed versus pressed into service. How the fabric of the shoe moved with her, instead of against. Even the added heel on the back didn’t bother her.
“Those are Nude’s Stretch Low Wedges. It’s a better version of a flat with support for your arch and specifically designed for those with wide feet. It’s a little over two inches off the ground, but nothing super fancy, and notice it only elevates your heel by half an inch.”
Who knew a small heel wouldn’t kill you? She’d always stayed so far away from them, when in reality she’d never known other alternatives existed. You never wanted to know. The thought came as she tried to pivot on the shoes and ended with her legs tangled up. She started to fall, connection with the floor imminent. Then warmth and strong muscles grabbed hold of her. Dev’s scent flooded her senses, a hint of citrus as his hair brushed against her neck.
