I can’t help but smile at her. Smart move, I wouldn’t have thought of that.

“Ready to go shopping?”

“Fine,” she says, humming the theme song to Pretty Woman.

Torture.

I’m not sure if Claire is torturing me on purpose or if it’s self-inflicted. I’ve been walking with a semi-hard dick all day long. It started when she came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a peach-colored bikini and a flowered wrap around her waist. Her long hair tied into a bun and her skin glistening. Actually, lounging by the pool wasn’t half as bad as going shopping with her.

She modeled for me as we looked for the perfect dresses. She would turn around, sway her hips, and ask me if her ass looked too big with each number. I only wanted to undress her and look at that perfect butt completely naked.

She ended up buying a black spaghetti strap dress for tonight. It’s tight from the waist up and then loose down to the knee. If I found her attractive earlier today, tonight I’m ready to drag her to our room and make her mine.

“How do I look?” she asks, taking a deep breath before we enter the restaurant.

“You clean up well, Solis,” I say, resting my hand on the small of her back.

She glances at me and smiles.

“You don’t look bad yourself, Archer,” she says in a flirty voice.

“You guys made it.” Lola runs toward us, giving me a tight hug. “Save me from them, please.”

“What’s happening?” I look around the restaurant. Everything looks peaceful.

“They’re eating Kevin alive,” she says.

“Where is he?”

“By the bar, getting drunk, and probably figuring out how to break off our engagement,” my sister says.

“The man has faced them before,” I remind her. “He proposed to you after already having met them.”

She does a double take at Claire and says, “Your dress is gorgeous. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, thank you. It’s an old thing I had hanging in my closet.”

“Lola, sweetheart, come over here,” my mom calls.

“Stop smoothing your dress, you look gorgeous,” I tell her, grabbing her hand.

“You look great,” I assure her again, kissing her knuckles.

“I look half-naked.” She looks over her shoulder, staring at her ass.

“Well, you look like an eleven.”

“An eleven to your ten?” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t need to use lines on me. I’m working.”

“Maybe I’m just telling the truth.” I kiss her bare shoulder. “Gorgeous doesn’t begin to describe the way you look tonight.”

“Whatever, we’re done after dinner. I’m not your Pretty Woman fantasy.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” I smile, which seems to throw a wrench in her rant.

“I’m not a hooker.”

“What did you say, dear?”

My grandma turns her attention to us and my blood freezes.