An Unlikely Match (The Match Series - Book #1) (10 page)

“I like plaid.”

“I know you do. That doesn’t mean plaid likes you.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Only when I’m right.” She flipped her own hair again. “Up?” she asked him. “Or down? I’ll let you pick my dress.”

His gaze drifted to her cover-up.
“You look good in yellow.”

“
Black’s more sophisticated.”

“Plaid?”

“Anything but plaid.”

o
o o o

When Morgan stepped out o
f the changing room in the back of Gilles on Fifth, Amelia nearly gasped out loud. They’d had his hair cut short and neat this morning, and he was testing out a pair of contacts from the optometrist. The first suit she’d chosen for him was dark gray, just a hint off pure black. His shirt was crisp white, the tie deep-blue silk. She wasn’t sure they had to look any further.

She came to her feet
from the plush armchair, moving toward him, taking in the lines and angles of the fine fabric. “Every woman there is going to be kicking herself for not snagging you when she had the chance.”

Morgan scoffed out a laugh
, running a finger beneath his collar. “Your acting skills are improving.” He turned to look at himself in the three-way mirror. “I feel like I’m going to a funeral.”

“You look
fantastic.” Standing beside him in the reflection, Amelia felt underdressed in her jeans, flats, a faded pink tank top and a loose ponytail. “I’m the one who needs work.”

He met her gaze
in the middle mirror, his eyes as soft as the sky. “You’re perfect.”

A
cloak of warmth enveloped her chest, spreading outward. “Well, I’m definitely not going to the dance dressed like this.”

A salesman bustled up from behind them.
“A special occasion, sir?”

“
His high school reunion,” Amelia supplied, running her fingertips along the shoulder of the suit, testing the feel of the fabric.

“She’s my date,” Morgan put in,
sending another warm glow through her chest.

“
This is a
very
good fit,” the salesman complimented.

Amelia couldn’t help thinking that Morgan would look great in anything he threw on.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, buff and handsome.

“What do you think?” Morgan asked her
, spreading his arms. “Does it pass muster?”

“You want to try something in black?” She wasn’t sure how formal he’d like to go.

“Is there something wrong with the gray?”

“Not a thing. It’s up to you.”

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

“I just insisted you
wear
a suit. It’s up to you which one.”

He nodded t
o a nearby mannequin. “Can I go with the leather?”

“No.”

“The one with purple satin accents?”

“No.”

“I rest my case.”

The salesman obviously fought a smirk. “I find most men take advice from their significant other.”

“Oh, I’m not—” Amelia stopped herself. What was she going to say? That she wasn’t significant? Why would the salesman care? And, anyway, it was only a turn of phrase. “It looks really good on you,” she told Morgan instead.

“Then we’ll take it,” he said to the salesman.

“And the tie?” the man asked.

“The whole thing.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll meet you at the checkout.”

“Anything else I need?” Morgan asked Amelia
as the salesman walked away. “A new watch, maybe a pair of shoes?”

“
How impressed do you want them to be?”

“
You’re in charge of wardrobe.”

“Seriously?”
She couldn’t believe he’d give her free reign.

“Seriously.”

“Then, yes to the watch and yes to the shoes.”

His drugstore watch was scratched and worn, and
a pair of black oxfords would sure beat his worn loafers.

She grinned at his pained expression. “Go big or go home.”

“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered as he moved toward the changing cubicle.

“You’re going to be
so
glad you did this,” she called after him.

He
turned, one hand on the top of the curtain. “You’re next.”

“Huh?”

He snapped it shut. “Le Blanc is just down the street.”

“I can’t afford a new dress.” And she
sure couldn’t afford anything from Le Blanc.

“You’re the one who signed up to be arm candy.”

“I did not.” But his words gave her pause.

“What good does it do me to show up in a
thousand-dollar suit if my date’s wearing a fifty-dollar dress?”

“I don’t have
fifty-dollar dresses.” Okay, well, some of them were fifty-dollar dresses. But she’d been on a budget for the past four years. She was still on a budget.

“Have you got anything
in your closet that will dazzle my former classmates?”

The truth was
she didn’t. “I can’t afford to dazzle your former classmates. I could show them some cleavage.”

He snapped open the curtain, em
erging in his slacks and golf shirt. “No offense to your cleavage, Amelia.” His gaze dropped for a split second, and she felt herself flush in reaction. “But it’ll need the right kind of decoration for an event like this.”

“I’m saving my tips
to buy a bed.”

He looped the suit over his arm. “
Good thing I’m buying the dress.”

Guilt tightened her stomach. “You can’t do that. I’ve got some nice dresses.
They’ll be fine.”

“Go big or go home.”

“You can’t spend that kind of money.”

The suit he could wear again. In fact, she hoped he’d wear it often. But he couldn’t buy her an expensive dress for a single night.

“And you can wear the dress again.”

“But it won’t be with you.” As the words came out, she realized they made her a little sad. “I mean, the suit is a
long-term purchase for your benefit. The dress would be you throwing away money for a single night.”

“You seem to think it’s an important night.”

