The Dude has been sick all weekend, and I’m feeling similarly blarghy. So, silly me totally forgot about this week’s Snippet Saturday post, and for that I apologize!! Lol, if I’d known the flu would touch our humble abode, I would have scheduled this post ahead of time, but alas… *sigh*
So, a day late (but hopefully not a dollar short), but here is this weekend’s snippet of “Saint”, and I hope you enjoy!
(As ever, this is a rough draft, editing mistakes don’t mean it’ll be like that in the final version…on with the show!)
“What’s going on?”
“You’re my escort this evening.”
I didn’t like the way my heart leaped at the word escort. “To what?”
“A memorial fundraiser being held by the hotel.” Damian leaned a hip up against the counter, appraising me with a flick of the eyes. “You need a better dress than anything my sister could provide, and I need a moment of beauty to keep from going back upstairs and making a big mistake.”
Indeed, I still saw the fire in his eyes, the stiffness in his limbs even as he casually stood beside the entrance. As tempting as it was to let him beat the ass-swipe from earlier to a pulp, I pursed my lips together and followed the lady to the dressing rooms.
Twenty minutes later, I stared at my reflection in shock, unsure who was looking back at me. It was amazing the difference a dress and a mess of bobby pins could make in a girl. My red hair still stuck out at odd angles from the hasty updo the sales lady had done, but she promised me she knew a man in the hotel who worked wonders with curls.
There was a soft knock on the door, then the lady who’d been helping me stuck her head inside the room. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, smile transforming her face, but she said nothing as she came inside and held out a medium-sized clamshell box to me. “You’re to wear these as well.”
Frowning, I took the box from her, opened it up, and just stared. “Are these real?” I asked, my voice squeaking in shock.
“Mr. Saintcrow brought them in just now, he stepped out briefly while you were trying on the previous dresses.”
My mouth worked but nothing came out. After a moment of stunned silence, the lady gently took the jewelry box out of my hands, pulling the diamond necklace out gingerly. It sparkled in the low shop light, the smaller diamonds between the larger stones creating a shimmering effect.
It had to be real; from what little I’d seen of the man, Damian Saintcrow did nothing in halves. I still couldn’t get words out as she clasped it around my neck.
“He’s waiting to see you,” the saleswoman urged gently when I just stood there, stunned.
I followed her out of the dressing room to see Damian still leaning against the counter, looking for all the world like he hadn’t moved. He stood up straight as I moved past the older woman, and something about his eyes changed, softened. He held out his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, I took it, wondering what was going to happen next.
Imagine my surprise when he lifted it high above my head and slowly spun me around, obviously pleased with the selections. I flushed under his gaze, glancing at the sales lady who only gave me an encouraging smile. “Red isn’t usually a good color for redheads,” I murmured, flustered by all the attention.
“And yet it looks absolutely stunning on you.”
I bit my lip, not sure whether to agree with his assessment. The dress had been stunning on the hanger, but I never imagined it would look quite this good on me. Peeking again at the full-length mirror beside me, I still couldn’t believe that person was me staring back. My gaze met Damian’s in the mirror, and heat danced across my skin. His eyes had a calculating look that immediately made me suspicious, even as his eyes roaming over my figure in the mirror made me tremble. “You still haven’t told me what I’m getting dressed up for, you know.”
“No I haven’t, have I?”
The haughty but teasing tone in his voice made me give a small laugh. “You’re a butthead, anyone ever told you that?”
It was his turn to give a startled laugh. “I’ve been called many things in my life, Miss Thomas,” he said, humor lacing his voice, “but never butthead.”