Of Happiness (11 page)

“There’s no way I’m going to win this, am I?” I grumble, slumping down into my seat.

“Enjoy the ride, baby.”

 The tension in my neck begins to drifts away, the wind that whirls outside the car carrying it into the summer air.

“
T
his isn’t happening,” I murmur, surveying the mosaic tiled floor beneath my sandaled feet. After our brunch in Evanston, a northern suburb, Harris hightailed us back into the city for an appointment. Now my hand grips his in the foyer of the most exclusive clothing store I’ve ever entered. It’s a boutique not far from Harris’ home, and a purveyor of men’s and women’s clothing, judging by the modern racks hanging from wires in the fifteen-foot ceilings.

With a gentle tug on my hand, Harris takes me through the entryway and into the main floor of the showroom. As soon as he spots us, a young man with a wild, deep brown afro rushes forward to greet us.

“Harris, welcome back!”

“Good to see you, Claude.”

The name fits the tall, lanky man wearing bright red chinos and funky black-framed glasses. There’s no sign of a French accent, though.

Harris drops my hand for an instant, engulfing the man in a guy hug, throwing one arm around him and swiftly patting his back. Then he returns to my side, dropping a possessive arm around my shoulder.

“Claude, this is my girlfriend, Edith, the one I told you about.”

Instantly he gives me a once over causing me to fidget, though Harris holds me firmly in place.

“Oh la, la,
La Vie en Rose
,” he murmurs when he’s finished observing my teal sundress.

“Stop checking out my girlfriend,” Harris says, exasperated.

Rolling my eyes at his mock growl, I extend my hand to Claude. “Nice to meet you.”

“I am going to have so much fun dressing you both today. I’ve got things pulled for you, Edith.”

“Already?” I ask Harris, quirking an eyebrow.

He shrugs unapologetically. “I may have sneaked a look at your sizes and told Claude.”

My mouth falls open in shock.

He dips toward my ear, presses a kiss to the spot in front of it. “Pamper you,” he reminds me, stealing anyway any argument I might have.  

Claude twirls away from us, heading toward a line of bright dresses. “You’ll look lovely in red,” he says more to himself than us.

As we cross the floor of the shop, Harris leans down to whisper in my ear. “I thought if I bought something for myself you’d feel more comfortable.”

My nose wrinkles. “Still don’t like the idea of my boyfriend buying me clothes when I have perfectly good things at home.”

Harris pauses our walk, turning our bodies so that we are facing each other. His hands cup my shoulders and he gives a steady, penetrating gaze. “One more clue about our trip—I’m taking you to an incredibly special and unusual event. You should have something incredibly special to wear. Since this whole thing was my idea, I will provide the appropriate attire.”

I can’t fight off the smile that slinks across my face. “Stop using your lawyerly logic on me. It’s too hard to fight.”

“Oh, baby, haven’t you learned by now I won’t fight fair when it comes to you? Whatever means necessary to make you mine.” He drops a kiss on my downturned lips, pecking at them until I can’t help but laugh.

“Are you two done making the world jealous with your love?” Claude asks from far way.

A wave of heat rushes to my face.
Love.
Did Harris hear that? His arm coils back around my shoulders, face remaining neutral. If he did, he’s showing no sign of ruffled feathers. On the other hand, prickles of awareness are shooting all over my body. Can he tell that I’m in love with him? Does he love me too?

Yes. What do you think “I am yours and you are mine” means?
But then a nagging voice reminds me,
it’s not a declaration of love.

Caught up in my internal ramblings, I hardly notice that we’ve moved through the industrial racks of designer threads to stand in front of closed, imposingly tall doors.

“Dressing rooms,” Claude says, noting my confused expression. “He goes in here.” He jerks his head to the left, indicating Harris’ spot. “And my beauty, follow me.” With a playful bow, he pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter the inordinately large room.

“Okay, sweet cheeks—hey!” Harris halts Claude’s progress by clamping a hand on his shoulder, dragging him out of the dressing room.

“You better rethink following my woman into a room where she’s about to undress,” he demands.

Claude gives an exaggerated eye roll. “I was just going to tell her that if she needs help with zippers, I will get a
female
associate.”

“Keep it that way,” he grumbles, then angles his body around Claude’s lean one. “Baby, I want to see everything you try on.”

I dig my teeth into my lower lip, squelching a smile. “Okay.”

Claude shoos Harris out of the room, then turns to me with an excited grin. “We’re going to have so much fun playing dress up. Harris said cocktail attire, so I’ve got a few things for you. Are there any colors you don’t wear?”

What an odd way to shop. If he asks, I guess I should answer.

“Not a huge fan of purples.”

“Agreed. You have enough of that in your lovely eyes. Try that one on.” He points to a tight black bustier dress. He departs the room, but not before asking my shoe size, so he can bring pairs to match the dresses.

I wiggle out of my clothes and into the crisp, midnight black dress. Instantly I know it’s not for me by the way it flattens my chest. But as Harris asked, I open the door and call out his name. Sure enough, Claude waits outside impatiently tapping his foot.

“Oh, no! That works against your sexy body, not with it,” he says loudly.

The door to Harris’ dressing room flies open, revealing my bare-chested boyfriend in suit pants and a white dress shirt hanging open. “What the hell, Claude? Stop hitting on her,” he barks.

“I said I didn’t do a good job of picking out a dress for her smoking figure.”

Harris’ eyes narrow. “You’re job isn’t to flirt with my girlfriend. It’s to find her something to wear to our event.”

“You’re silly,” I say, walking over to Harris. On my tiptoes I give him a kiss on the cheek. “He’s doing his job.”

