Unbridled Billionaire

by Dani Wade

  Maybe that’s what she was...

  She could be an adult about this. She’d try on a few dresses, decline them, then they’d be on their way. She nodded to herself, ignoring the dozen or so candidates waiting on the rack. Good strategy.

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” Mrs. Rose said, grabbing a surprisingly large armful for such a small woman and heading into a dressing room that had the curtain thrown back away from the entrance.

  Presley sheepishly followed, watching as Mrs. Rose arranged her choices on another, smaller rack. Not a ruffle in sight, much to Presley’s relief. Also none of the pale colors she gravitated toward. A wide array of jewel tones hung before her, begging for attention.

  The very thing Presley did not want.

  She stared long after Mrs. Rose left, drawing the curtain closed behind her. Where should she start? Should she start at all? What in the world was she doing here?

  Just as her insides started to shake, she heard Kane from right outside the curtain.

  “Let me see them, Presley.”

  “No.” Her voice had a way-too-embarrassing squeak in it.

  Without another word, Kane pulled the curtain back, just enough to stick his head through.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “You will let me see you in the dresses,” he insisted. Though his voice was only loud enough for her to hear, it still carried the weight of authority. “If you don’t, I’ll just pull the curtain back at random moments and the whole store can listen to you squeal.”

  In desperation, she glanced at the edge of the curtain in search of a way to keep it closed, but there was none. Kane chuckled. “No lock to keep me out, sweetheart.”

  He was enjoying this—and unfortunately for her, she knew he would follow through on his threat. No matter how much embarrassment that would cause her.

  “Or I could simply come in and help.”

  Presley’s mouth went dry. Visions of him wrangling a dress over her head made her cringe. That wasn’t the way she wanted him to see her naked the first time.

  Not that she wanted him to see her naked at all. Absolutely not.

  Shoot, who was she kidding?

  “I’m not gonna like this,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Look at me,” Kane said, his voice going dark and serious.

  She found herself compelled to obey.

  “Trust me. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  By him invading her dressing room? That might be the only fun thing to come out of this.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” she said, ignoring the flames licking her cheeks.

  Hearing him chuckle on the other side of the curtain didn’t make her feel any better.

  Blindly she reached out and grabbed the first dress she touched. Taking off her clothes left her feeling vulnerable, but oddly stimulated. Knowing Kane was on the other side of the curtain with full knowledge of what she was doing had her brain sending out tingling signals of awareness.

  Stop. It.

  This situation was hard enough without adding unwanted arousal to the mix. One look in the mirror made her sigh. She hated trying on clothes. Hated looking at herself in the mirror. Clothing was functional for her. The rest was a mystery.

  “Presley, now.”

  At least he didn’t sound like he was standing right outside. When she pulled the curtain back, she saw him leaning casually against a pillar behind one of the padded benches nearby. She forced herself not to wrap her arms around her middle and tried to avoid any other self-conscious gestures.

  “What do you think?” he asked, his tone and expression neutral.

  She’d barely looked in the mirror, but the sight was burned into her retinas. “Not a big fan,” she said with a grimace.

  “Why?”

  Her defenses were up, but his stance remained neutral. “I like green, but this shade reminds me of Jolly Ranchers. And I have no idea what to do with this.” She waved the ends of a sash in the air.

  Kane’s lips twitched. “I agree. Green is a good color for you, but not this one. Next.”

  Presley blinked, not moving. Most people—the few she’d ever let go shopping with her—spent their time arguing as to why a particular piece was right for her, despite her protests. This was new.

  He didn’t change his mind. He just stared with raised brows until she turned away. Presley couldn’t get her mind to process what had just happened, so she pulled out another dress and robotically started the complicated process of getting it on.

  Three was usually her limit for items she was willing to try on before grabbing the loosest thing in the vicinity and rushing to the checkout counter. But Kane’s opinions on everything she came out in fascinated her. She actually started looking through the options and picking things that might work instead of just grabbing the next in line.

  And then she found it.

  First, the blue definitely complimented the green color of her eyes—even she could see that. Second, it slid on easily, without any complicated pieces and parts. And third, she could actually see her shape in it without feeling like she was in a full-body stranglehold.

  The silky material followed her curves like water running over her skin. There were actually multiple layers, which gave the silhouette a little movement without twisting, another major annoyance of hers.

  It was beautiful.

  Presley held her breath as she came out of the dressing room this time. Afraid she was wrong, afraid he would hate it...simply afraid.

  Kane held still for long moments, studying her with that inscrutable look he got sometimes. Then he took her hand and led her to a raised platform before a three-way mirror toward the back of the little alcove. The added height almost allowed her to look him straight in the eyes. The mirror let her watch as he stepped up onto the platform behind her.

  She felt him fumbling with the hair tie holding her ponytail. As he released it, her heart started to pound. Still in fear, but also...anticipation. The thick weight of her hair spread across her shoulders. Seeing Kane’s long fingers in the mass sparked a feeling of intimacy, almost as if he were undressing her.

