Page 98 of Knotting the Cowboys

This isn't a romper.

Or a dress.

Or anything remotely suitable for public wear.

It's lingerie.It has to be.Delicate white lace that barely covers anything, all strategic panels and sheer mesh that leaves nothing to the imagination.

The bra pushes my breasts up and together in a way that makes them look fuller, while the matching panties—God, can they even be called panties?—are held together by tiny bows at each hip. A garter belt circles my waist with straps that dangle loose, waiting for stockings I don't have.

"Oh fuck," I breathe, staring at my reflection in horror. My skin looks pale as cream against the white lace, every curve and valley on display. The shop lighting catches on the delicate embroidery, making the fabric seem to glow. I look like a virgin sacrifice. Or a wedding night fantasy. Or?—

"How's it going in there?" River's voice carries through the curtain, closer than before. He must be right outside.

I spin away from the mirror, hands flying to cover myself even though he can't see.

"I'm—it's—" My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "I'm not sure this one is meant for... outdoors."

There's a pause.

Then, carefully neutral:

"What do you mean?"

My face burns hotter than the October sun. How do I explain that I accidentally put on something that belongs in a honeymoon suite, not a daytime ride?

That I'm standing here looking like every wet dream he's probably tried not to have about me?

"Maybe you should..." I swallow hard, gathering courage. "Could you come in? Instead of me coming out?"

Another pause, longer this time.

I can practically hear him processing, weighing options.

"You sure?"

No. Yes. I don't know.

My body makes the decision for me, nipples tightening visibly through the sheer lace at just the thought of him seeing me like this.

"Please?"

The curtain moves slightly, and River peeks his head in. His eyes find mine first, some question there, but then his gaze drops and his whole body goes rigid. His pupils blow wide, black swallowing green until only a thin ring remains.

"Christ," he breathes, and the word sounds punched out of him.

I cross my arms over my chest, which only succeeds in pushing my breasts up further.

"I didn't realize what it was when I grabbed it. I thought—I wasn't paying attention and—" I'm babbling, cheeks flaming, unable to meet his eyes. "Maybe it doesn't fit right? I know I'm too curvy for something like this?—"

"Stop." The command cuts through my nervous rambling.

River steps fully into the changing room, one hand reaching back to carefully, deliberately pull the curtain closed. The small space shrinks with his presence, his pine and earth scent mixing with the perfume of my embarrassment and—God help me—arousal.

He approaches slowly, like I might bolt.

Maybe I would, if my legs weren't locked in place by the intensity of his stare.

He's not looking at me like I'm too much or not enough. He's looking at me like I'm a feast and he's been starving for years.

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