Best of all, it was the color of the sky on a clear summer day. In other words, it perfectly matched Tyler’s eyes.

“I love it,” I said. “Can I try it on?”

Zelda led me to the back of the store and the dressing room, which was about the size of my Chicago apartment. It had a chaise lounge, a vanity with a mirror, and a full array of toiletries so that the customer could emerge refreshed and primped. There was even a small refrigerator with bottles of Chablis and sparkling water.

I gaped a bit when Tyler joined me in the room. Zelda, however, seemed completely nonplussed. Clearly, she knew who would be paying the bill for today’s excursion.

As soon as she closed the door, I turned to Tyler. “I usually shop at T.J. Maxx. I think this is a step up.”

“Just a bit,” he said, taking a seat on the chaise. “Let’s see how it fits.”

I slipped out of my shoes, then pulled off my T-shirt and wiggled out of my jeans. Clad in only my bra and thong panties, I took the dress off the padded hanger. The material was thin, clingy, and as soft as a cloud.

“Take your bra off,” he said. “It’s backless.”

I did, then inspected the dress for a way in, finally deciding that I was meant to unfasten the single decorative button at the shoulder and step in from the top. The button seemed too minuscule to be up to the task of holding the dress up, but considering how little dress there actually was, I imagined it could probably handle the job.

“Sloane,” Tyler said once I was wearing it, and there was something almost reverent about his voice.

“You like?”

“I like,” he said, making a turning motion with his finger so that I would turn and look in the tri-fold mirror behind me.

When I did, I saw a woman who looked like she should be on a red carpet. I stood up on my toes and the effect was even better. “I’ll need the right shoes,” I said.

“Of course.”

“And this is a problem.” I pointed to the back, where the top band of my panties showed in the deep dip of the back.

Tyler stood. “Take them off.”

“Commando?”

“This dress is made for it. Take them off,” he repeated.

I did, shimmying out of them and tossing them on the pile with the rest of my clothing.

I walked toward the mirror, sexy and vibrant and daring. Maybe too daring. “I love it, Tyler, but I don’t know. The slit up the thigh is so high. If it were over my hip, maybe. But …” I trailed off as I took more steps and then turned. You couldn’t actually see my crotch, but it was high enough that someone might imagine they could.

“Let them,” Tyler said, when I told him that. “What’s life without a little imagination?”

“Tyler …”

“You’re beautiful and sexy, Sloane. Even in your jeans and T-shirt. But in this, you’re breathtaking. Enjoy it. Better yet, let me enjoy it.”

I frowned at my reflection. I did look seriously hot. Hotter than I’d ever looked before, that was for sure, and I couldn’t deny that it was tempting. So very tempting.

“Besides,” he said, standing and coming to me. “There will be dancing, and this dress was made for it.” He drew me into his arms, one hand holding mine, the other at my back. As he hummed something smooth and classical, he led me around the room, and even there, in a dressing room with no real music, it was almost magical.

“You see?” he said, his grin just a little bit wicked as he dipped me, making me cry out, then laugh in surprise and delight. My back arched, my leg extended out, and he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck.

He pulled me back to my feet, running his hand along my bare thigh as he did. “That slit is a very important selling point.” His fingers continued along the length of the slit until he reached my sex. I was slick and wet, and I groaned when he thrust his finger inside me. “Definitely a selling point,” he murmured.

“Tyler …” My protest was thin and weak.

“Hush,” he said, dropping to his knees. He lifted his hands, pushing the material up on my hips so that the top of the slit framed my sex. “I have to taste you,” he said, then laved his tongue over me once before tilting his head up to face me. “Don’t make a sound.”

Oh, dear lord …

I reached out, steadying myself with the side of the mirror as he drew in close once again, his hands now inside the skirt, holding tight to my thighs, his tongue so intimately stroking me.

He teased my clit with tiny, fluttery strokes, then stroked me, gloriously hard, before sucking and teasing.

My knees were weak, and I had to take one hand off the mirror to bite the soft pad at the base of my thumb simply to quell the need to scream in both pleasure and frustration. Pleasure at the riot of sensations he was sending through me. Frustration that I could do nothing more than stand there biting my lip when I wanted to cry out and beg him for more, beg him to lay me down and shove the dress up and bury himself inside me.

His tongue continued its sweet torture, and I clung to the side of the mirror, feeling the climax build, knowing I was close, so close, and any moment I would completely shatter.

And then he backed away. “I think that’s far enough.”

I gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

He stood up, then kissed me, long and deep. I tasted my own arousal and moaned against his mouth, my hips crushing against him as I writhed, shamelessly seeking my release.

“Mine, remember?” he said as he broke the kiss and backed away. His expression was smug and very devious. “I want you wanting. I want you desperate. I want you so ready for me you’ll come with the slightest of touches, and then again and again when I fuck you.”

My body trembled from his words. “Bastard.”

He laughed. “I’ve been called worse.”

“You know I’m going to make you pay.”

He bent down to pick up my bra and shirt, then unbuttoned the shoulder. “Sweetheart, I sincerely hope so.”

Since there was no winning this battle, I got dressed, stifling a frustrated moan as the jeans rubbed provocatively against me. I glanced at Tyler, certain he was aware of this new distress, but he very wisely didn’t meet my eye.

I picked up the dress, turning it over to look for the tag. “There’s no price,” I said.

“Trust me. There’s always a price.”

In this case, the price was five digits, and I about had a heart attack.

“For a dress? And you spent it?” We were back on the street, heading toward Michigan Avenue so we could catch a taxi back to The Drake. “I could buy a car for that.”

“Not a very good one.”

“How the hell am I going to wear it? I’ll be afraid to breathe on it.”

“You’ll wear it because I want to see you in it. And later, I want to see you out of it.”

Such is the irony that had become my life, because just two short hours after spending over ten thousand on a dress, I was wearing next to nothing as I moved through a strip club doing the pre-performance mingle-and-chat routine. The kind of chatter that had me saying simpering nonsense and them mostly staring at my tits.

I wore short-shorts that revealed the curve of my rear and a push-up bra that accentuated the curve of my breasts, and in a few minutes, I’d replace that with my naughty executive outfit—which, once I took it off, showed off everything.

The thought made me long for Tyler, and I paused in my conversation with a Philadelphia businessman to scan the room for him.

I found him by the bar, going over what was probably an inventory with one of the two bartenders. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he looked up, and his smile held such warmth that I felt it all the way to my toes.

He shifted his gaze to a far corner, then nodded at a solitary man sitting in one of the plush chairs nursing a drink. The lunchtime crowd tended to sit at the stage, so this man was unique simply by virtue of being alone.

Charley, Tyler mouthed, and I nodded.