Chapter 3
Three years earlier.
“No, no way, I look terrible in red.”
“Not this shade of red. This is cherry, it complements your complexion.”
“Easy for you to say, you’d look good in a sack,” Clare grumbled.
It was true. Harriet, a beautiful fae with skin like peaches and cream, could wear just about any color. And any shape dress, however figure-hugging.
Talk about figure-hugging… As Harriet held the garment up, Clare’s eyes widened with horror.
“There’s a slit right up the side. And that neckline is way too low.”
“Just humor me.” Harriet laughed. “Try it on.”
Clare grabbed another dress off the rack, a pastel blue high-necked shift that would surely make her look even more dowdy than she did normally.
Harriet groaned.
“This one will suit me better,” Clare countered. It wouldn’t. But choosing garments that made her fade into the background was a knee jerk reaction after years of being bullied at school.
Clare Doyle is a zombie had been scrawled across her locker more times than she could remember.
And then there were the constant taunts. “Your parents didn’t give birth to you. They just robbed a grave.”
“You’re so pale, guess not much light gets into your coffin.”
She closed her eyes momentarily to drown out the memories. All through school she’d hidden behind a gruff exterior, a flat unsmiling expression that hid a tidal wave of hurt. She’d kept her head down, worked hard and confided in her one and only friend, Natalie.
When she’d entered the police force, she’d loved that no one cared if she was pretty or not.
She played into being unremarkable, diligent, good at her job.
Tugged her thick, honey-colored hair into a bun.
Pulled her full lips into a tight hard line and never accentuated her haunting hazel eyes with liner or mascara.
And when she’d made detective, she chose dark suits and plain blouses, buttoned right up to the neck.
Oh yeah, she’d played her part so well, she’d become that Clare Doyle.
And now Harriet was encouraging her to go to the Motham police department’s annual dinner dance in a fucking red satin dress with a slit up the side so high it would almost show off her toosh.
Goddess above. She’d die of embarrassment.
Inside the changing cubicle, she pulled the blue dress over her head, tugging at the three-quarter sleeves, to hide the way her hands looked big and dangly, and her wrists bony.
She stared at the loose waist, the hem hanging unflatteringly halfway down her calves, and had to admit she looked like a prize frump.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Harriet stepped inside the cubicle and shook her head vigorously.
“Nope. I will not let you wear that sack!” She held out the red dress.
Dear, kind Harriet. Clare’s first job with Saul as her work partner had ended with a mess of blood on the street after a gang war.
Clare had been in shock, and Saul had taken her home to eat with his family.
She’d been in awe of his wife, Harriet, so beautiful and elegant, and such an excellent cook, when Clare could barely boil an egg.
Since then, Harriet had taken Clare under her wing. Become—almost—a friend, Clare guessed. To be honest, it was hard to trust again after Natalie had dropped her. But she counted Harriet as a friend now, even if the friendship was out of kindness on the fae’s part.
“Try it,” Harriet wheedled.
Secretly grateful, Clare took off the blue dress and gingerly stepped into the red one, like it was some strange creature that might bite. She wriggled it up over her hips and pulled it over her breasts.
“It shows my bra straps,” she grumbled, desperately trying not to like what she saw.
“Wear a strapless. Or no bra at all.”
Clare cast Harriet a horrified look.
“Untie your hair,” Harriet urged gently.
After a moment’s hesitation, Clare pulled out the pins, and a riot of honey blonde waves fell to her bare shoulders.
She couldn’t help her lips tilting up at the corner.
Okay, she had to admit the color did suit her.
The figure-hugging silk accentuated her small, high breasts, the gentle curve of her hips, and clung wickedly to her thighs.
“You look gorgeous,” Harriet sighed.
Clare adjusted the neckline, trying to drag it higher up her chest.
“Don’t you dare cover up how beautiful you are,” Harriet scolded. “You rock this color. Go on, strike a pose.”
Clare kicked out one hip and let the material fall away from her thigh. Cocking her head, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.
Would he approve? Would those dark eyes pierce into her and send her senses into overdrive?
Already her pulse quickened in anticipation.
The way the silk felt against her skin made her imagine those long fingers touching her, caressing her, that sensual mouth whispering close to her ear, those fangs… Oh, how ridiculous. She’d never even seen his fangs.
“Oh no, no, no!” She covered her face with her hands, it was all too confronting.
“What’s the matter?” Harriet asked.
“It’s—just—not me.”
“It’s totally you,” Harriet said. “A you that you’ve never allowed yourself to explore, that’s all.”
Gently, she removed Clare’s hands from her face. “Now, take a deep breath and look at yourself without judging, without seeing what’s not good enough.”
Clare raised her eyes to her reflection. Her automatic reaction was to block out the image before her, to mask, and erase the vulnerability in her reflected eyes. But instead, she let her gaze soften, let herself see what was there behind the pain and fear.
And what she saw was not so bad.
She wasn’t pretty. Her features were too strong, too guarded for that.
The set of her square jaw, the width of her cheekbones, her steady, almost challenging gaze, all added up to strength, not beauty.
Her body was strong from daily exercise, her muscles firm and lithe and ready for most things her job might throw at her.
But even so, this dress really suited her, made her look as voluptuous as she was ever going to be.
She pushed down her bra straps and didn’t flinch at the curve of her breasts pushing up above the neckline.
She raised her chin and tossed back her hair.
Gray mixed with gold and green, her eyes shone back at her with an inner radiance.
She even allowed her lips to relax into a half smile, then couldn’t help wondering if a shade of red lipstick would complement the dress.
She’d never worn lipstick before. She turned to Harriet.
“Do you think I could get a lip color to match?”
Harriet beamed. “Absolutely. I can help you match it. So—what d’you reckon?”
“I reckon—it’ll do.” Her smile widened and a spark of excitement darted down her spine. And with it came a surge of power, a feeling she’d only ever experienced in her work.
Never as a woman.
A seductive woman.
Clare tilted up her chin.
Damn it, she was going to let herself sparkle for the annual police department dinner.
Let Oliver Hale look. No, damn him, let him stare. Let him want.
Nothing was ever going to happen between them.
But she was going to revel in feeling wanted by the one person she wanted back.
Just for one night.