When I get back to the corner of Belmont and Clark, I head north and look up at all the store signage. I need to look on both sides of the street since Weston didn't bother to tell me which side this place is on. I strain my eyes a little since I don't have my gla.s.ses on.

I walk past quaint stores, nestled within impressive architecturally detailed historical buildings. I walk past a spot of greenery, still keeping an eye out.

This place is nowhere in sight.

My feet are killing me.

I'm starting to wonder if it even exists. Is this Weston's twisted idea of a horrible joke? And then, just when I think I'm just about to officially have a nervous breakdown, I finally spot the bright pink sign-Anette's Vintage Wear. And it's like I've reached an oasis in the middle of the desert. I'm hot, I'm parched, and my concrete sc.r.a.ped feet feel raw.

And also...I am so mad, I could strangle the next person I see.

But as soon as I walk into the cozy store, I breathe a little easier. The air is cool, and there's a slight smell of vanilla...it's very pleasant. The s.p.a.ce is incredible, cramped with beautiful vintage pieces. The charming, shabby-chic Victorian decor is very welcoming. My eye is drawn to the bra.s.s antique chandelier, and I can tell it's the real thing-not one of those horrible replicas. Soft scone light fixtures, silk hangers, and Victorian velvet chairs add to the charm. I was wrong-this isn't an oasis, but feels rather more like heaven, my own personal version of heaven.

And then I see it.

The most breathtaking dress I have ever seen, in the middle of the room, draped on a silk hanger. It's flowing, sheer, soft pink. I trail my fingers gently along the embroidery-the detail of it is exquisite.

"That's a vintage nineteen thirties Jeanne Lanvin," a cheerful voice calls out. I look up. An elderly lady with a short black bob smiles at me. I was so mesmerized by the s.p.a.ce and the dress, I hadn't even noticed her standing there.

"In mint condition," she adds. I can't peel my eyes away from it. I trail my finger down to the hand-written paper tag.

Jeanne Lanvin, 1930s There's no price listed. And I know I can't afford it.

"You like it," she says.

"I do," I say, smiling at her, thinking she will most likely be disappointed with my next words. "But I could never afford it. Not in a million years."

"It's not for sale," she says.

I laugh. "Oh...I see. It's bait," I venture.

She laughs a little louder.

"You should hang it in the front window. Get the customers in."

A huge smile stretches across her face. "It's yours."

"What?"

"Mr. Hanson wants you to have it."

My stomach is suddenly filled with b.u.t.terflies. Weston has done this. This dress is what this whole wild goose chase was all about.

"I'm Anette, by the way," she tells me, offering her hand.

She then leaves me to contemplate the dress. "I'll get you a gla.s.s of water. You look thirsty."

"Oh...thank you."

I take the hanger in my hand and drape the dress over myself, looking at my reflection in the mirror. It looks beautiful. The color really suits me. How romantic of him, I think, sliding the delicate soft pink material between my fingers.

He's breaking the rules again.

I hang the dress back on the old vintage coat rack.

Anette returns and hands me a cold gla.s.s of water. "I think you should try it on."

"Here?"

"Why not?" she says with a playful smile. "I have a s.p.a.cious changing room at the back."

I smile back at her. "Why not?" I'm dying to try it on-the size looks just about right.

She takes my gla.s.s of water, clutch, and shoes and sets them behind her counter. She comes back, her walk graceful in delicate red heels, and grabs the hanger with her red-tipped, manicured fingers-this woman is all cla.s.s.

I follow her down the narrow store. The s.p.a.ce is filled with wonderful fabrics. The walls are covered with Victorian gilded mirrors, reflecting the light from the gold chandeliers over top.

The place is magical.

When we reach the changing room, she pulls the flowery curtain open for me, and I spot a velvet Victorian chair. The most fabulous shoes I have ever seen, sit on top, sparkly and perfectly matched to my dress.

"The shoes are yours too."

Wow.

My gaze travels from the shoes to the gilded mirror. It's ma.s.sive and rests on the oak planked flooring, reflecting dark red painted walls and...

Weston.

He's sitting at the back of the changing room, on a green velvet bench. He looks up from his iPad and smiles at my reflection in the mirror. I look over at Anette, whose red lips stretch across her face-she's obviously in on it.

He looks delicious in a fitted tux, one leg propped up on his knee. He gives me that all too-s.e.xy smile of his-it's that rare mischievous one I don't see often-he knows he's been up to no good.

"Well, I'll leave you to try it on." Anette hands me the dress.

I'm careful to catch the fabric, not letting it fall to the floor.

"Take your time," she adds with a playful smile.

I walk in slowly and pull the flowery curtain closed behind me. His gaze is fixed on me-intense and hot and playful too.

I hang the dress on the large gold hook next to the mirror. "What are you reading?"