“It is an important night. Everyone who struggled in high school should have an opportunity to go back triumphant. You’ll remember this night forever.”

“
That’s my point. The suit, the watch, the shoes, they’re all well and good. But my best accessory, the billboard for my success, is you on my arm.”

Amelia didn’t like the sound of that—probably because it had
such an uncomfortable ring of truth.

“
You signed up for this,” he reminded her.

“
I don’t want you to spend your money on me.”

“
You won the debate, Amelia. I’ve bought in. Now we have to bring the plan home with a really great evening gown.”

She hated to admit he was right.
The plan really was going to work better if she had a kick-ass dress.

Still, she hesitated.
“Are you sure you can afford this?”

“
Let me worry about what I can afford.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I can afford this.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He put his hand on the small of her back and urged her toward the checkout. “I have a good job, a rent-free condo, and a simple lifestyle. I can afford to buy a dress.”

“Your condo’s free
, too?”

“It comes with the job.”

Morgan paid for the suit, and they stowed it in his car before moving on to Le Blanc. Once she’d accepted the wisdom of buying a new dress, Amelia silently vowed to find something perfect—not too expensive—but perfect for Morgan’s big entrance at the reunion.

“
Find somewhere to sit down,” she told him as they entered the airy, white and burgundy shop. “I’ll bring you some choices.”

Wending her way between the well-spaced racks, she draped
black, gold, aqua and purple gowns across her arm. A sales clerk quickly appeared to put the selections in a change room. Amelia selected long and gauzy, short and sleek, long sleeves, no sleeves, and a couple with inset sequins and jewels.

Morgan looked amused where he’d parked himself near the changing rooms.
A second clerk brought him a glass of sparkling water and offered him a choice of magazines. Clearly, he wasn’t the first man who’d found himself cooling his heels near the change rooms in the store.

The first dress she modeled was pencil slim, black satin, with cap sleeves and a scooped neckline.

“Elegant?” she asked as she did a pirouette.

“If you say so.”
He didn’t look blown away.

“If your reunion was in the
1920s, I’d say it was perfect.”

He smiled at that.

“Next?” she asked.

“Next,” he agreed.

A few minutes later, she emerged in dark purple. The gown was long and flowing, with a plunging vee neck and bands of tiny pearls sewn around the waist. She turned so that the gauzy skirt flared out.

“Cleavage,” she noted.

“I think I can see your navel.”

She glanced down at his exaggeration.
“Too much cleavage?”

“
We probably want to leave a little to their imagination.”

“Are you calling me slutty?”

“You’re fine. It’s the dress that’s slutty.”

“Next.” She elongated the word as she
flounced back into the curtained cubicle.

As an antidote to slutty, she chose one in white. It was
soft satin, ankle length, with spaghetti straps and a halter bodice. The barest hint of silver thread ran through the skirt, and it had crystals sewn into a high waist.

“Well?” she asked, taking smooth strides across the plush carpet.

“I can see one problem,” he told her with a perfectly straight face.

“What’s that?” She gazed down the length of the dress then twisted to look in the mirror, searching for flaws.

“I might be tempted to marry you before the night was over.”

Amelia coughed out a laugh of surprise. “Okay. Well, I don’t expect the date to go quite that well.”

He got a now-familiar twinkle in his blue eyes. “I’ve always been an optimist, but...”

“No to the bridal gown,” she announced for both of them as she turned away.

Inside the cubicle, she searched for something completely different. Short this time, she decided, just as she came upon the first dress that had caught her eye. It had an underdress of light aqua satin with a strapless sweetheart neckline. The bodice was covered in flat, gold lace that rose over her right shoulder. Beneath the bust, a wide, crinkled sash gave shape to the waist. The aqua skirt was covered in layers of shiny gold organza that fell to mid-thigh. The full skirt bounced out just enough to be fun.

It wasn’t virginal. It wasn’t slutty. And it didn’t make her look like
she belonged in a Greta Garbo film. She swayed one way and then back the next, liking the slippery feel of the fabric against her thighs.

She took a breath and walked out to Morgan.

He went still in his chair, simply staring at her.

After a few seconds, she grew uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other. “Well?”

“I think you’ll knock ’em dead.”

She tried to interpret
his expression. “In a good way?”

“It’ll be good for me.”

“You’re the one who counts.”

His face tightened in obvious concern.
“You know, you’re going to give them a completely false impression—”

“Of what?”
She interrupted, moving forward, not liking that he might be having second thoughts.

“Of the kind of girl who—
”

“Likes you and wants to go on a date with you?”

“You know what I mean.”

She stopped in front of him. “I like you, Morgan,” she told him sincerely. “And I want to go on a date with you.”

From where he sat in the armchair, his head was tilted as he looked up at her. The worry was still there on his expression. “It’s not a real date.”

“What’s a real date?
” she questioned. “A man? A woman? Dinner and dancing?”

“On a real date, there’s some possibility of future romantic engagement.”

“Can you state categorically, right here, right now, that you’ll never, ever be romantically interested in me?”

He was silent for a long moment. “No, I can’t.”