Chapter Three

Stacia pushed the door to Wendell's open and had to take a moment to appreciate the effort that had been put into this costume shop. Up on the wall were rows of costumes, and filling the center of the room were at least a dozen round racks of them. Another wall was covered in shoes, but not the cheap kind you would never wear again after a Halloween costume was done. Instead, there were quality leather wedges, high heels, and boots. She eyed a pair of black, professionally scuffed wedge booties, because after that three-block stroll here, her heels were already rubbing painfully against her feet.

She walked past a scarecrow sitting on a bench and it jumped, its eyes lighting up as it yelled, "Welcome to your demise!"

She jumped hard and then gripped her bodice as she laughed.

"Hello, hello!" A man called from where he was sorting through a pile of costumes at the check-out counter on the back wall. He was shorter than Stacia, with a pinstripe suit and mobster hat sitting atop his dome. A handlebar mustache adorned his upper lip, and a grin had transformed his entire face.

"A ringmaster, eh? I have a lion, monkey, bear, tiger, and an elephant costume if you want to keep the theme this week."

"Ha, that is something to consider! I was recommended your shop," she said as she approached the counter.

"By Miss Alex Ashbrock. I know. She called and said to take especially good care of you."

"I feel special," Stacia said, her cheeks catching the heat of a blush.

"Alex says you are, and since she's never asked for a favor in all the years I've known her, I'm going to take you straight back to the VIP room." He gestured around the sizeable room. "These costumes are good, but you will see them on other festival-goers around town."

"What's the VIP room?" she asked, following him through a set of doors behind the counter.

"These," he said, gesturing grandly to the bright, sparkling room of beautiful costumes, "Are all one-of-a-kind costumes, hand-sewn by yours truly. You won't find these anywhere else. Ever." He made his way back to the door and told her to, "Ignore the price tags. For you, I'll only charge a hundred dollars a costume."

Before she could point out that these costumes were clearly worth much more than that and she wanted to pay him fairly for his work, he waved to her and disappeared around the corner.

The entire room seemed to sparkle with sequins, rhinestones, crystals, and yards upon yards of beautiful fabric in every color imaginable. She gingerly walked over to the rack that advertised her size and touched a Marie Antoinette dress, then flipped over the price tag on the sleeve. "Nine hundred and forty-three dollars," she whispered. "And includes full petticoats, the wig, a make-up kit, and shoes." Shoes? She knelt down. Situated just under the hanging dress was a shoe box, and in it was a pair of bejeweled suede shoes in a mauve shade that matched the dress.

It was the most beautiful costume she'd ever seen.

She had to try it on, but she swore to herself she would pay more than a hundred dollars if she chose this one. The details, down to every last stitch, every change in fabric, every subtle color shift, and every button were incredibly well done. This belonged on some runway at a historic romance movie premier, and here Stacia was, holding it in her hands.

There was a single large dressing room against the back wall of the room, and she brought both costume bags of the dress and its petticoats, including hosiery. In the shoe box was a set of costume jewelry, and in a separate box was a platinum blonde, curls-piled-high wig. She had to make two trips for everything, and it took a good ten minutes for her to get into the dress, but Mr. Wendell was a genius and had made the ties in the back and all the fastens and buttons easily tightened by her.

The mirror in the dressing room was full-length but the lighting in here was very dim, so she pushed open the changing curtain, lifted her skirts, and made her way to the towering three-way mirror just outside of the dressing room.

When she saw herself in the mirror, a small gasp escaped her. A feeling of déjà vu consumed her, like she'd been in this exact place trying on this exact fashion before.

In the mirror, the light played tricks on her, softening both of her eyes to a light brown instead of the hazel and blue bi-colored eyes she really possessed. Strange.

The dress had a light blue bodice with delicate ruffles at the wrists. There were full, cream-colored skirts that cascaded all the way to the ground, the hem ending at the perfect length. She could see the tips of her matching shoes, and wouldn't trip on this length. The wig would look better when she had time to put her dark brown curls into a cap underneath, but for now it looked decent enough.

