Page 17 of Haunting the Mountain Man
“We… do have a few in ivory that might take dye well!”
Cole leans down, whispering in my ear, “See? Told you it’d work.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at my mouth as she ushers me toward the dressing room.
After I wrestle my way into the first gown, lace and satin layers that weigh about a hundred pounds, I step out of the room and onto a raised pedestal. Cole doesn’t even try to hide his reaction. His jaw goes slack as I twirl, then he makes this low, reverent sound in his throat that blasts a wave of heat straight through me.
“Holy hell,” he mutters. “That’s it. That’s the one.”
I snort. I have a feeling he’s going to say that about every dress I try on today.
“Cole, I look like a frosted cupcake.”
“You look like mine,” he says simply. And damn do I like it.
The saleslady claps her hands like she just married us herself.
“A man of impeccable taste!”
We cycle through a few more gowns. Each time, Cole vibrates with excitement, circling me like he’s memorizing all the details. He doesn’t care that they’re white. He doesn’t care that I plan todunk whichever one makes the cut in a vat of dye like some goth science experiment. He cares about what each dress symbolizes. That I’m his.
By the time I’m back in the dressing room after what feels like the twentieth dress, my pulse is racing, and my head is spinning. Which is why I reach into my tote bag for the secret weapon.
Lace lingerie. In black of course. The saleslady is away from the dressing room pulling more dresses and Cole is lingering nearby unwilling to wait even a second longer than necessary to see me in the next dress. I planned to wait until we left and surprise him on the ride back home but now is better. I don’t want to wait either.
I slip the bra and panty set on before stepping out of the dressing room like I own the damn place.
Cole’s eyes darken instantly.
“Fucking hell, Sabrina.”
“You like?” I twirl.
“Like?” His voice drops to a growl. “I’m about two seconds from hauling you out of here.”
Heat pools low in my belly.
“What about your vow to wait?”
“Still stands.” His grin is wolfish. “But now I know what’s waiting for me on the other side.”
Before I can retort, the saleslady bustles up, two more dresses in hand. “How’s that one—”
Her words cut off as her eyes go wide. She takes in the lace, the bare skin and her face goes crimson.
“Oh! Oh my. I…I’ll just…check the veils.”
She flees like she’s been exorcised.
Mortified, I press a hand over my face. I thought I would have more time before she came back.
“She thinks I’m a stripper.”
Cole’s laugh rumbles deep and satisfied.
“No, pretty girl. She thinks I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”
The saleslady recovers eventually, still pink in the cheeks as she wheels out another rack. This time, she brings something different, sleek silk with long sleeves that flair out like batwings and a deep plunging neckline, the skirt flowing instead of puffing. It’s dramatic. It’s elegant. It’sme.