He sets his tablet on the bench and doesn't answer me. He stands, and his lips are on mine before I can say another word. His wonderful smell fills me, and the sweet taste of his mouth makes me want to eat him up.

I realize how much I've missed his kiss.

His large hands cup my face as his kiss grows in intensity. I don't want him to ever stop.

But he does.

He pulls away.

And his hands drop to my hips, making their way around my a.s.s. "I've missed you so much, Mirella." His words are soft in my ear. "You cannot imagine."

My breath catches. He makes me feel so desired.

So adored.

"I've missed you too." My words barely a whisper.

I have...so very much.

He trails kisses along my jaw. "You could have fooled me. You've been ignoring me for weeks."

"I have?"

"Don't play coy with me," he says, trailing his hand up my back, under my blouse. "I like what you're wearing."

"Thanks. I had no idea what to wear. Kathryn's e-mail was a little vague."

"Yes, I know."

"Why did you want me to wear ridiculously high shoes? What's up with that?" I ask, curious. "And what about the wild goose chase?"

I want answers.

He laughs. "I confess...I wanted you to suffer a little."

I jerk away from him. "You're telling me my bleeding feet were all part of an evil plan."

His smile fades. "You had me running in circles, trying to find out when I would see you next. Wondering what in the heavens was going on with you. Wondering if you had a change of heart about us?"

His eyes are so soft, filled with pure emotion, with a hint of pain-I can hardly be mad at him. "I didn't appreciate that one bit," he explains, trailing his finger along my cheek. "I thought you deserved a good lesson."

"Who knew you were so vengeful," I say, my lids heavy. I could just throttle him right now but still, I want him.

"I certainly didn't," he whispers, his finger tracing the outline of my lips. "You drive me insane, Mirella."

I reach for his belt. I want him...now. I've missed his touch, the taste of his skin, his beautiful c.o.c.k.

But he pulls away.

He pushes me against the wall and reaches for the fly of my capris. He undoes it in one smooth move. His hands glide over my hips and against my legs, pulling at the fabric, dragging my pants down along with my panties. When he gets to my feet, he kisses the top of my left one.

"I'll give you a foot ma.s.sage later," he promises, looking up at me. "You've earned it."

As he pulls my pants and panties over my feet, I feel so exposed...and wild. I can't believe we're doing this...here.

He stands up and towers over me, pulls my face to his, and kisses me again.

We feverishly work together to undo his pants, and free him-his erection brushes against my belly. There's a sense of great urgency, and I don't think I've ever seen Weston so unrestrained.

He props me up and takes me against the wall.

"You feel incredible," he breathes as soon as he's inside me. "I've missed this."

He pushes into me over and over again. I tighten my legs around him as his hips press harder against me. He breathes hard into my ear. I moan softly, enjoying him thoroughly, my head thrown back toward the ceiling. The small room shakes, as does the gilded mirror and the small chandelier on top. And I pray it doesn't come crashing down.

Weston's breaths come faster and louder, he plows into me harder, and I can sense both of us reaching climax. I bury my o.r.g.a.s.mic moans into his neck, trying not to make a sound.

But it's obvious-we're not fooling anyone. I'm sure Anette knows what's going on. But she's just sold a very expensive dress-I imagine she'll let us get away with it.

Up against the red wall, he still holds me in his arms. My face is buried in his warm neck, my nose marvels in his woodsy scent.

The moment is perfect.

"f.u.c.k," Weston whispers, the word barely audible in my ear. I'm shocked. I've never heard the man curse before.

"What? What is it?" I ask, the words spilling out of me. "Did we break something?" I ask, looking up at the chandelier.

"No. I forgot the condom." His voice is coa.r.s.e.

"Oh," is all I manage to say.

He buries his face in my chest. "I can't believe I've been so irresponsible."

"It's fine, Weston," I try to rea.s.sure him. "I've been on the pill. And as you know, I'm clean and I haven't..."

"I know you're clean. It's just that..."

"That what?" I want to know why he's so upset.

"I'm losing my bearings with you," he confesses. "It seems I'm breaking all the rules."

I can't argue with that.

He has been.

"Well, that was a really nice quickie," I say with a sly smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Shall I try on my dress now?"

As Weston helps me into the dress, his touch is soft and delicate. I look at our reflection in the gilded mirror-his tall frame in a tailored tux and mine in my soft flowing gown. I can't help but feel like Cinderella.

He trails his finger along my exposed neck. "You look as exquisite as I'd imagined. It fits you like a glove." His gaze lingers on me. "I'm glad. I was concerned it wouldn't be quite right."

"It's really me. You chose wisely."

He wraps his hands around my waist, warming my insides. "I thought something old might be appropriate. I know you love vintage...you're an old soul."