Page 58 of Beautiful Secrets
Liquid silk.
“Dressing room,” I say, pointing up the stairs. The sales lady nods. I go up them as quickly as I can without spilling my champagne or dropping the dress.
The big landing is carpeted in red. Three massive dressing rooms with thick silver curtains dominate, a plush bench a few yards away. All empty.
Is it just a quiet time for the shop, or did Cole make sure there would not be other clientele here?
I gulp at the champagne and then take the glass inside the middle cubicle.
Three large mirrors make up the walls—a silver curtain the fourth. There’s a fluffy white ottoman near the low, glass table where I set my drink down.
I toss my clothes off with glee, more than glad to get rid of the atrocious unicorn shirt. I stand for a second staring at my reflection, twisting and turning.
I’ve never seen myself at so many different angles.
I am not sure if I like what I see.
I down the rest of my drink, despite feeling giddy already, and hold the dress up to my naked body. The touch of that silky fabric makes goosebumps break out on my arms.
My fingers feel like they’re trembling when I pull down the long zip at the back of the dress and step inside.
God,thisside of the fabric feels even better.
I wriggle as I pull up the zip, trying to match my curves to the design. I’ve only ever worn tailored clothes, so the dress doesn’t fit as well as I’d hoped, but I don’t care.
It looks—
“Horrible,” Cole says.
Right behind me.
22
Mika
Cole rips aside the curtain and steps into the changing room. With him in it, it doesn’t feel as big anymore.
I glare at his reflection. “Excuse me?” My voice is several octaves higher than normal. “What is wrong with it?”
“I hate it,” he says. “Wrong color, wrong size, wrong—”
“Wrongcolor?”
“I don’t like blue.”
If his eyes hadn’t been so dark, I would have scoffed at him. But, instead, I mutter, “So I get different color.”
His eyes narrow dangerously. “It’s too tight.”
I shift a little on my bare feet, give him a reluctant shrug. “It is not tailored, if that is what you mean.”
“I don’t want anyone looking at your arse. Think they’ll be able to help themselves if you’re wearing this? Look how tight it is.” He grabs my ass with both hands and squeezes.
If the sales lady can’t hear my gasp, then she must be deaf. My bruises ache and throb under his rough touch, and I go onto my toes to try and lessen the pressure.
“You’re hurting me!”
He comes right up against me, slides his hands around my body, and scoops my breasts into his hands. “You genuinely think I’ll let you out in public wearing this?” he growls as he squeezes me. “When every Tom, Dick and fucking Harry will be staring at your tits?”
