in a startled reaction. “Oh, no. Thank you, though.”
“We have a private fitting room.” The woman pointed to a corner where an ornate brass rod housed a silky green drape.
“I’m just browsing.” Sarah replaced the dress, giving it one last glance.
The old woman said, “Okay,” then headed toward the front counter.
Perplexed, Adam studied his date. She had looked at the garment with longing, yet refused to indulge herself. Sarah Cloud was a mystery, a dark-eyed princess who wore plain clothes and collected seashells at dusk. He didn’t know how to pursue her, wasn’t sure if he should try. She confused as much as fascinated him.
“Why didn’t you try the dress on?” he asked.
She crossed her arms in what seemed like a protective, if not slightly defiant gesture. “It’s too fancy.”
“I think it’s perfect.”
“Not for me.”
Did everyone see her beauty but her? he wondered. Most beautiful women in L.A. were used to attention, yet Sarah didn’t appear to notice an appreciative eye. Of course she wasn’t from California, he reminded himself. And that alone appealed to him. Since he’d lost his parents, the City of Angels and everything it represented no longer felt right. But in spite of his European education, it was all he knew.
Sarah had asked him about England, and he had tried to respond as casually as possible. His parents had died while he was in London. He had come home to bury them, then returned to finish his studies, knowing his career was all he had left. But that hadn’t been something he could discuss over dinner, not on a first date, not when he’d wanted to keep the evening light. And there was nothing light about the death of his parents—the caring, supportive family that had lied to him. It hurt so badly, sometimes he couldn’t breathe.
Adam looked at Sarah and noticed her arms were still crossed. She was tense, but suddenly so was he. “Let’s buy something,” he said, hoping to ease the tension. “You pick out a souvenir for me, and I’ll choose one for you.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” And he intended to con her into the red dress. “Come on.” He led her to the other side of the store. “Find something you think I’d like.”
Baffled, Sarah wandered through the tiny boutique. She didn’t know what to choose for Adam. She wasn’t an experienced shopper. And the only items she collected came from the sea. She didn’t buy shells; she lifted them from the sand, even broken and chipped ones.
He smiled at her, and her stomach unleashed a flurry of wings. Beautiful butterflies, she decided. It wasn’t nerves this time. It was the flutter of attraction.
Curious about his upbringing, she wanted to ask him about his mother and why he was determined to replace her with the woman who had given him up. But she decided now wasn’t the time for that sort of conversation.
Maybe she was curious about Adam’s mother because she missed her own. Sarah didn’t have anything to remember her mother by, no outdated dresses, no feminine little keepsakes. Her father had burned everything. But that had been part of their culture, the old Cherokee way. A path she no longer followed.
Sarah looked up at Adam. He watched her. Closely. Maybe too closely. Before he could ask what she had been thinking about, she returned to the business at hand. She still had to find him a souvenir.
Scanning the shelves, she caught sight of a teapot. But not just any teapot. This one was adorned with a hand-painted dragon. The serpent’s body shimmered with gold, and its eyes were set with shiny red stones. Yes, she thought, a powerful creature spun from legend. A man like Adam would slay this beast, assume the role of the protective knight, the fairy-tale prince.
She lifted it, turned it in her hand. The serpent’s eyes shined back at her. The detail was exquisite. The dragon seemed alive, ready to breathe a burst of iridescent flames. She could almost feel the heat. The scorch of fire.
“This,” she said. “Do you like it?”
Adam blinked. “It’s a teapot, Sarah.”
“It has a dragon on it,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but it’s still a teapot.”
She stifled a smile. He looked as if she had just squelched his masculinity. “You drink tea, so what’s wrong with a teapot?”
“Nothing, I guess. It’s just not what I figured you’d choose.”
She touched the serpent. “I think he’s dangerous.” Like the way Adam made her feel. Suddenly she was caught up in the moment, in the fairy tale she had created in her mind.
Adam studied the teapot, and the winged flutter erupted in her stomach again. And when he took a small step toward her, the motion intensified.
“Okay. I’ll take the dragon,” he said. “But I want you to try on that dress.”
Her heartbeat jumped. “Why?”
“Because I want 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
