seemed she had doubts about how damn perfect and sexy she looked.
“It’s fine,” he growled after what seemed like an hour of pure torture. “Can we wrap it up here?”
Hands on her hips, Chelsea glared at him from her reflection in the mirror. “I need to make sure I can breathe and sit without busting a seam, if you don’t mind. It seems tight.”
Actually he did mind, and it was damn tight...the dress and his pants. He should’ve gone to the antique store because this was pure hell. Then again, at least he had a heads-up for how she’d look when he had to escort her down the aisle. He’d hate to be all mouth agape and drooling in front of Shane and Brandee’s friends and families.
The idea of Chelsea and him walking down the aisle shouldn’t have made him feel awkward, yet it did. Weddings in general made him twitchy. That whole happily-ever-after wasn’t for everyone; he’d even managed to dodge being in any type of wedding party his entire life. But there was no way he could say no to Shane, his very best friend.
The more Chelsea shifted and turned and smoothed her hands over those luscious curves, the more uncomfortable Gabe became.
Commotion behind him had him tearing his gaze from the mirror and glancing over his shoulder. A slew of teenage girls came in the door, chattering and giggling about homecoming and needing perfect dresses. He could not get out of there fast enough. Between the lace, the satin and the chatter in such high octaves, this place was sucking the testosterone right out of his body.
“This will just have to work because I don’t have the time to do more measurements,” Chelsea muttered as she stepped off the platform and headed back into her dressing room. “Give me two minutes and we’ll be out of here.”
Gabe came to his feet, more than ready to get the hell out. As he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, he heard Chelsea mumbling and cursing from inside the dressing room. Seconds later, the door eased open just a crack.
“Um... I’m stuck.”
He eyed the narrow strip of her face showing through the door. “’Scuse me?”
“The zipper,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “The damn thing is stuck. Get the salesclerk to come help me.”
Gabe glanced over his shoulder at the mayhem of teens and fluffy dresses. The two workers were running in all directions accommodating parents and demanding girls.
He could do this. How hard would it be to get a zipper unstuck? Pulling in a deep breath, Gabe pushed open the dressing room door and offered up his assistance.
“Gabe. What—?”
She backed up and stared as he shut and locked the door behind him. The narrow space seemed to shrink even more with his broad frame filling the area.
“You said you needed help.”
Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest. “I said to get the salesclerk.”
“Well, darlin’, there’s about a dozen teenage girls out there and only two staff that I saw. That’s not a great ratio, so if you want out of this dress anytime in the next few hours, I’m it.”
That gleam in his eye was just about the naughtiest, sexiest thing she’d ever seen. Which was one of the many reasons she shouldn’t be closed in with him, and definitely why he shouldn’t help unzip her dress. Being half-naked and in close proximity with Gabe would only lead to...
She couldn’t even let her mind wander down that path.
“I’ll do it myself,” she claimed, though she’d already tried that. “Go on to the antique store and I’ll be right over.”
Gabe took one step and was right against her. “We both have other things to do today, so you might as well let me help you out.”
“You seem to be enjoying this a little too much.”
His hand skimmed up her side where the zipper was carefully hidden. “I’ll be enjoying this even more if you’d let me work this zipper down.”
The image that immediately popped into her head had Chelsea thinking for a half second of lifting her arm and letting him have a go. But then she remembered who he was...or rather who his uncle had been.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she told him. Surely he saw that...didn’t he? He knew her feelings and knew full well she didn’t trust him.
“What’s not a good idea?” he asked, his eyes traveling over her face, landing on her lips. “Us in this confined space alone or the fact that you’re attracted to me?”
Chelsea fisted her hands at her sides—to keep from hitting him or grabbing his face and kissing him, she wasn’t sure. Her attraction wouldn’t be such an issue if Gabe wasn’t a Walsh. If his uncle hadn’t tried to destroy so many lives, hers included. The guilt by association was enough to have her emotionally pulling back.
But the sizzling attraction didn’t let up, no matter how much she tried to shove it aside.
Chelsea’s body trembled, betraying her vow to keep him at a distance. When his fingers skimmed over her again, he quirked a half smile as he brought his eyes back up to meet hers.
“Is this the part where you deny your attraction?” he asked, still using those clever hands. His fingertips circled around to where the dress exposed her back.
Chelsea sucked in a breath and cursed every single goose bump that popped up along her skin. They were both fully clothed, yet his fingertips on her bare back was something too akin to a lover’s touch. And it had been too damn long since she’d taken a lover; she was clearly letting this affect her more than it should.
She’d not made the best choices in men. When she’d been younger, she confused attention with attraction. Then as she’d gotten older she’d distanced herself because she didn’t trust her judgment. The scandal had her more than hesitant at getting close to any man. Now, here she was attracted to a man who was the next of kin to the bastard who’d humiliated her.
“Turn around,” he whispered in her ear.
Without thinking, she turned to face the mirror. Gabe stood directly behind her, his body practically plastered against hers and those fingers still roaming over her heated skin. His eyes met hers in the mirror as he raised his other hand to the top of the zipper. Just the brush of his knuckles on the underside of her arm had her shivering even though the thick material served as a barrier.
Chelsea closed her eyes, hoping that if she didn’t have to look at their reflection she could ignore this entire moment.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She gave in way too easily as her gaze met his once again. “Stop,” she muttered.
“Stop what exactly?” He gave the zipper the slightest tug. “Stop helping you out of this dress or stop tormenting us both?”
She’d never been one to
