Page 63 of Beautiful Secrets
No, not a girl.
Why in the hell would I ever think to call her that?
She’s every inch a woman.
Her short hair that I thought made her look so tomboyish? The hairdresser cropped it even more, and shaped it to frame her face and her delicate neck. Her wild eyebrows have been tamed—if barely—and her lashes are dark and thick.
She’s not my little rabbit anymore. She’s a sleek, sexy snow leopard.
And dear God, the dusky pink dress suits her even better than the blue one did.
Of course I was fucking putting on when I told her the dress looked horrible back at that fucking boutique. What the hell was I supposed to do? The instant I laid eyes on her, my cock pitched a tent like a trained survivalist on a fucking reality show.
Every eye in the salon is on her, and she doesn’t seem to notice. Or, if she does, she’s acting as if she doesn’t care.
“So?” she asks, dragging out the word. “How do I look?”
I step close, but I don’t bother to lower my voice. “Good enough to eat,” I growl. I point in the vague direction of the hairdresser. “Put it on my tab. I’ll settle later.”
“Of course, Mr. Hen—”
I don’t hear the rest. I’m barely even tethered to earth anymore.
She’s perfect.
Absolutely flawless.
Even down to the indignant gasp she gives when can’t help but turn from a gentleman into a complete and utter reprobate.
I slide my hand around her waist, thoroughly enjoying the feel of her firm body under the silky fabric, and haul her against me so I can inhale her scent.
Twelve hours.
The thought makes me grip her hard enough to urge another gasp from her rosebud mouth. Her eyes lock on mine, blazing. “What is the matter?”
I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “With you? Absolutely nothing,” I tell her. “But now we’rereallyrunning late.”
“For what?” she demands as I pull her out of the salon behind me.
“You’ll see.”
I almost expect her to stomp her foot, but I guess she’s on as much of a high as I am. I mean, fuck, that orgasm I gave her in the dressing room almost had her crushing my fucking skull between her thighs.
She’s deceptively strong for such a little thing. I’d love to see what a few hours a week of strength training could do to her physique.
I open the car door for her, my thoughts turning sour as I walk around to the driver’s side.
The fuck am I treating her like she’s my fucking girlfriend? I pull my phone out of my pocket, check the time.
Twelve hours.
That’s all I’ve got left.
I glance up at Mika. She’s watching me with shimmering eyes, her irises now ice blue, surrounded by near-black rings. It’s the makeup, but it’s also not.
It’s like I lit a fire inside her. She’s glowing, magnificent…
Perfection.
