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Rafferty reaches out and strokes a finger along my cheek. “Absolutely not. I just don’t want to get our hopes up that it somehow vanished.”
“How often do we get good news?”
“Not often enough.” Rafferty leans down and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is tender, loving, and sets my heart on fire.
Someone knocks on the door.
“What is it?” Rafferty demands.
“The festivities are startin’!” Someone calls out. “Get ye’r arses out ‘ere!”
Chuckling, I kiss him noisily. “I suppose we shouldn’t keep them waiting. Can you see if there’s anything fresh in that trunk that will fit me?”
Rafferty pulls away and crosses the room then bends over at the trunk.
My mouth goes dry. Never, in the history of ever, have I seen a more perfect ass.Damn.
“Will this work?” he asks, holding up a handful of bright orange fabric.
Laughter bubbles in my chest, joy unlike anything I’ve experienced in—well—as long as I can remember.
Rafferty grins at me, an unburdened smile differing from any expression I’ve ever seen on his handsome face. He crosses the room and sets it down beside me. “Do you need help getting dressed?”
“If you help me, we probably won’t leave this hut, and then the pixies will think we’re rude."
"I don’t fucking care what they think,” he replies with a devious smile.
“I do,” I reply as I take the fabric into my hands. “Go on, see if you can find anything orange to match.”
“We will look like fruit,” he complains.
“But we’ll make our hosts happy.”
He groans but turns away and starts rummaging through the trunk. I shimmy out of my dress, barely managing to get it up over my head. Then, I slip the thin fabric onto my body.
A perfect fit.Strange.
Thin straps hold the dress up on my shoulders while the plunging neckline bares the skin between my breasts from my collarbone to my belly button.
It’s tight until it reaches my waist where it gets looser. I won’t know how loose until I can stand, but—warmth pulsates through my body. A dozen pins and needles that start on my scalp and spread down until they reach my toes.
All traces of exhaustion disappear, making me feel more energized than I have in years.
What the hell is happening?
Curious, I push up to my knees then use the wall to stand.
My legs do not buckle. I do not sway. Tears fill my eyes as Rafferty turns around, holding a bundle of orange in his hands. He sees me standing and rushes forward.
“What is it? Are you hurting?”
“No,” I tell him. “I feel—strong.” I stare down at my hands, turning them over. Still mine. Still dotted with freckles, and yet I feel—different.
Unburdened.
And when I look back up at Rafferty, I take note of the way his gaze drops down to my breasts then lower. He swallows hard.
“You look—“