  Then those same fingers skimmed downward, tracing the hourglass shape revealed by the material, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.

  “Do you feel comfortable?” he finally asked, a deep note in his voice she couldn’t recognize but that she wanted to hear more of.

  Unable to put words to what she was feeling, she simply nodded.

  “Restricted?”

  “No,” she whispered, as if the word was a betrayal of her long-held clothing beliefs.

  He stepped back down off the platform, then returned with a shoe box. Presley could barely hear for the blood rushing in her ears. Please, don’t ruin this.

  She wasn’t quite sure if the plea was for her or for him. Kneeling before her, Kane lifted an especially sparkly sandal from the box, then held out a hand for her foot. She had to lift her skirt up, and her psyche flooded with the sense of exposing secrets to the dark man before her. Her hands clenched into the material, but she didn’t resist as he lifted her foot and slid the shoe onto it. The warmth of his palm against her ankle increased that sudden sense of intimacy.

  After securing both shoes, he returned to stand behind her. “Do the shoes hurt?”

  The slight kitten heel felt a little odd. She was used to either flats or boots. But the heels weren’t high enough that she was afraid she would fall. The straps were soft on the inside, not rubbing like most of the dress shoes she endured for these events. “No. They’re pretty.”

  The view in the mirror entranced her for a moment. The bright brilliant blue of her dress and her blond hair stood out in contrast to Kane’s dark good looks and black dress shirt and jeans. But it was the
look in his eyes that caught and held her attention. Definitely lust. She’d never seen it directed at her, but she recognized it nonetheless. But there was also something else. Something just as brilliant as the color of her dress.

  Understanding, maybe?

  His fingers returned to her hair, testing the texture in long, soft strokes. “I’ve always felt that dressing up isn’t about changing—it’s about creating an enhanced version of who you really are.”

  “So you’re speaking from experience?” she asked quietly, her tone almost hushed in the intimate space between them.

  His half grin made a reappearance, but it didn’t reach his dark eyes. “I didn’t grow up with money, Presley. My version of formal clothes was a new pair of jeans once a year.” His gaze shifted to his reflection in the mirror. “This new reality took me a while to wrap my head around. But I am who I’ve made myself—no one else.”

  His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. “You can present anything you want to the world, Presley,” he continued. “Dressing down was your quiet form of rebellion. But your father isn’t here anymore. Now is the time to let it go.”

  * * *

  The next evening, in her bedroom, Presley stared at her face in the mirror, more than a little shocked.

  Once she’d chosen a few dresses, Mrs. Rose had introduced her to a young woman at the store tasked with showing her how to put on makeup, and all her childish protests had risen once more.

  “I really don’t like the feel of makeup on my skin,” she’d objected. Which was the truth. And only one of the reasons she’d never learned to put any on. The horses and stable hands didn’t care, so why should she?

  “Oh, you don’t need it all over,” the young woman had assured her. “You have gorgeous skin. I can just show you a few ways to give yourself a more polished look for formal occasions.”

  Skepticism rode her hard, but Presley had decided there wasn’t any harm in letting the woman have her way. She could just wash it off when she got home—before Marjorie could see.

  But she hadn’t. Not only that, she’d been able to replicate the techniques today with minimal effort.

  Following the step-by-step instructions, Presley had added the exact colors to the exact places they needed to go, then rubbed a bigger brush over her lids, resulting in some pretty shading that made her green eyes stand out even more. She’d finished with a barely there dusting of blush that gave her face some color and sheer, dark pink gloss that emphasized the curves of her lips.

  Seeing herself in the mirror had her straightening her back, smiling a little. Polished? Yeah, that was the right word.

  Now she crossed to the bed and got dressed with enough excitement and nerves that her fingers shook slightly. She couldn’t help imagining what people would say tonight. She’d always hated being the center of attention, but tonight would be different.

  Kane was right. Not caring about her appearance was her own form of rebellion against her father, Marjorie, and their insistence that she should be more feminine. But it was time to move on to another phase of her life.

  She held up a pretty pair of panties and studied the matching bra on the bed. Luckily, Mrs. Rose had banished Kane to try on his tux before breaking out the undergarments yesterday, but at that point Presley had been in a pliable enough mood to go with the flow. In line with what she’d already seen Presley pick out, Mrs. Rose hadn’t presented a full seductress line of lingerie, just some simple, pretty support pieces with an ultra-soft texture Presley fell in love with immediately. She’d ordered a full range to be delivered with the dresses she’d chosen.

  Which made her both proud and slightly ashamed—because she couldn’t help wondering if Kane would see them on her...or not.

  The desire she’d seen on his face had been very real, but that didn’t mean he would ever act on it.

  She couldn’t help noticing that getting dressed tonight was just as quick as throwing on jeans and tucking in a T-shirt, all thanks to Kane’s acceptance of her clothing quirks and Mrs. Rose’s efforts to find things that worked for her. No matter how this all started, she had a feeling she would end up owing Kane far more than the money her stepmother had taken for Sun.

