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“Mitch, how many times have you done this for me with Mandy and the kids? Go—spend time with your girl,” he says, nodding over at Rachel, who’s started stacking chairs.
“Thanks man. I owe ya.”
“I’m sure I’ll call in that favour. Now get out of here.”
I clap him on the shoulder, then walk up to Rachel, pulling her back to my chest and wrapping my arms around her.
“What do you say we get out of here, Belle?”
“Are you sure? It looks like there’s more to do.” She places her hands on my arms as they wrap tighter around her stomach.
“Oh, there are things to do, all right. But I don’t think you want any of them to be done here.”
She gasps, realizing my meaning. Turning in my arms, she looks up at me with her big doe eyes, her voice breathless. “Take me home, Mitch.”
23
RACHEL
“I’m not doing it,” Mitch whines through the bathroom door.
I have to laugh, because the thought of Mitch whining aboutanythingis so shocking to me, I’m finding his child-like behaviour very entertaining.
“Can I at least see it before you take it off?” I ask, patting down the fabric of my dress.
When he told me to pick out our costumes for the dance tonight, I thought it would be fun to not only be book characters, but ones that would mean something to us. So, I’m standing in a long yellow dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and an organza trim. It’s not the exact Belle dress, but it’s the best I could find in a week’s notice.
Which left Mitch’s costume. I would never call him a beast—except in bed, maybe—but it was the logical outfit for him. I tried to find one that would be true to the character but also not just as heavy, hot mask he would have to wear all night.
“I look like the lead singer of an eighties metal band,” he huffs.
“Now I have to see. Come out, please?” I scratch under my brunette wig for the twentieth time since putting it on, thinking maybe I should have gotten him the mask so he could share my discomfort.
With a final sigh from behind the door, it opens, and I have to cover my mouth with my gloved hand not to let my laugh escape.
His wig is oversized with tight dark brown curls standing at least six inches above his head and flowing down past his shoulders. His white flouncing blouse and blue vest are sleeveless, showing off his incredibly muscular arms. His tight black pants leave nothing to the imagination as they gave way over his thick thighs and toned calves into black boots.
“Don’t say it,” he says, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I love it,” I say, closing the distance between us and placing my hand on his chest.
He looks down at me, breathing heavily through his nose. His eyes are dark, jaw set. His eyes roam down from my wig to my breasts that admittedly spill out a bit from the dress. Another mishap from ordering something last minute, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.
“You look stunning,” he says, his voice softening, but the intensity in his eyes remains.
“We make quite the pair, then.”
“I see you listened to me, like the good girl you are. I can’t wait to pull you behind the barn and have that skirt around your waist.” He lowers his head and kisses down my neck until he reaches my shoulders.
I moan, grazing my fingers up his chest until I’m digging my nails into his vest. He raises his head and captures my lips with his. We’re a mess of hands and lips and teeth. Both of our wigs will need fixing, but we don’t care. Right now, I don’t even care if we make it out of this room.
“Let’s go,” Mitch growls, pulling back from me.
Now it’s my turn to whine.
He chuckles, straightening the wig on my head before going back into the bathroom and fixing his own.
“I thought you didn’t want to wear that,” I joke, smoothing down my dress.
