First Impressions: The Fix Up Part 4

"As long as you approve of what I'm wearing as a viable option for tonight," Ben said.

"It's perfect," she said, swinging her gaze back to him and feeling glad to have a legitimate, work-related reason for checking him out. "You look very sharp."

"It's not too-I don't know. Fussy?"

"Definitely not. You look like a well put together professional. Very CEO-like."

He frowned at himself in the mirror, then nodded. "I look like my father."

There was an edge to his voice, and Holly watched his eyes darken in his reflection.

"Is looking like your father not a good thing?"

He met her eyes again. "Depends on the situation, I suppose."

"A corporate event?"

He sighed. "It's a necessary evil."

"Okay then." She smiled and watched the darkness drift from his eyes. "I'll try on the dress and you can go try on the rest of the evil suits."

He smiled and turned away, which gave her the chance to check out his a.s.s. She wasn't sure whether to credit the pants or what was inside the pants, but the man certainly looked amazing. A fact her racing pulse seemed determined to recognize.

She clutched the dress to her chest, hustled to the women's dressing room, and ducked into the closest stall. She undressed in a hurry, not wanting to miss Ben trying on whatever he planned to model next. Part of her hoped it was the nutmeg-colored shirt that matched the color of his eyes.

Most of her knew she shouldn't be thinking about his eyes or his hands or any part of his body that didn't make business decisions.

She shimmied the dress over her head, savoring the feel of the silk gliding over her curves. There was something erotic about the slip and slide of the fabric, or maybe it was just the thought of Ben in a similar state of undress just down the hall. She felt her nipples grow hard and resisted the urge to stroke her palms over them as she turned to face the mirror.

It was a perfect fit. And Marcus was right, it did make her legs look fabulous, if she did say so herself. The strappy designer shoes she'd been wearing all day were perfect with the dress, and she said a silent thank you to Miriam for giving them to her last Christmas. She wouldn't even have to run home before the event. She could go just like this.

She peeled off the dress and pulled on her own clothes as quickly as possible, hoping she hadn't missed Ben's next wardrobe change. She emerged from the dressing room and hurried back into the hall, but there was no sign of him.

"Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have more clothes you want to show me?"

"Not yet. Working on it."

"I'll wait out here."

She sat down on the bench beside the dressing room to await the next outfit. Did men even call them outfits? She'd have to ask Miriam. While Holly was proud of her skills as a PR and branding professional, she was by no means a fashion expert. This whole job was a little outside her comfort zone, to be honest.

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Her career was one of the most important things in the world to her, and pushing herself professionally was part of the package. She wanted to do well, to build her skills and her client roster and her list of reasons why she'd made the right decision picking her career over marriage to a man who wanted her to stay home ironing his shirts and popping out babies. A man who'd almost talked her into throwing away her whole career to be the sort of wife he expected.

"You can't have it all, Holly," Chase had insisted. "A career or a husband and family-you have to pick one."

So she'd chosen the career. The decision wasn't tough, since Chase was being a controlling jerk by then, but still. She hadn't regretted her choice, but there were times she still wished she could have it all.

She glanced at her watch, a little nervous to realize it was already six thirty. They still needed to drive back to Langley headquarters and get Ben changed for the event. Then she had to talk him through a few of the basics on social etiquette and making a good first impression and- "Uh, Holly?"

The sound of Ben's voice from the dressing room stall jarred her from her incessant planning.

"Yes?"

"I'm having a bit of a problem here."

"What sort of problem?" She stood up, ready to help. "What's wrong?"

"There's a thread or something caught in the zipper. I can't get the pants off."

She hesitated, resting a hand on the wall of the dressing room. "Do you want me to help?"

"You know, this really isn't how I envisioned you offering to remove my pants."

She felt the heat creeping into her cheeks again, torn between the embarra.s.sment of the situation and the thrill of knowing he'd basically just admitted he'd thought about her taking off his pants.

It was a joke. Don't get too excited.

"Should I go find Marcus?"

"Who's Marcus?"

"The clerk. That's what his nametag said, anyway."

"I should pay more attention to stuff like that."

"There's your first lesson in public relations-always look for nametags." She lowered her voice a little and glanced toward the door. "And based on the attention Marcus was paying to you, I get the sense he wouldn't mind taking off your pants. What is it with you and sales clerks?"

Ben muttered something unintelligible that was probably some sort of engineering curse. "I'm about five seconds from whipping out my pocket knife and cutting the d.a.m.n things off my body."

"Don't do that! They're the only pair in your size and they don't even need to be tailored."

"I've been at this for ten minutes already."

"Are you sure you're sliding it the right way?"

"I have a doctorate in engineering," he muttered. "I'm pretty sure I understand how a zipper works."

She hesitated at the edge of the dressing room, biting her lip. "Do you want me to try?"

She heard the bolt click from the lock, and the door swung open. Holly stifled the urge to gasp. Ben stood there shirtless and barefoot with his hair tousled and wild. His hand was on his fly, his shirt was on the bench, and Holly was in serious danger of drooling on the floor.

He stuck his head out of the dressing room, glancing left and then right. No sign of the clerk. "This is nuts," he said. "How hard can it be to take off a pair of pants?"

"Maybe it's the angle," she said, stepping toward him and trying her d.a.m.nedest to maintain some professional composure. "Let me take a look."

He took a step back, moving deeper into the dressing room. "Let's do this in here. I'd rather not undress in the middle of the hallway."

"Good point." She followed him inside, making a concerted effort not to stare at his crotch. Then again, wasn't that what she was supposed to be doing?

She let her gaze drop, wondering why it was so hot in this dressing room. Ben's hand was still on his fly, but she could see he'd managed to get the zipper at least partway down.