"It looks beautiful on you," a deep, rumbling voice said from behind her, and her eyes darted to a man in the mirror reflection.

Startled, she turned fast to face him. He was tall, much taller than her, and clearly worked out. He wore a black shirt that hugged the curves of his shoulder muscles, and he'd clasped his hands formally behind him. Long, powerful legs filled out his dark pants, and though his boots were scuffed, they were quality. His tanned skin was perfect, and his bright blue eyes held her frozen. He had blond hair, messed up perfectly on top, and lips that were full, but formed a thin line.

"You look just like…"

"Maria Antionette, but my head is still attached?"

A slight frown marred his blond brows. "Yes." He turned and looked out the open doorway, then back to her. "Wendell has asked me to help you shop."

"Oh! You work here?"

He ignored her question and made his way to the rack with her size. Okay, he was good at guessing the sizes of strangers. Maybe it was a party trick or something. She could shotgun two beers in a row, so probably hers was cooler but okay.

Whooooo that boy was fine. She could see his muscles rippling in his arms as he sifted through costumes. And his eyes? He kept darting quick glances at her, like he was having trouble looking away, and he was a hot boy so she was feeling pretty full of herself right about now.

"My name is Callum."

"And your name is hot, too." She shook her head and turned back to the mirror. "Of course it is." In the mirror, she thought she saw his lips curve up in a slight smile, but she blinked and it was gone.

"What's your name?" he asked in a careful tone.

"Stacia Gertrude Wallace." She fixed one of the wig curls. "My parents did not believe in giving me a hot person name."

"They did just fine. Here," he said, holding up a costume bag. "Try this one."

She looked at the identification tag taped across the front of it and smiled. "Nice."

Callum did smile now and it was cute enough to set off some Fourth of July worthy fireworks in her ovaries. "I like your face."

He blinked slowly and stared.

"It's very symmetrical. And chiseled. And kind of familiar? But I'm pretty sure I haven't ever met you because I would definitely remember you. Maybe I saw you in a Walmart or something. Have you ever been to Andover?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't had the privilege yet." He spoke so formally and had a hint of an accent she couldn't put her finger on. Sexy sexy mystery man.

"So, you live around here? Or are you just here working for festival season?" she asked conversationally.

He disappeared into her dressing room and hung the costume he'd chosen, then returned. Without hesitation, he gripped her hips, turned her so that her back was to him, and began loosening the laces of her bodice.

She was entranced by the confidence he had, and the steadiness of his fingers as he loosened the top but didn't let it fall.

"You're very good at this," she whispered.

Another crooked smile that just about buckled her knees, and he said, "It feels like old times."

That was a weird response, but okay. He was hot so if he was a little dumb, he was automatically forgiven.

"I live here," he told her. "My family is in the area, so I don't stray far."

"Aaah, a local. Then you will know all the fun places to go around here."

He leaned on the wall by the mirror and dragged his eyes hungrily down her curves and back up. "Did you just arrive in town?"

She held the bodice tightly to her torso so it wouldn't slip and flash him. "Just an hour ago. I'm here until the day after Halloween."

"Mmmm. You're different."

"Different isn't always good."

"Yes it is." He gestured to her eyes. "Two colors. I didn't expect that."

She let off a laugh. "No one ever does. My parents and grandparents all have brown eyes, and then I came along. Lighter skin, lighter hair, and hazel and blue eyes. My dad always jokes that I'm the milkman's baby."

"However it happened, it suits you."

Her cheeks flushed again. He was so direct when he talked, and his bright eyes bore right through her. Maybe he wore colored contacts this time of year too, like Alex. For costumes and stuff.

"The Marie Antoinette costume is a yes. Go see if the one I picked out works too."