  Seeing the lights from Kane’s SUV flash across the front of the house at dusk, she hurried out the front door and down the stone steps. The clack of her jeweled kitten heels was unfamiliar, but it added to a slight Cinderella feeling. For the first time she could remember, Presley felt like a woman from head to toe. The swish of her hair, thick and loose around her shoulders, made her wonder if Kane would touch it again.

  In the dim light outside, she watched as Kane cataloged her new look as she approached him. She’d picked out a cocktail dress for tonight’s event. The jewel-green dress had a flowy skirt that hit right at her knees and a blousy top with slits in the sheer arms. An elastic waist added to the comfort, but a jeweled attachment looked like a belt around the front without the tight confinement of one.

  It was the most comfortable dress she’d ever put on, but it didn’t look as though comfort was the goal of wearing it.

  Kane let out a low wolf whistle. “You chose well,” he added.

  She should have been offended, but she’d never been whistled at before, and his response made her warm all over. Which was something she should definitely ignore. “Only with your help. You knew good and well I’d never pick this or any of the other dresses out for myself,” she said, not quite able to attain her desired tartness in the face of his appreciation.

  “Or any dress in that store,” he replied, softening his know-it-all attitude by kissing the back of her hand after helping her into the passenger seat.

  But he didn’t go over the top with the attention. As soon as he settled behind the wheel, conversation returned to normal. If he’d made a big deal out of her transformation, she would have felt uncomfortable—but then, the insufferable man probably knew that as well.

  Instead he started talking about a mare at Harrington Farms that was about ready to foal. Then they discussed some training techniques she’d been researching. But on the drive, Kane threw more than a couple of admiring glances her way.

  Presley returned more than a few of her own. Kane didn’t look so bad himself. The tux he’d purchased fit him to perfection, squaring off across his broad shoulders then skimming the muscles of his back, pulling a little as he gripped the wheel. Her awareness of him grew until she could sense his every movement without even looking in his direction. The occasional whiff of a barely there cologne and the low timbre of his voice in the darkened car only set her further along the edge of arousal.

  At least the sensations distracted her from her nerves. Thoughts of whether people would notice her and make comments left her stomach a little hollow. She didn’t want to be in the spotlight, but she was also tired of fading into the background. Their time at Mrs. Rose’s formal shop had taught her that much. But that didn’t mean she wanted people making a big deal of her transformation—especially Marjorie, who had left for the party a full hour before her so she could enjoy cocktails with some friends.

  Luckily the first faces they saw as they walked into the marble rotunda of the museum were Mason and EvaMarie.

  “Hello,” EvaMarie greeted them, her smile widening as she took in Presley’s new look. “Wow. You look great.”

  “Thank you,” Presley said, her cheeks stinging until the conversation moved on. Surreptitiously she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It was just a dress, for goodness’ sake.

  No big deal.

  Things settled into a more normal rhythm as EvaMarie asked about the association luncheon the day before, though Presley noticed that Mason kept shifting from one foot to the other. Was he nervous about something, too?

  A few new arrivals joined them, and Presley weathered another round of questions about her dress more ea
sily this time. She managed okay but quickly lost interest when the other women embraced fashion as a full-on topic. Presley was proud of her clothes, but she wasn’t at all interested in discussing them. Her glance around told her that the two men had abdicated the discussion themselves, stepping to the side to hold a private conversation.

  Presley was ashamed of her curiosity, but a lifetime of eavesdropping to learn things people wouldn’t tell her came in handy sometimes.

  “Why won’t you talk about this with me?” Mason demanded of his brother.

  Kane’s tone didn’t match Mason’s intensity. “What’s to tell?”

  “Well, your ex-fiancée got married. No one should have to find that out via email, Kane.”

  Shock held Presley very still, very quiet. On an intellectual level, she recognized that this was a piece of gossip that hadn’t been passed around in their social circles. After all, Marjorie would surely have mentioned if Kane had been engaged before now.

  But on a personal level, her curiosity grew. What kind of woman wouldn’t want Kane? Why had she not wanted Kane?

  “There’s no need to make such a big deal out of things,” Kane insisted. “So she got married. So what?”

  Apparently he wasn’t interested in answering his brother’s questions, just deflecting them. Which meant she had a snowball’s chance in hell of finding out what she shouldn’t want to know in the first place.

  “This is a really big deal,” Mason continued, not seeming fazed by his brother’s lack of response. “He’s our business manager, and has been for over fifteen years. Of course he’s worried about you. He called to make sure you would handle finding out okay.”

  “Notice he didn’t call me.”

  “Because he didn’t want his head chewed off.” Even in his low tone, Presley could tell Mason was both irritated and laying the sarcasm on thick.

  Kane didn’t respond. Presley ached to turn in their direction, away from the distracting nuisance of the women talking fashion right in front of her, but instinctively she knew the brothers’ conversation would end the minute that happened. As sad as it made her, she wanted to know more.