"Um, could you maybe move your hand?"

"Sorry, yeah."

He slid his hand away, revealing a happy trail that led into the top of a pair of red boxer briefs that appeared to be in much better condition than his socks. Thank G.o.d for small miracles.

There's nothing small about what's in those boxer briefs...

She ordered herself to stop entertaining lewd thoughts as she sat down on the bench in front of him, putting herself at eye-level with his crotch. Holy mother of h.e.l.l, the man had ridiculous abs. She could grate cheese on them. Holly hadn't pegged him as a gym rat, but clearly the man worked out.

Why was it so hot in this dressing room?

She took a deep breath and reached for his fly, ordering herself not to say anything dumb like "great fabric" or "nice body" or "f.u.c.k me."

The zipper was stuck at half-mast, so she grabbed hold of it and gave a firm tug downward. Nothing. She pulled up, thinking maybe she could start over from the top. The d.a.m.n thing didn't budge. She peered closer, trying to figure out what the problem was.

"It looks like there's a thread caught right here," she said, pinching it between her fingernails and giving a tug.

"Can you pull it?"

"I'm trying. I can't get a grip with my nails. You said you have a pocketknife?"

"I was kidding."

"I have manicure scissors in my other purse, but I left that at home."

Ben squirmed, muscles rippling as he moved. "I think I'm okay without having scissors anywhere near my junk."

"These teeth are really tight."

"I'm also okay without having teeth near my junk." He squirmed again and Holly grabbed his a.s.s without thinking. "Hold still," she said, gripping his b.u.t.t cheek to make sure it happened. It occurred to her belatedly that this wasn't the best way to establish a professional relationship with a new client, but there wasn't much to do for that now.

"If I just had a pair of tweezers-"

"Is there anything on your key ring?"

"A bottle opener," she said. "Pretty sure there's not much I can do with that." She tugged at the zipper again, conscious of the fact that she still hadn't taken her hand off his a.s.s. "G.o.d, it's really stuck."

"I'm going to have to wear these pants every day for the rest of my life with the zipper halfway down."

"Maybe if I just wiggle it-"

"I'm not sure wiggling it is a good idea," he said, his voice sounding strained. She looked up to see his face flushed to a hue somewhere between strawberry and tomato.

"Why not?"

"Because the more you touch me like that, the tighter these pants are getting."

"What? Oh." She bit her lip, suddenly very aware of the considerable bulge straining against the zipper. She'd been trying not to notice, but now that he mentioned it- "Okay, actually, this might help," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady as she grabbed the zipper again.

"My b.o.n.e.r is helpful?"

She snorted, surprised to realize the word b.o.n.e.r existed in his genius-level vocabulary. "Kind of," she said. "It's stretching the fabric out. If I could just get a grip on the thread." She looked up at him, pretty sure the words she was about to utter were the most inappropriate ones she could possibly say to a client on the first day of a business relationship.

"Would you mind if I used my teeth?"

Ben looked down at her, his eyes flashing with amus.e.m.e.nt, his five o'clock shadow darker in the dim light of the dressing room. "By all means," he said, dropping his voice to a low growl. "Put your mouth wherever you like."

Ben couldn't believe the words that had just escaped his lips. He sounded like some kind of caveman, not like himself.

Then again, wasn't that the point of hiring Holly? To bring out his inner alpha male? He was having trouble remembering right now with her mouth moving warm and soft over his c.o.c.k.

Okay, so there was a layer or two of fabric between those perfect, lush lips and the hard-on he was pretty sure would burst right through the fly of these d.a.m.n pants if she kept touching him like this. Maybe that was the solution. Maybe if she just stepped back and took her hands off him, his d.i.c.k would bust its way out of this mess all on its own.

"Hold on," she murmured, her voice sending a vibration through the zipper. "I think I've almost got it-"

"Take your time," he said, then mentally kicked himself for being a jacka.s.s. It sounded like the sort of s.e.xist thing his dad might say. Of course, it was true he didn't want her to rush. No sense breaking the zipper or tearing the fabric or having Holly take her hands off him for any reason whatsoever.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Right there! Almost got it."

Ben closed his eyes and hoped like h.e.l.l he didn't embarra.s.s himself. G.o.d, her mouth was warm. He could feel her breath through the thin cotton of his boxers and his inner pig hoped like h.e.l.l this procedure would take at least another hour.

"Dammit," she muttered against his fly. "I just had it."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just hold still."

"My pleasure," he murmured, thinking this whole experience was a lot more pleasure than he'd ever imagined. h.e.l.l, if he'd known pants shopping was this much fun, he would have done it years ago.

Of course, it was probably obvious to Holly, too, just how much he was enjoying the experience. He willed his hard-on to go down, but with Holly moving her mouth over his fly, there was little chance of that happening anytime soon.

He glanced down to see the crown of her head level with his hips. Her dark hair shone bright in the dressing room light and Ben had a serious urge to run his fingers through it.

Great idea, dumba.s.s. Stroke her hair while she mouths your c.o.c.k.

She tipped her head to the side for a better angle, and Ben admired the flutter of her lashes, the softness of her cheek, the flex of her jaw muscles as she worked the thread. Her fingers squeezed his a.s.s, and Ben squeezed his eyes shut, thinking he was seriously going to lose it if she didn't get that thread pretty soon.

"Holly, maybe we should stop-"

"Got it!" She sat back with a look of triumph, her hair tousled and her lipstick smeared. She reached for his fly and before Ben could brace himself again, she gripped the zipper and gave a firm tug. "Voila!" she announced, sliding the zipper up and then down in ill.u.s.tration.