29 An Unintentional Touch
I stood in the elegant study of the Sinclair mansion, my measuring tape in hand and my heart racing faster than it had any right to. After our first measurement session had been interrupted, Sebastian had suggested we continue today.
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“Are you ready to proceed, Ms. Shaw?” Sebastian asked, his deep voice perfectly calm while I felt anything but.
“Yes, of course,” I replied, trying to sound professional despite the curious gazes from Mrs. Sinclair and her relatives who had insisted on “coincidentally” gathering in the adjoining room.
Sebastian stood tall in the center of the study, making me feel small despite my own above–average height. His imposing frame required me to stretch to reach around his broad
shoulders.
“I’ll need to finish taking your measurements,” I explained unnecessarily. “I only got the basics
last time.”
He nodded, standing perfectly still as I approached with my measuring tape. “Take all the time
you need.”
The other women in the house weren’t even trying to hide their interest, periodically glancing into the partially open door. Their scrutiny made my hands slightly unsteady.
“Your shoulders are quite broad,” I commented, instantly regretting how unprofessional it
sounded.
“A family trait,” Sebastian replied, his expression unreadable.
I wrapped the tape around his chest, careful to maintain some distance between us, though it proved difficult given the task. His clean, woodsy scent was subtle but unmistakable – the same as that handkerchief he had given me. The realization made my pulse quicken.
“Forty–four inches, I murmured, jotting down the number in my notebook.
Next came his waist. I hesitated, measuring tape dangling from my fingers.
“I need to measure your waist now,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
Sebastian simply nodded, his dark eyes watching me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.
I had two options: reach around him from behind, or face him and wrap my arms around his midsection. Neither seemed particularly professional in this moment. Taking a deep breath, I chose the first option, stepping in front of him.
The position required me to practically embrace him, my arms extending around his trim waist. I could feel the warmth emanating from his body, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. My face was uncomfortably close to his chest. If I looked up, our faces would be inches apart.
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29 An Unintentional Touch
“Thirty–four inches,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I quickly wrote down the measurement, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
Next came his hips. To avoid another face–to–face embrace, I moved behind him this time.
“Just the hip measurement now,” I said, more to steady myself than to inform him.
I stretched the tape around his lower body, acutely aware of how inappropriate this would look to anyone walking in. My hands were trembling slightly, my focus scattered by his proximity.
What was wrong with me? I’d measured countless men before without a second thought. But something about Sebastian Sinclair made me hyperaware of every movement, every breath.
As I tried to bring the tape around to read the measurement, my fingers fumbled. The tape slipped from my grasp.
–
In a reflexive motion to catch it, I reached forward without thinking – and my hand accidentally pressed against his lower abdomen.
Time seemed to freeze. My hand remained there for a split second too long before I yanked it
back as if burned. Horror washed over me as I realized what I’d done.
“I am so sorry,” I blurted out, mortification making my voice higher than normal. “That was completely unprofessional. I didn’t mean to—”
“Mean to what?” Sebastian asked calmly, turning to face me with a perfectly composed expression. “Did the tape slip?”
For a moment, I stared at him in confusion. Then understanding dawned – he was giving me an out, pretending he hadn’t noticed my inappropriate touch.
“Yes,” I seized the excuse gratefully. “The tape slipped. I apologize.”
“No need,” he replied smoothly. “These things happen.”
I retrieved the measuring tape from where it had fallen, grateful for his tact. Still, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. What must he think of me?
“Perhaps we should take a short break,” Sebastian suggested, his tone neutral. “Would you like
some water?”
“That would be nice, thank you,” I managed, desperately needing a moment to compose myself.
He walked to a small side table and poured water from a crystal decanter into two glasses. The simple act gave me time to take a deep breath and regain my professionalism.
“Here you are,” he said, handing me the glass.
Qur fingers brushed briefly, sending another jolt of awareness through me. I quickly pulled my hand away, nearly spilling the water.
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29 An Unintentional Touch
“Thank you,” I murmured, taking a sip to occupy myself.
The cool liquid helped clear my head. I’d never been this flustered during a fitting before – not even with celebrities or royalty. What was it about this man that threw me so completely off
balance?
“Ms. Shaw,” Sebastian said after a moment of silence, “may I ask you something?”
I nodded, bracing myself.
“Have you been sleeping well?”
