Page 162 of Flirting with Darkness

I’d known that, of course, but I raised my eyebrows at him. Picking out dresses?

“Or there are plenty more, if you want something different.”

“No, I just…” I shook my head. “I didn’t have you down as having an interest in such things.”

A flicker at the corner of his mouth. “Am I only allowed to like knives and road rags?”

“That…” I opened and closed my mouth. “That wasn’t what I meant. I just… you’re…” I gestured to him. “You’re very masculine. Where I’m from, most men look down on women for being interested in clothing—they say it’s frivolous.”

His lips pressed together. “And yet, I bet they don’t complain when women look good in what they wear.”

I laughed. “You’d win that bet any day of the week.”

After a nudge from him, I took the red velvet, and he nodded as if I’d chosen well before handing me a pair of dainty suede shoes in the same colour.

When I emerged from behind the dressing screen, he stood before the mirror, tying back his hair. Black trousers clung to his muscled thighs and, I couldn’t help but notice, his backside—his wonderfully round backside.

I clenched my hands and dragged my gaze upward. A tailored jacket that Ari would’ve been proud of accentuated the angles of his shoulders and the narrowing line to his waist. It wasn’t velvet but some other rich fabric that had been dyed the same wine red as my gown.

The idea of matching outfits made my belly do a little flip. Which was silly. Because of course Dream-Faolán would do something thoughtful like that—he was my invention.

Still, my imagination had conjured up a really quite impressive bottom for him. Well done, me.

It was only when he shifted to one side that I pulled my attention from it again, mouth dry, and met his gaze in the mirror.

Another flip in my belly.

The lines of his face were still hard, but something about seeing him dressed so smartly with his hair so carefully knotted at the back of his head softened it all—or maybe it was the hazel of his eyes. Again, I could picture his teeth and claws and the forceful savagery of his physique being used as a shield, just as he’d used his size and strength to protect me from the werewolf pack.

In this light, I noticed a faded scar on his chin. Except, I must already have noticed it, since this was a dream and I couldn’t know things here that I didn’t already know in the real world. Perhaps I’d invented it.

His eyebrows rose slowly, the rise echoed in his chest as he took a deep breath. “Well.” He held my gaze a long moment before turning and looking me over. “I’ve never seen a rose look quite so beautiful.”

I gave him a coy smile as though his praise didn’t make my heart stutter. Dream-Faolán was still a man of few words, but he knew how to make them count.

But when I caught sight of myself in the mirror, any pretence fell away as my mouth dropped open.

I hadn’t touched my hair, but it was pinned high on the back of my head, leaving the curled lengths to trail down from there, with tendrils loose around my face. And I didn’t own any cosmetics, but a rosy flush covered my freckled cheeks and tinted my lips even darker. It emphasised the creamy pallor of my skin and the sky blue of my eyes. The gown clung to my breasts, my waist, my hips, and down my thighs, before flaring out and draping around my lower legs so I could actually walk.

I’d never…

I shook my head. My body was always something touse, a tool for work or flirtation. I’d never seen it look like this. Hells, I’d never seen so much of it—we only had a small mirror at home and looking down at yourself wasn’t the same as seeing your body in a reflection.

While staring at all the details my dream had magicked into my hair and makeup, I’d stalked closer to the mirror, and now Faolán stepped behind me, so close I could feel his warmth. He lifted his hand and I held my breath, waiting for it to land on my waist.

But he let it drop without that contact, and I exhaled my disappointment. Dream-Faolán wasn’t subject to my every whim.More’s the pity.

His breath brushed my bare neck and shoulders, as he asked in the mirror, “Are you ready?”

16

THROUGH WHITE DOORS

Again, House showed us the way by moving furniture and objects in the hall until we stood before the white double doors Granny had refused to open during the tour. My heart thudded a little heavier, a little faster, and I drew a long breath of anticipation.

When we walked in, the ball was everything I’d imagined from the stories. Music, incredible gowns and suits, free-flowing drinks, and dozens of beautiful couples sweeping across the dance floor. There was no sign of the dust and disrepair we’d seen during our tour of the house with Granny. No sign of Granny, either.

Taking it all in, I leant closer to Faolán so he’d hear me over the music and chattering voices. “Have you ever been to anything like this?”

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