Cherokee. Sheri WhiteFeather
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to see you in it.”
“It won’t look right on me,” she said, feeling suddenly foolish. “I’m not a red satin kind of girl.” She wore mostly pastels, simple skirts and blouses constructed of washable fabrics. Never red. And never satin.
“You’ll never know until you try it on.”
Was he challenging her? Baiting her? Either way, she knew she had to prove him wrong. Sarah considered herself a practical woman. She had no use for such a luxurious garment. It wouldn’t fit her looks or her lifestyle.
“Fine. I’ll try it on.” She turned and headed toward the clothing rack, knowing Adam followed. Retrieving the dress, she darted into the fitting room without glancing back.
She closed the curtain, removed her wedged sandals and unbuttoned her blouse. Slipping off her skirt, she eyed the dress. It looked much too bright next to her mint green ensemble. The dress zipped in back, so she peeled it open and stepped into the opening. The moment the fabric touched her skin, she shivered. It felt cool. Slick. Almost wet.
Fighting those sensations, she forced herself to continue. She couldn’t reach the zipper to close it all the way, nor could she attach the tiny hooks that fastened behind the collar. She fumbled with them, then gave up and studied herself.
The woman in the mirror startled her. Nothing about the image seemed familiar. Her waist-length hair spilled over red satin, like onyx melting over rubies—jewels from the fairy tale she had created. Tilting her head, she ran her hands over her body. Even with the zipper partially undone, the dress molded to her curves.
Decadent. Sensual.
Wrong, she told herself, suddenly nervous. This wasn’t her.
With a pounding heart, she fastened her sandals and emerged from the fitting room. She would prove to Adam the dress wasn’t right. She would…
…slam into his gaze and lose her breath.
He stood tall and handsome, watching her, his stare bewitching. The knight. The fairy-tale prince. The dragon slayer.
“I told you it was too fancy,” she said.
“No,” he countered quietly. “It’s perfect. Let me buy it for you.”
She shook her head, but he persisted. “Wear it now, Sarah. Wear it for me.”
How in God’s name could she refuse? Deny the husky pleasure in his voice?
Realizing the zipper was still undone, she chewed her lip. “I…um…couldn’t zip it all the way. Will you ask the saleslady to help me?”
He smiled. “Does that mean you’re going to let me buy it for you?”
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you. I’ve never owned anything like this before.”
Adam moved closer. “I can zip it for you.”
No, she thought. Her heart was already thumping against her ribs. And her stomach. That wild winged flutter. “But it has these tiny hooks.” She placed her hand on the back of her neck, trying to explain, trying to keep him from coming any closer.
His smile turned boyish. “I think I can manage.”
He didn’t give her a choice. He approached her, so she turned around. How many women had he dressed? she wondered. Or undressed?
“Lift your hair,” he said, his voice quiet once again.
Decadent. Sleek. Dangerous. The words spun in her head, making her dizzy.
She pulled her hair to one side, felt him touch her. His hands were deft, steady and controlled.
He zipped the dress, then went after the hooks, his breath brushing her nape. A shiver raced up her spine, but she wasn’t cold. She was warm. Much too warm.
“All done.”
“Thank you.”
She turned and found herself inches from him.
He moistened his lips, and she swallowed. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to, yet she couldn’t imagine letting it happen. Not here. Not in this tiny boutique. There were other customers, and the saleslady watched them from behind the counter.
Sarah stepped back and lifted her arm where the price tag dangled. “This needs to be cut.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. He was staring at her. Fixated, it seemed, on her mouth. Finally, he blinked and smiled.
Still a little dizzy, she returned his smile, and they walked to the front counter. He paid for his purchase with a credit card. She with cash. The old woman removed the tag on the dress and packed the teapot in a sturdy box. Sarah, wrapped gloriously in red satin, accepted a shopping bag with her old clothes folded inside.
They stepped into the night air, and she filled her lungs, chasing away the dizziness. An array of buildings surrounded them, a blend of ancient architecture and modern accents.
“Where did you learn to speak Cantonese?” she asked Adam, as he guided her toward a secluded bench.
“From coming here and talking to the people.” He placed his package on the ground and waited for Sarah to sit. “But I only know conversational phrases. Languages aren’t easy to grasp unless you use them all the time.”
She nodded. She only remembered bits and pieces of the Cherokee dialect, words her mother had spoken. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.
They sat quietly, stars glittering in the sky, a small breeze cooling the summer air. Sarah enjoyed the silence until Adam’s gaze became too intense. She shifted a little, uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, unsure of what to do with herself. The dizziness returned—the shaky, wild, fluttery sensation.
She looked away, pretended to study a building, her pulse racing.
Would sex make her feel this way? she wondered. Hot and hungry? Excited yet nervous? Sarah was a virgin—a woman who still lived in the shadow of an old-fashioned upbringing, keeping herself pure for love.
Or was that a lie? she asked herself. Was she saving herself for the right man? Or using her virginity as an excuse to protect her heart?
“What are you thinking about?”
Adam’s question startled her. “Nothing important,” she responded, knowing she couldn’t tell him where her mind had wandered.
“I was thinking about dragons,” he said.
“What about them?”
His voice turned quiet, a little husky. “The embroidery on your dress. I didn’t realize it before, but it’s a dragon.”
“It is?” She glanced down, saw the image come suddenly to life. What had looked like an intricate pattern was actually a gold serpent twining around her breasts, her tummy, her hips. And Adam’s gaze followed every curve, desire flashing in his eyes.
She couldn’t stop what was happening, nor did she want to. They moved in perfect harmony. Synchronized, slow—dancers coming together at the same moment. She wet her lips. He slid his hands into her hair. She made a kittenish sound, and he kissed her.
Pleasure caught at the back of her throat, then flowed through every vein, every cell, every muscle. She grew hot. Needy. Her flesh burned, her nipples ignited. She wanted him to caress her, slay the dragon scorching her body.
He did. He touched, stroked, ran those clever hands over the fire. She had never felt so helpless, yet so completely alive. A smoldering kiss in public. It wasn’t proper, but God help her, she didn’t care.
They were in their own world, and nothing could penetrate it but passion. His tongue swept her mouth—a mating—over and over. The motion was sexual. And that was what she wanted.
She had needs, strong, overwhelming needs. She wouldn’t lose her heart. Sex wasn’t love. She could sleep with him tonight.