The unexpected question caught me off guard. “I’m sorry?”
“You seem tired,” he explained. “I was concerned.”
His observation was accurate but surprising. The past few nights, I’d been plagued by restless sleep, my dreams filled with fragments of memories and unfamiliar faces – sometimes including
his.
“I’ve been busy with work,” I replied vaguely. “New commissions always mean late nights.”
Sebastian studied me for a moment, as if he could see through my explanation. “Perhaps you should consider delegating more. Overworking doesn’t benefit your health or your art.”
His concern, delivered so matter–of–factly, touched me more than flowery sympathy would have. It was practical yet genuine.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, setting down the empty glass. “Shall we continue?”
Sebastian nodded, resuming his position. This time, I maintained strict professionalism, measuring his hip circumference with clinical precision. I noted the number and moved on to
his outseam measurement.
“You’re very meticulous,” Sebastian observed as I measured from his waist to his ankle.
“Details matter in custom clothing,” I replied, focusing on the task rather than the man.
“They matter in most things,” he agreed.
As I worked, I gradually regained my composure. This was just another client, I told myself. An exceptionally well–built, mysteriously compelling client who smelled inexplicably familiar, but still just a client.
I measured his arm length, shoulder width, and other necessary dimensions, recording each number carefully. Throughout it all, Sebastian remained perfectly still, making my job easier.
“Almost finished,” I said, straightening up after measuring his inseam – a procedure I’d approached with extra caution. “I just need your neck measurement.”
I reached up to place the tape around his neck, my fingers brushing against the warm skin at his
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29 An Unintentional Touch
nape. Even this professional touch felt oddly intimate. His pulse throbbed steadily under my fingertips.
“Sixteen and a half inches,” I noted, stepping back quickly.
Sebastian touched his throat where my fingers had been. “You have a gentle touch for someone so precise.”
The compliment made me flush all over again. “Years of practice.”
I tucked my measuring tape and notebook into my bag, eager to escape the charged atmosphere of the room. “That’s everything I need for now. I’ll create some preliminary sketches based on your measurements and your mother’s event requirements.”
“When will I see you again?” Sebastian asked, his direct question catching me off guard.
“I usually schedule a fitting once I have the preliminary cuts ready,” I explained. “Perhaps next
week?”
He nodded, but something in his expression suggested he was asking about more than just professional appointments. “I look forward to it.”
As I prepared to leave, he stopped me with a gentle touch on my arm. “Ms. Shaw, about what happened earlier…”
My embarrassment came rushing back. “Please, it was unprofessional and I assure you-”
“I was going to say,” he interrupted softly, “that accidents happen to everyone. There’s no need
to dwell on it.”
His kindness in not making me suffer further humiliation only made me admire him more. Most men of his status would have either ignored it completely or made some suggestive comment.
“Thank you for understanding,” I said sincerely.
He studied me for a moment longer, his dark eyes intense. “You know, I think my mother was right about you.”
“Oh? What did she say?”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “That you were exceptional in every way.”
Before I could formulate a response, he opened the door fully, effectively ending our private
conversation. “Allow me to walk you out.”
As we emerged from the study, I could feel the curious gazes of the aunties following our every move. Whatever they hoped to see between Sebastian and me, I was determined not to give
them the satisfaction.
“Do you have everything you need now?” Mrs. Sinclair asked as we approached.
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29 An Unintentional Touch
“Yes, thank you,” I replied politely. “I should have preliminary designs ready for review next
week.”
“Wonderful,” she smiled. “Sebastian, dear, will you be joining us for the fitting as well?”
Something passed between mother and son – an unspoken communication I couldn’t decipher.
“Of course,” he answered. “I believe Ms. Shaw still needs to finish measuring me.”
My eyes widened slightly at his statement. I had all the measurements I needed, and he knew it. Yet when I opened my mouth to correct him, our eyes met, and the words died on my lips.
“Is that right, Ms. Shaw?” Mrs.
I swallowed hard. “Yes, the nclair prompted, her tone innocent but her eyes knowing.
are a few… final adjustments needed.”
Sebastian’s expression remained impassive, but something in his eyes – a flicker of satisfaction, perhaps – told me he had his own reasons for extending our professional relationship.
As I left the Sinclair mansion, I couldn’t help wondering what game we were playing – and why, despite my better judgment, I was willingly participating in it.
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