Kiss Don’t Tell

Time to admit this was a waste of time. When she thought about it logically, it wasn’t as though David Bennett had ever appeared to be turned off by the suits she wore to work; he saw her in them practically every day and still managed to flirt with her! So if she packed away the momentary panic engendered on Wednesday night by Adam and his two undone buttons, wouldn’t she be better served by buying a couple of negligees to replace her white cotton nightgowns and leaving it at that? Things for going to bed?

She couldn’t wear that black cocktail dress to bed! She didn’t need that black cocktail dress at all—and certainly not for the next three months. It wasn’t as though she’d be going to a cocktail party with Adam Quinn!

So she would go out there, show the girls this current fashion disaster, then she’d insist on going home. After one last disgusted look at herself in the mirror, she exited the fitting room without even bothering to brace for the verdict.

Erica’s hastily bitten lip did not suggest anything complimentary would be forthcoming. ‘Maybe take off the jacket …?’ Erica suggested.

Lane took off the jacket.

‘The colour’s nice,’ Sarah ventured, ever the optimist.

Lane raised disbelieving eyebrows.

‘Well, it is,’ Sarah insisted.

‘We’re making a mistake with the tight sheaths,’ Erica said. ‘You’ve got the boobs for them but the leanness everywhere else isn’t screaming sex.’

‘Who said I wanted to scream sex?’ Lane asked, a little alarmed. ‘I don’t want to scream sex. I don’t want to scream anything. I don’t want to scream.’

‘Then what was the point of hiring Adam Quinn?’ Erica asked.

‘Not to … to scream,’ Lane said.

‘Oh God help us all, do we have to do this?’ Sarah, covering her eyes with a hand.

‘The thing is, Lane, there’s screaming and then there’s screaming,’ Erica said, giving the hem of the green dress a slight tug. ‘And I thought this little fashion expedition was about putting you in the hands of Adam Quinn to entice a certain type of scream out of you.’ She stood back and looked Lane up and down again. ‘But this definitely isn’t going to do the trick, so try the pale pink silk dress Sarah chose for you instead. It’s kind of floaty and romantic, and if you cinch it with this—’ she handed over a thick, dark gold belt ‘—we might be onto something.’

‘Pink?’ Lane asked doubtfully. ‘With carrot hair?’

Erica shook a finger at her. ‘Stop channelling Jeanne-the-Martyr! I keep telling you, your hair isn’t carrot, it’s scarlet. Girls spend a fortune at the hairdresser trying to get that exact shade of red. And you will be very surprised how lovely pale pink will look with it. Now, in!’

‘All right, but if I try it on, can we go home?’ Lane asked.

‘No. But if I like it and you buy it, we can drink margaritas. And I will even consent to going that hellhole bar you and Sarah like—especially if we can talk more about the elusive Mr Quinn.’

‘He’s not elusive,’ Sarah said reproachfully. ‘He’s just my brother, and not, as I keep telling you, a psychopath.’

‘Be that as it may, he’s still an unknown quantity and—as far as I’m concerned—and unmet quantity, so if I’m trusting my best friend’s tender heart to him, I need reassurance.’ She gave Lane a little push towards the fitting room. ‘So in please, margaritas and conversation await.’

Lane stood her ground. ‘As long as you understand I’m not dressing myself to please Adam.’

Another push. ‘In, Lane.’

Lane reluctantly re-entered the fitting room, and as she closed the door she heard Sarah whisper, ‘What are you doing, Erica? Don’t talk about hearts. Adam’s a commitment-phobe; he’s not interested in hearts!’

‘Shh!’ A hiss from Erica.

‘Well, to listen to you talk, anyone would think he was …’ But Sarah’s voice dropped so low at that intriguing point that strain though Lane did, she could only hear a snatched word or two after that.

Anyone would think he was what? How she wished she knew. Maybe if she knew, she would have found a way to entice him into having sex with her on Wednesday night instead of being left like a wilting wallflower.

Lane stripped off the diabolical green sheath and yanked the pink dress down over her head. Really, who cared what he was? This was a paid job for him. She didn’t have to entice him; the onus was on him to teach her to entice him. So he’d better find a way to get the lessons underway quick smart so they could all relax.

She glanced in the mirror, preparing for a shudder, and surprised herself with a spontaneous smile instead. She looked more closely. The pink really did suit her! She reached for the zipper at the back and tugged it up, only for it to jam halfway. She jiggled it, then tugged it, then jiggled it again, trying to ease it up, then down, then up. No joy; it wouldn’t budge.

At that moment she saw the dress as a metaphor for her life. The dress was Adam, chosen for her but not by her, and although it seemed to suit her at first glance, something was derailing her attempt to wear it. She couldn’t reverse the zipper, but she couldn’t move forward with it either, and she was stuck on her own with the problem while her friends tried to find other options for her. Damn zipper!

Just as she thought she was going to have to call Erica and Sarah in to help her, the zip unjammed and she managed to slide it all the way up. Victory was hers. She smiled to herself. Yes, victory was hers, just as it would be in three months’ time, without her friends having to step in to save her.

She grabbed the gold belt Erica had insisted on and positioned it around her waist. Instantly, she imagined Adam’s big hands there and shivered deliciously. It was a short step to thinking about his hands under the belt, under the dress. On her naked flesh. That was what she wanted: his hands, on her. And his mouth, she wanted his mouth sending her mindless as he kissed her. And she just had this feeling … this feeling that if she couldn’t find her way with Adam, she’d never find it.

On that basis, she couldn’t let her friends’ misgivings stop her. She wasn’t going to let anyone stop her from doing this. She was unsticking the zip that was her stalled sex life on her own and going all the way up with it.

She gave the belt tug, tightening it so enthusiastically an ‘Ouch’ flew out of her mouth.

The whispering outside stopped abruptly.

‘Laney?’ Erica. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ she called back, loosening the belt a notch. ‘Just give me a minute and I’ll be out to show you.’ She looked at herself in the mirror and nodded. ‘Coming out now.’

There was a moment of silence as she walked out and favoured the girls with a slow twirl. But she found, for once, she didn’t need their approval. She liked the dress without needing anyone else’s opinion.

Still, it was nice to see Sarah and Erica smiling conspiratorially at each other like proud parents. Better than the tension-fuelled whisper-fest they’d been indulging in all day.

Erica came up behind her, ripped out her hair elastic and turned her to the larger mirror. She smoothed the straight fall of Lane’s hair. ‘Darling, if you wear this with my chocolate suede high heels, I’m going to want to do you,’ she said. ‘If only I could be there tonight to make sure Adam’s worth the transformation. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to let me stay?’

‘Very sure.’

‘Damn!’

‘And just to be one hundred per cent clear, I’m buying this dress for me, not Adam,’ Lane added.

‘Aha,’ Erica said, patently unconvinced.

‘I mean it.’

‘Aha.’

‘Erica!’

‘All right, all right. Go. Change. Pay. Margaritas. Talk.’

***

Erica barely waited until she’d ordered a double round of drinks (to avoid re-order interruptions) from Glory, the barmaid who was practically a fixture at Midnight Madness, before fixing Lane with a laser stare. ‘If you say one more time you’re not dressing to please Adam, I’m going to cut up every white shirt in your wardrobe. You’re deflecting.’

‘I’m not deflecting!’ Lane insisted. ‘I’m really not dressing to please him.’