"Okay," she whispered. She wasn't a woman who let a man tell her what to do in general, but with Callum, he could tell her to fly to the moon and she'd start a-flappin' her arms.

She made her way into the dressing room, shut the curtain, and began to undress, careful to put all the pieces back in the bags and boxes she'd taken them out of. This outfit was to be revered, not tossed aside like junk.

Clad in her panties, she pulled the short, full skirt of the Little Red Riding Hood costume up to her waist and zipped it into place. Perfect fit. The skirts hit the middle of her thighs, not too short, not too long. Seriously, Wendell was a costume genius.

"Do you have a man?" Callum asked from outside.

Butterflies flapped around in her chest at the question. He was interested, right? If he asked that he had to be interested in her. Stacia clutched the bodice of the costume to her chest and told him, "No. I'm not seeing anyone right now."

"This is forward of me, but can I come in?"

Oh, the deep timbre of his voice.

"I'm not dressed yet."

"Good."

Her heart was pounding against her breastbone. She licked her lips and looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks pink. "Yes."

The curtain moved to the side and then closed behind Callum, who came to stand behind her. He looked so damn familiar.

"Do I…do I know you?" she murmured.

Callum leaned in and pressed his lips against her neck. "Yes," he murmured against her skin.

She was dreaming. She had to be. Everything felt all fuzzy, like she was in a dream, not in reality.

His large, strong hands slipped behind the bodice she held against herself, and he cupped her breasts.

With a trembling breath, she melted back against him. This wasn't real. It didn't happen to girls like her. Not careful girls. Not regular girls.

She was in her high heels and still wasn't nearly as tall as him. God, the way his hands felt on her skin as he kneaded her breasts.

A soft growling sound vibrated from him, and this was so sexy. Soooo sexy. She had an effect on him. She could tell because his massaging became harder, more desperate, and then he pulled the bodice out of the way and tossed it to the floor.

He looked up with an expression of pure wickedness in his eyes. "This should be your costume."

This? Short red and black satin skirts, black heels and boobs that…well they actually looked pretty good in this mirror, especially pouring out around Callum's strong grip. She arched her back and pressed her ass against him, and the soft snarl grew louder.

His hand slid down the front of her skirts, and underneath them. He found her panties and moved them to the side, then slid his fingers back and forth along her folds.

This was happening. God, this was really happening and holy hell she could come just like this.

"Deep," she whispered mindlessly, and he gave a sharp-toothed smile as he pushed his finger into her.

He rocked with her, stroking his finger into her over and over. When she arched her head back and closed her eyes, he said against her ear, "No, love. Eyes on us."

She eased her eyes open and felt utterly drunk with ecstasy. She could see his hand under the skirts, his knuckles moving as he pushed into her, and the tingling pressure in her middle built fast, crashing through her like a wave. Her release was hard, body gripping his finger as she let off a soft, helpless sound. She reached back and slipped her hand around the back of his neck as he repeated over and over, "Good girl. That's a good girl."

Her legs locked and she sank bonelessly to the floor. He eased her there, and then gripped the back of her hair gently, steadying her in place on her knees before him. In the mirror reflection, he stood behind her, powerful legs splayed, thick erection pressed against the front of his dark pants, his chin tilted up and his smile dripping with satisfaction.

"You'll wear this costume to the festival's Dead or Alive concert on Wednesday night. You'll be Red Riding Hood, and I'll be the Big Bad Wolf. I'm inviting you, so I'll pay. When your thoughts start nagging at you later tonight about what my intentions are, know that Wednesday night will be a date. I'll pick you up in front of your hotel."

"Okay. I'm staying at the Darkhorse." Reality was beginning to sober her up. "But…I said yes to you too fast. Boys don't like that. I've never…"

"You aren't easy, Stacia." He smiled, and his canines looked sharper than his other teeth. "You're just easy for me."

And then he left her there on her knees, skirt flowing around her and her tits out, wondering what the hell had just possessed her to say yes.