"Stop moving or I'll never get this zipper up."

Sebastian's hands were warm against my bare back as he worked the zipper of my dress. We stood in front of the floor-length mirror in his bedroom, me in a stunning emerald gown that hugged every curve, him in a perfectly tailored tuxedo that made him look like he'd stepped out of a magazine.

"I'm not moving," I protested. "You're just taking your time on purpose."

"Maybe I am." His lips brushed the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my ...