Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
VIVIENNE
I couldn’t believe the discussion Kor and I had just had in the car. Had we really admitted that we were attracted to each other? That we wanted each other?
This is wrong! screamed a critical little voice in my head.
Why? Just because of an arbitrary law? I argued.
But I knew the Pack Laws couldn’t be ignored. Kor had just punched Harris Murdoch in the mouth for suggesting we were sleeping together. I would be as big a slut as Harris had implied if I went and did that exact thing—the thing we had both so strenuously denied.
Keeping this firmly in mind, I put away the groceries and went to get the first aid kit I kept in my bathroom. When I came back, Kor had taken off his shirt and was attempting to get the blood out of the white fabric by running cold water over it.
I couldn’t help admiring his broad shoulders and muscular chest and back. He kept calling me beautiful, but he was too—he looked like someone had pointed a magic wand at a sculpture of a Greek god and made it come to life.
When he heard me in the doorway, he looked up with a grin—which quickly turned into a grimace because of his injury.
“Ouch—that hurts.” He put a hand to his mouth.
“Here—leave the shirt for later and let me see to your lip.”
I came over to him and reached up to cup his chin in my hand. His skin was warm and his jaw was bristly—I liked the feel of it against my palm, but I did my best to ignore it.
Carefully, I dabbed a bit of healing ointment on the split in his bottom lip—which already looked like it was closing.
“Thank you,” Kor murmured, and I looked up from his lip to see that his eyes were locked on mine.
For a long moment we just stood there, staring at each other. Then Kor captured my hand and kissed my fingertip—the one I’d used to put the ointment on his lip.
“Thank you, Vivienne,” he said again, and his voice was soft and deep and seemed to go right through me.
Suddenly, my nipples were so tight they ached, and I felt hot and wet between my thighs. His warm, masculine scent was filling my senses, making me want to get closer to him. My heart was pounding as I looked up at him, unable to pull my eyes away.
“You…you’re welcome,” I breathed.
Then, before things could get out of hand, I turned quickly away.
“I…I should open these packages,” I said, trying to find something—anything—else to do. I gestured vaguely at the boxes I’d gotten at the post office.
“Oh, I guess you should.” He nodded.
“I mean—I have to be sure they gave me the right sizes.”
I quickly got a knife out of the drawer and began slicing into the boxes. It’s a wonder I didn’t cut myself—my hands were shaking. Luckily, I was able to get everything open without also opening a vein.
I grabbed the fabric in the first box without paying attention to what it was. It turned out to be a light blue sundress with a frilly hem.
“Oh—that’s pretty,” Kor remarked.
“Do you really think so?” I held the dress up to myself, and looked down to see how the fabric flowed.
“Yes—you should try it on,” Kor said. “Then come back and show me.”
“You…want to see what I bought? I mean, really?”
“Sure, why not?” He shrugged, his broad, bare shoulders rolling. “Look, I’ll sit right here at the kitchen island, and you give me a fashion show.”
I was surprised to say the least—Carter had never shown any interest in what I was wearing except to criticize if he thought a particular item of clothing was too revealing or unbecoming.
I was never allowed to wear anything he considered “slutty” which was the reason my entire wardrobe consisted of dresses a chaste, elderly librarian might wear.
That was the real reason I had ordered a lot of new clothes a few days after Carter had died. Now that he was gone, I could dress how I wanted—though I had thought I’d be wearing the new dresses alone in the big house with no one but me to see them.
But now Kor was expressing an interest in what I had bought—what I wanted to wear. And he didn’t seem inclined to criticize my taste, like Carter had.
“All right,” I said. “Let me go get changed.”
I went to my bathroom and pulled off the long-sleeved black dress—which was hot and stuffy and generally miserable to wear—and put on the light, flirty sundress instead.
The dress fell almost to my knees and left my lower legs bare.
It clung smoothly to my curves and brought out the color of my eyes.
The only problem was it didn’t have regular straps.
Instead, it had two long strips of fabric that tied at the back of the neck, which meant my bra straps stuck out like a sore thumb.
After a moment of consideration, I took off the bra and left it by the sink. Then I tied the straps in a bow at the back of my neck and had a look in the bathroom mirror.
I have to admit, I had a mixed reaction. I liked what I saw, but I felt guilty, too.
The woman in the mirror didn’t look over forty. The flirty little dress made her look younger—and happier too, I thought. But the fabric clung to her breasts—my breasts—and outlined the nipples which were stiff and poking against the thin, silky material.
Should I really go out and let Kor see me like this, I wondered? But he’d seen me in my nightgown last night, so wearing a sundress around him shouldn’t really be a problem, right?
Part of me knew I was rationalizing. But another part—a part that had been starved for affection and admiration for twenty years—didn’t care.
I liked the way I looked, even though Carter would have shouted and locked me in my room for daring to wear such “indecent, revealing clothing.” I liked feeling pretty and young.
“Carter’s not here anymore—I can do what I want,” I whispered to the girl in the mirror. Then I tossed my head, making my long hair swirl around my back—I loved how sensuous it felt when the silky strands tickled my bare skin.
Taking a deep breath, I left the bathroom and headed back to the kitchen.