“How about this?” Hadley pokes her head into the dressing room, and below the floating head is a hovering hand holding a bundle of clothes.
“Just get in here.” I wave her in. The curtains open enough to let her through, but even in that little opening, I lock eyes with Mason, and immediately throw myself against the back corner to shield my body. Within seconds, the curtain is shut tightly and Hadley is unfolding clothes.
But my chest is heaving, and my brain conjures scenarios where Hadley is not present and Mason rips open the curtain to claim me with his lips, and…
NO! Jeez, Karoline. Collect yourself. Just because you’re ovulating does not give you permission to fantasize about Mason. Or any man for that matter. Clean thoughts only…
“Okay, put this on.” Hadley, bless her, interrupts my thoughts, thrusting clothes in my direction.
No. Not thrusting. Handing me clothes. Just handing me…
Oh, God. Please help me to redirect my thoughts.
Repeating my silent prayer mantra, I throw on the clothes Hadley brought in, finally opting for a simple black dress with a lace trim that, to me, screams “I hate Valentine’s Day” in the most subtle way.
Chapter Twenty-One
Karoline - Present
Mason’s cool, minty breathwashes over the back of my neck, sending waves of chills rippling down my spine. His calloused fingertips brush my collar bone as he traces the silver necklace he just clasped to my neck.
Something between a sigh and a moan escapes unbidden between my parted lips, and I close my eyes, leaning my head back and onto Mason’s strong, sturdy shoulders. My back ispressed up against him in all the right ways, and I think about that day out at the lake a few years ago…
“Cut!” the director yells, snapping me back to reality like I’m Slim Shady.
I shake the fog from my head and lurch away from Mason, but his finger is apparently still hitched on the necklace, and the forward momentum causes the silver cord of the necklace to clothesline against my windpipes, effectively cutting my breath off and creating a lingering feeling that I’m suffocating.
And then the pressure releases and I tumble forward, crashing down on my knees.
“Oh, crap,” Mason hollers then appears in front of me in a squatted position, reaching out towards my face. He stops at the last second and his hand drops, stirring a sudden desire to feel his calloused fingertips on my cheek. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to let go and make you fall, but you were choking.”
I hold up a hand and speak through gasps as I catch my breath. “I’m okay. Just give me a minute.”
I’m really fine. The whole shebang took less than five seconds, but I need to pretend to recoup simply due to the embarrassment flooding my system. Everyone—the cameraman, Hadley, the lighting and sound people, Rob—just witnessed me losing myself in Mason and then getting choked out by a freaking necklace…
Is that thing made of steel or something? How did it not snap? I suppose that could be a selling point?
Or something we should sweep under the rug and never mention to a single soul. If humans with murderous, foul intentions ever found this out…
I push myself to my feet; Mason scoops his hands underneath my elbows to assist me. I run my hands down the black midi dress and check to make sure the lace bottom is intact. It is, andthankfully, so are my knees, with the exception of the bruises that I know will mark both of them come tomorrow.
“You could use that necklace to kill a man,” I joke with Hadley, who places one hand on a hip and narrows her eyes at me.
“I will not have my jewelry be associated with murder.” She looks around. “Oh, Mr. Hanes,” she addresses the cameraman, “could you so kindly make sure there is no footage of my necklace choking out my employee?”
“Yes,” Rob chimes in. “And I can’t have footage of Mason being the one initiating the choking.”
Mason and I exchange glances, then we burst out laughing as we watch our people harass the poor cameraman, both of them looking over his shoulders at the footage he caught.
“That is my type of Valentine’s Day commercial.” Mason says, his laughter dying off. “Murderous necklaces and you in a black dress.”
A blush coats my cheeks as he doubles down on his comment by trailing his eyes over me. Sweat prickles at the edges of my neck from the heat of his gaze. I attempt to change the subject. “Well, black is technically a color that’s associated with Valentine’s Day, you know, because of the sensual aspect of the color…” Dang it. The subject change is not going well for me. He raises his brow as he crosses his arms and cocks his hip, not bothering to hide his smirk while I clear my throat. “But in my opinion, it symbolizes rebelling against the ridiculous made-up holiday.”
He rolls his eyes and drops his hands to his sides. “Aw, come on, Vroom. It’s not a bad holiday. The decorations can be,” he glances around the room, “excessive. But it’s about celebrating something special. Love.”
“Love is for the birds.”
“Love is for everyone. It’s a beautiful gift given to us by the One who is the embodiment of love… Jesus Christ. We can love because He loves us.”
