More than anything, this time apart confirmed that he was developing some seriously deep feelings for Dahlia. All he thought of was her scent, the way she laughed. That hip thing she did onstage and in bed. The way she felt first thing in the morning, sleep-warm and always willing to open her arms and legs to him.

With other women, he got bored at a few weeks. But it had been five months since they’d first met and his fascination with her had begun. Two since they’d been officially seeing each other. He’d tried to talk with William about it, but his brother had blown him off, assuring Nash it was just a phase. And Nash, wanting to avoid a scene, had let it go, promising to revisit the subject soon. William seemed to like Dahlia well enough, but Nash noted how suspicious he seemed of her motives.

His brother was where Nash had been six months before. Married to his job and enjoying the favors of every woman he could.

For Nash it was like he’d been living half a life. He hadn’t noticed how much he’d been missing until Dahlia filled in all the corners, making him whole.

* * *

Rushing back to Vegas from London, Nash headed straight to Dahlia’s place. He knocked on her door and it swung open. Concerned, he peeked inside and saw her there, sitting in a chair and staring off into space.

“Dahlia? Baby, are you all right?” She never left her door open, and her usually animated features were slack. Alarmed, he rushed into her apartment and she turned, jumping up and into his arms laughing.

Relief nearly stopped his heart when he realized she was all right.

“Joseph Tate just called. I got the job, Nash. And you’re back. Oh, my God, you’re back and I missed you so much. What are you doing back so early? I thought you weren’t due back for three days.”

He put her down and kissed her quickly. “Congratulations! That’s great news. I’m so proud of you. I finished up as fast as I could because I wanted to see you. I missed you, too. You look good.”

She looked down at her hoodie and jeans. “Yeah, the height of fashion.” He’d just said he was proud of her. More than any other compliment, that meant something to her.

“Come to my place. It’s your night off so we can get dressed up, grab some dinner and hit a club to celebrate. Afterward, we can go back to my place, take a hot bath and I’ll lick you dry.”

“I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

“Lupo? Chinois? Fleur de Lys?”

Good Lord, the man had expensive taste. Still, it’d be nice to celebrate.

“I see hesitation and I wager it’s about how much things cost. Stop. You just got offered a great job. You’re my girlfriend, let me do this. And you don’t let me shower you with expensive presents the way I want to all the time. So this is for me, too.”

She blushed and smiled at his saying she was his girlfriend. “Oh, all right. The pains a girl has to endure when her boyfriend is rich.”

He grabbed her and pulled her close. “You just admitted I was your boyfriend.”

“Is it a secret?” she teased.

“Sometimes it feels like you think so.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She watched as he whipped out his cell phone and procured an impossible Friday-night, last-minute reservation at Le Cirque.

When he did stuff like that she was impressed and also felt like a hick. “Well, that was something. I’ve never been to Le Cirque.”

He laughed. “You’re in for a treat, then. And we can get gelato afterward. I like to watch you lick the spoon.”

“I told my family about you,” she blurted out.

Looking ridiculously pleased, he took her hand and kissed it. “You did? Wow. Thank you, Dahlia. That means a lot to me.”

She shrugged and noticed he didn’t say he had told his mother. A pang of doubt rode her again. Was he ashamed of her?

Back at his penthouse she nearly ran back out the door when she saw the literal heap of presents. She had something for him in her bag, but it paled in comparison.

“Go on. Open up!”

She sat, and he handed her a large, flat box. When she opened it, a beautiful red dress slid toward her. She picked it up and the material made her want to weep. “You bought me a dress from Chanel?” She couldn’t even act outraged—the dress in her hands was a work of art.

“Yes. It’s beautiful and I saw it and knew you had to have it. Please, Dahlia. I know you’re uncomfortable with my spending money on you, but I have it and I wanted to buy it for you. Won’t you let me? I promise to restrain myself but for birthdays and major holidays.”

How could she refuse the dress in her hands? The look on his face? “Thank you.”

There were other lavish gifts, things she’d never have been able to afford. Still, each one was clearly something he’d thought about carefully.

“I’m just overwhelmed. Thank you, Nash. You’re so generous. I have something for you, too, but it’s, well, it’s not a Fendi bag.”

He touched her chin with a fingertip. “It’s from you. That’s what matters.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the package.

Gleefully, he tore it open and looked at the shirt inside. “Dahlia.” He picked it up and looked at it.

“Do you like it?” Suddenly she felt eight years old. God, what made her think making him a shirt was a good idea? A man like him? She wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Do I like it? Did you make this?”

She nodded. “My mom helped. This was over my head, but she rocks with a needle and thread. I stole one of your dress shirts for your measurements.”

He pulled off his shirt and put hers on and she had to admit it fit perfectly. “This is brilliant, Dahlia. I love it. Thank you.”

* * *

Good God, she’d made him a shirt. Made it with her own hands and creativity. Crap, his presents didn’t even compare to her thought and effort. He was a fortunate man.

“I’m wearing this tonight.”

The smile he got in return made him want to toss her over his shoulder and stay in instead. He loved it when she was exposed like that. Not trying to hide herself from him.

But what he got was nearly as good as a sweaty romp. He got the intimacy of her standing next to him in his dressing area as she applied makeup and did her hair. It was a normal moment, but it meant so much. And the woman was made for expensive clothing. She looked so fucking gorgeous in the dress and shoes he wasn’t sure he wanted to take her out in public.

Her hair cascaded down her back in fat curls. Red lips matched the dress. Her body, generous, voluptuous, was framed by the deep scarlet of the dress, her breasts hugged lovingly. All of this accentuated by the height of the strappy heels.

Yep. Sex bomb—and she was all his.

It was so deceptively simple then for him. This life with her. He wanted it, and he wanted it for good.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Six months after that first dinner at her apartment, Dahlia could admit without hesitation that she loved Nash Emery. She was pretty sure he loved her, too. He certainly treated her that way.

But the doubts remained. Every time they were out and one of his friends would approach, she saw how they looked at her. They spoke of things she didn’t know, of people and places she was unfamiliar with. Many of the men looked her over in ways that made her feel cheap, and the women, if they addressed her at all, were patronizing, and it was clear they didn’t think much of her.

She hated that. Worse, she hated her hesitation in bringing it to Nash, who seemed totally clueless. She was a confident woman! She wanted to believe what her heart told her and she loathed the weakness she felt over it. Still, things were going better than they ever had, personally and professionally. Her job was amazing, and she was nearing the time when she’d be leaving The Dollhouse for good.