The dress catches at my hips. I stare wide-eyed at the point where the dress sits, the front draped over the skirt like an apron. The waist of my garter belt is visible, as well as the bare skin above my undies, framed by the arch formed by the stays of the belt. I pout and shimmy, but the dress doesn’t budge.

I hold up a finger in faux realization and turn my back to the crowd again. Hooking my thumbs into the fabric at my hips, I edge the dress down, leaning over as I guide it past the rise of my satin-clad backside. Once it’s cleared my rear, the dress falls freely to the floor, mercifully not snagging on any of the rhinestones in my tights. I straighten, slowly running my hands up the sides and backs of my thighs.

When I reach my full height, I extend my hand demurely. Johnny moves forward to take my fingertips, and I step out of my dress with dainty, ladylike steps. I face the audience again, surveying the length of myself and brushing away some invisible dust. Satisfied, I raise my arms in a classic showgirl pose, beaming wide. The crowd goes wild. My heart thrashes, and I let out a giddy laugh.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Johnny hollers, “Kitten Caboodle!”

I’m about to descend the stage when I remember my kitten duties. I step one foot into the puddle of my dress, then kick up my heel, fingers crossed that I have my timing right. The move lifts the dress enough that I catch it, then smoothly drape it over my arm. As I pass my table of supporters, Chloe throws her hands up in delight, and Gales and Charles keep up their applause, with Gales adding a wolf whistle. Darcy still hasn’t moved. He’s looking at me like he did the night we met, as though the final notes of “Feeling Good” linger in the air, and I’m due for a pouncing.

“Help me out, Darcy.” I bump his shoulder with my hip, savoring the heat of his body so low on mine. “Was that ‘cheeky’ or ‘insolent’?”

He opens his mouth to reply but ends up taking in a breath, a smile sneaking across his face. “That was all you.”

CHAPTER

22

“I have to warn you.” Darcy plucks a key card from his money clip. “The room is . . . excessive.”

I grin. If he’s saying it’s excessive, then it really must be something. “I’ll try not to hold that against you.”

“You’re too kind.” He presses the key to the panel above the doorknob, and the lock disengages with a robotic grinding.