“Fine,” he mutters.

When I turn back, Claude holds a cherry-red shift. From the front, it doesn’t look like anything special, I cock my head to the side, eyeing it.

Then he swivels the heavy wood hanger around. 

“Stunning,” I breathe. The dress has a plunging back that dips so low it might be impossible to wear any underwear at all.

Claude smirks at Harris, his expression saying, “Look what I did.”

Skipping forward, I gently extract the delicate dress. The smooth silk jersey feels nearly weightless in my hands. I return to the dressing room and hang it on a wall rack. With a few twists and turns, I’m able to slip out of the bustier dress, but not before seeing the price tag.

Woah.
It cost more than I paid in rent.

I stand in my bra and panties, eyeing the red dress. No price tag hangs on this lovely object. Surely it must be expensive with the French designer’s name sewn into the interior. There’s no way I can let Harris spend this much on me, but that dress… Reaching back as if under a spell, I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. I won’t let him buy this one, but I desperately want to feel it on my skin.

Gently sliding it off the hanger, I step into the dress and settle the straps on my shoulders. On the floor next to the three-view mirror are a pair of black, sky-high heels. Using the wall to balance, I place my feet into the shoes. When I catch my eye in the mirror, I nearly sigh. I lift my hair off my shoulders, twisting it back on my head as though it’s been artfully arranged.

“You know I can’t buy that one for you.” His voice makes me jump slightly and I whirl around to see Harris standing in front of the closed door, wearing an impeccably tailored, dark gray suit and white shirt, open at the collar.

“It’s too much money,” I agree, though I turn over my shoulder to see how the garment displays my back. It’s a sensual cut, dipping so low it brushes against the bottom of my spine. More skin shows than I’ve ever revealed before, but even I have to admit it’s incredibly sexy.

“It has nothing to do with money, baby,” he murmurs, and in the reflection of the mirror, I see that he’s moved so he’s standing much closer now. A moment later, I feel the heat radiating off his body from directly behind me.

Our eyes meet in the mirror and in his eyes I see what churns inside of me—anticipation.

His thumb grazes the base of my neck, then it leisurely traces an imaginary line down the length of my exposed spine.

Each of my breaths is slow, heady. I forget where we are. 

His fingertips reach out and skim across my stomach, then he maneuvers my body, so I’m facing the mirror again and my back is pressed to his front. “I can’t have other men looking at you and feeling what I’m feeling now.” He punctuates his words by pressing an impressive erection against my body.

His hand drops to my thigh, drawing circles against the skin and raising goose flesh in its wake.

“What are you feeling?” I ask throatily.

“Like if I don’t get my hands on you in the next ten seconds, I might die.”

He draws an imaginary line around my thigh until he reaches between my legs, His fingers inch higher and higher until they reach my panties.

A low moan escapes my lips.  

His hand falls away from my arousal, causing me to whimper.

“My baby wants me?” he teases.

“Yes,” I breathe, not caring that Claude’s outside or anyone might hear us.

He reaches to my sides where my arms have fallen and clasps my hands in his, drawing them up and sliding them around his neck.

“When did you become an exhibitionist?” he wonders, his hand finding my waist again while the other pushes the dress up around my hips.

His words somewhat bring me back to reality. “Can we do this in here?” I wonder, though I don’t really care the answer.

Harris nudges aside my thong and I squirm beneath his touch, desperate for him.

“We can do whatever we like,” he whispers. One finger slips inside, then another. And then I’m gasping, my eyes flutter close and I’m riding his hand. Moving up and down with each stroke, trying to increase his pace.

“Let me see those eyes,” he says against my ear.

My grip around his neck tightens and I cry out as he flicks my clit. My eyes fly open and find his gaze in the mirror. As he moves his fingers faster and faster, he uses his thumb to draw tiny circles against me.

“Harris,” I gasp when he abandons my throbbing flesh. Then with one intense pressure flick from his finger, I’m flying over the edge, never losing eye contact with him as my lips part with each puff of air.

When I’ve come down from my high, he spins me around and lifts his two fingers to own his lips. With a sensual smile, he slips each one into his own mouth, licking himself clean. “Delicious,” he says with a wink. Then his arms find their way around my lower back, yanking me forward for a passionate kiss.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’m buying this dress, but you’re only wearing it for me.”

He lets me go, shoving a hand into his pant pocket as he backs away. I’m still drifting in a sea of ecstasy, unable to speak until—

“Harris,” I say breathlessly before he leaves. “You did it.”

“Did what?”

“Ecstatic Edith,” I answer, a playful smile flirting with my lips.

With a wink, he turns and pulls the door open.

“What did you do to my new friend?” Claude shrieks.

“We’ll take the red one, but she’s going to need something else for the party,” I hear Harris tell him with laughter in his voice. He shuts the door behind him, leaving me in a post orgasm haze.

How did my life turn into this?

Claude pokes an arm into the dressing room, holding a rich green halter dress. “I’m not looking in here in case you are naked.”

“Claude!” I giggle, navigating the plush carpeting in the high stilettos. I pull the dress from his hands. A second later, a pair of shoes appears in the open space.

“This is the dress,” he informs me before I even try it on.

And he’s right. Thirty minutes later, he’s wrapping up our packages. Harris insisted on the red and green dresses as well as matching shoes and a clutch, despite my protestations. He purchased the suit he had tried on; it was actually an item he had picked out earlier, but needed to be tailored to fit.

As Claude wraps the packages, Harris brushes a kiss into my hair. “Thank you for letting me do this,” he says in a voice for my ears only.

I cock my head to the side to study his expression. He’s peaceful. How could I deny him?