Page 48 of Owned In Misty Mountain

“Now you’re really mine.”

And I’m never letting her go.

Twenty

Shanay

“You’re glowing.”

I roll my eyes as Tara shoves another sparkly sash across my chest.

“She’s not glowing,” Brie says. “She’s sex-flushed. That man’s been rearranging her insides and you know it.”

I choke on my mocktail.

“I—what—”

“She’s not denying it,” Tara sings, twirling a feather boa around her neck.

We’re in a back booth at The Rusty Elk—half the tavern reserved for my hen night, the other half allegedly off-limits to Mike and his boys.

But I keep glancing toward the front door like he might comecrashing through it, anyway.

“You guys are ridiculous,” I say.

“You’re the one who’s marrying Misty Mountain’s answer to a Viking,” Brie fires back.

“Have you seen his arms?” Tara adds. “You know they’re gonna be gripping the back of your thighs at that altar—”

I nearly spit out my drink.

Brie slaps the table. “Confess. Has he made you call him husband yet?”

“No,” I say.

“Yet.”

“Stop!”

But I’m laughing. My face hurts from smiling. My body’s warm, a little buzzed, and just on edge enough that every time my phone lights up, I pray it’s him.

—-

He’s been quiet tonight.

No texts. No calls.

Which is fine. Normal.

Except Mike Costa doesn’t do quiet unless he’s plotting something.

And my body? It’s already keyed up.

My panties are damp.

I keep crossing and uncrossing my legs.

I can still feel him from the other night—deep inside me, growling forever while he slid that ring onto my finger.

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