Andy didn't let her finish.

  The moment Summer opened her mouth, eyes flicking sideways like she was already bracing for her own deflection, he gently pressed a finger to her lips. "Nope," he said softly. "Don't. Not this time."

  Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, wary.

  "I know that look," he continued, letting his hand drift to cup her cheek instead. "The one that says you're about to say I'm too pretty, or too charming, or too good at what I do to care if you love me."

  She didn't deny it. Her jaw worked like she might anyway.

  Andy kissed her forehead. "But I do care. I've cared since you told me I wasn't a thing. And I cared when you shoved sandwiches in your mouth to get to the ravishing part faster." That made the corner of her mouth twitch. "And I care when you wear my shirt and look like you belong in it."

  He kissed her then, sweet and slow. "So don't try to make it smaller. What you said matters."

  Summer was quiet for a long moment, one hand curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Okay," she said at last, voice very small.

  Andy smiled. "Okay."

  Summer leaned into his chest for a moment longer, her arms snug around his waist. Andy brushed a kiss against her temple and murmured, "You know what I think would make this night even better?"

  She looked up, eyes still soft from everything he'd just said. "More pasta?"

  He laughed. "Tempting. But no. I was thinking..." He ran a finger lightly down the curve of her spine. "Why don't you put on your beautiful dress?"

  Summer blinked. "The... gala dress?"

  Andy nodded. "Mhm. I'll dress up for you too. Something velvet and scandalous, maybe." His grin tilted, teasing. "I want to see the way your hair glows in that light again. Just for me this time."

  She hesitated, clearly flustered. "Andy, that dress is — it's so much. You really want me to just... wear it around your apartment?"

  "I bought it for you to feel like the most beautiful woman in the world," he said gently. "Doesn't matter if it's a ballroom or my kitchen. I'd be honoured."

  Summer looked down, then back at him. "You'd dress up too?"

  "I'll be your devil in silk," he promised, voice low. "Or crushed velvet. Or lace. Whatever makes your pulse do that thing."

  "You mean skip like it's malfunctioning?" she said wryly.

  Andy grinned. "Exactly."

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  She gave him a long, assessing look. Then, slowly, she said, "Okay. But I get to help pick your outfit. You better go full glam. Hair, eyeliner, everything."

  Andy placed a hand over his heart. "My lady commands, and I obey."

  The dress rustled softly as Andy lifted it from the hangar with exaggerated reverence, holding it up to the light like something sacred. He turned to Summer, who hovered in the bathroom doorway in just her underwear, clutching the edge of his shirt around herself.

  "You sure you don't want to wear the shirt instead?" he teased.

  She narrowed her eyes. "You'd enjoy that too much."

  "I'm worshipping," Andy corrected. "There's a difference."

  He stepped closer and held the dress open for her. She hesitated — just a breath — before slipping out of the shirt and stepping into the gown. Andy moved slowly, attentively, guiding the fabric over her shoulders, fastening the discreet side closures, smoothing the chiffon into place. The bodice hugged her gently, the skirt falling around her like mist.

  He caught his breath again. Every time, it hit him like the first time. "See?" he said softly. "Made for you."

  Summer glanced toward the mirror and then immediately looked away. "This is silly."

  He reached for her hair next. She stilled.

  "What are you doing?" she asked warily.

  "Brushing your hair. May I?"

  She eyed him. "You're going to brush my hair?"

  Andy retrieved her boar-bristle brush from her overnight bag. "With great reverence."

  "You've never brushed this much hair in your life."

  "I've done more elaborate things in heels," he replied. "Sit. I like your hair. It's fairy tale hair. And it's part of you."

  "...You're being suspiciously romantic."

  "I'll try to tone it down," he said, and she snorted. Still clearly sceptical, Summer sat at the edge of the bed, back straight, knees together. Andy knelt behind her and gently gathered her thick copper waves.

  He moved behind her and gently began to draw the brush through her knee-length copper waves, working carefully from the ends upward, like she'd shown him once.

  She sat stiffly at first. "You're not secretly terrible at this, are you?"

  "I'm not secretly anything," Andy murmured. "Except maybe desperately in love."

  Summer went quiet at that. The brushing slowed, deliberate, soothing.

  "Still think it's silly?" he asked softly.

  "...Less so," she admitted.

  He smiled and smoothed her hair once more. "Then come show me the miracle I already know you are."

  "...You're going to ruin me," she muttered.

  He bent to whisper near her ear. "That's the idea."

  Andy set the brush down gently on the dresser, then pressed a kiss to the top of Summer's head. "Your turn," he said with a small, crooked grin.

  "My turn for what?" she asked, glancing up with a mixture of wariness and amusement.

  "To choose how your devoted admirer should look beside you tonight." He stepped back and began to unbutton his gauzy shirt. "You're in couture, flame-haired and goddess-like. I can't show up next to you in jeans."

  "I've seen you make jeans look — "

  Andy raised a hand, silencing her with playful solemnity. "Nope. No debate. You're wearing a fantasy. I'll match it."

  Summer blinked, caught somewhere between flustered and intrigued. Andy stripped off the shirt slowly, methodically, revealing lean muscle and inked skin. She watched him in silence as he dropped it.

  "Andy — "

  He was already working on his pants. "Shh. Just enjoy the show."

  He stepped out of them with practised grace, then his briefs, leaving him completely bare and shameless in the dim light. Tattoos curled across his chest and arms, winding down his sides. The dim bedside lamp made his skin look like ivory in moonlight. He tilted his head and looked at her, eyes intense, lips just parted.

  Summer cleared her throat. "You… you could've just asked what I wanted you to wear."

  "This is more fun," he said, and opened the closet. "Here's the canvas. You're the artist."

  Summer pressed her hands to her mouth for a second, muffling a laugh — or maybe a gasp. "You are utterly ridiculous."

  "And utterly yours," Andy said, glancing at her over his shoulder, nude and unapologetically patient. "Go on, sunshine. Dress me."