Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“What.”
He reaches out then, gently nudging my chin upward with the knuckle of is forefinger, though he drops it the second our eyes meet. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t. I mean…” He exhales, sounding frustrated. “You did crash my solitude. But I don’t… mind it. As much as I thought I’d mind it. Or at all, really.”
“Oh. I—”
“What’s your favor?” he interrupts.
“My favor… ohhhh. Oh yes,” I say, remembering my dress. I point at his whiskey. “I’m going to need some of that.”
He grabs the bottle and two mason jars—apparently, he doesn’t own regular glasses—and pours us each a splash.
I toss mine back in a single swallow and his eyebrows go up. “How dire is this favor?”
“Dire,” I say darkly. Before I lose my courage, I unzip my parka.
Archer’s gaze follows the motion of the zipper, taking in the little black dress, which, from the front, is very conservative. From the back, too. When it’s not gaping open.
“Please tell me you’re not here for fashion advice. It looks fine.”
“Thanks for the lavish praise, but no. I don’t want your advice. I seem to be a little… stuck.”
I turn around and, squinting my eyes shut as though I can block out the embarrassment, shrug my coat off.
There’s a long moment of silence, and I brave a look over my shoulder to see Archer gazing at my exposed back, a hand covering the bottom half of his face.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” I accuse.
“No, I distinctly remember that I did not promise that,” he says, dropping his hand and exposing his smile, which, while not an outright grin, is about as effusively amused as I’ve ever seen him.
“Just. Fix it. But please don’t break the zipper. I’m rather attached to this dress.”
He tosses back his drink, then steps toward me. His eyes meet mine for a split second before I whip my head back around.
“What are you all dressed up for anyway?” he asks.
I jump a little at the brush of his fingers on my lower back.
“Sorry.” His voice is gruff. “My hands cold?”
Not even a little bit.
“No, it’s fine.” I clear my throat. “Um, Christian’s company holiday party is tonight. He’s picking me up in a bit, and I didn’t want him to arrive finding me… like this.”
“For what it’s worth, I doubt he’d have minded,” Archer says. “Typically men enjoy finding the women they’re seeing in underwear. Particularly the black variety.”
My cheeks heat in a flush, and I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or proximity.
“How’d you even manage this anyway?” he mutters.
“My underwear is lace,” I say defensively. “The fabric is prone to snagging.”
“Yes, I see that,” he says a bit under his breath.
A long minute later, he makes a gratified grunt, and the zipper glides upward.
“Thank you,” I say with relief as he pulls the tab all the way to the top. “Would you mind… there’s a little hook thing.”
“Got it.”
He fastens it and then steps back as I turn around.
“Well?” I spread my arms to the side, glancing down. The dress was rather demure on the hanger. Perhaps demure now, too, but I rather like the way it’s formfitting enough to look feminine but not so tight as to remove all mystery.
“Nice socks,” he said, jerking his chin toward the fuzzy purple socks I’d pulled on for warmth.
I drop my arms, a little deflated, though I don’t know what I was expecting since he’s already declared the dress an underwhelming fine.
“Thanks for your help,” I say, meaning it. “I promise I won’t make a habit of it.”
“I mean, anytime you want to trot over here in black lace panties…” His smile is quick, just a flash of teeth.
“Yes, right. Because you seem very overcome by my feminine wiles,” I say just a bit waspishly as I march back toward his front door, pulling my jacket back on as I move.
Archer follows me out to the foyer, though when I open the front door, he places his palm on it to close it again.
I glance up in question, and his blue eyes are guarded as he briefly clenches his jaw. “Hey. Randy. You look… nice. Okay? You look good.”
The guarded gaze drops for a split second, revealing what I could have sworn is a flash of heat before it disappears.
“Better,” I say, trying for levity but sounding breathy.
As far as compliments go, Archer’s words aren’t exactly poetry. So I can’t explain why my body feels distinctly overheated on the walk back to my house despite the subfreezing temps.
Or why, hours later, even as I’m in Christian’s arms, I swear I can still feel the brush of Archer’s fingers on my lower back…
CAPRICORN SEASON
Fireworks will send you careening in an exhilarating new direction, darling Gemini. Lean into what scares you, as your greatest adventure begins with a leap into the unknown. The universe is aligning to guide you, so embrace the fireworks and let them light up your path to new horizons.