Page 45 of Desert Sky (RB MC #4)
SKYE
T he knock at my door came just before six. I opened it expecting JD, but instead, there stood a uniformed courier holding a long black garment bag and a flat white box tied with crimson ribbon.
“Delivery for Miss Skye. From Mr. Northport.”
My heart did a pirouette in my chest. JD.
I signed, barely aware of the pen in my hand, and closed the door with my back against it. My fingers trembled as I unzipped the garment bag, revealing a deep garnet red flamenco dress that stole the air right from my lungs.
It was stunning. Spanish-inspired. Tight through the bodice, hugging my hips like it had been sewn onto me, then flaring into layers of flounced silk that would flutter when I danced.
The neckline dipped just enough to tempt without giving everything away.
It was sensual. Dramatic. Me — but bolder. Braver.
The box held matching hair combs, glossy black with tiny red flowers painted across the tips, and a pair of strappy heels the color of sangria.
He thought of everything .
When I arrived downstairs an hour later, I barely felt the floor beneath my feet. But then I saw him. JD.
Leaning against the hood of his truck like a page out of my most dangerous dreams, he wore black tuxedo pants that clung to those long legs of his like a second skin.
His white button-down was half-unbuttoned, teasing his inked chest. No tie.
No jacket. Just JD — pure, raw, masculine power wrapped in formal wear and bad intentions.
His eyes met mine and narrowed. Slowly, they raked down my body and back up again, heating every part of me in their path. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, equal parts reverence and hunger.
“You're gonna kill me in that dress,” he said, pushing off the truck.
“You sent it.”
“Didn’t mean for it to look that damn good,” he growled.
We stood there for a long beat, inches apart, the evening air thick with unsaid things. Finally, he reached out and tucked a curl behind my ear. His fingers skimmed my jaw, and it took everything I had not to lean into his touch.
“I wanted tonight to feel like a memory,” he said softly. “Something that doesn’t fade.”
“It already does,” I whispered, heart thundering. “And I haven’t even danced yet.”
He opened the truck door for me, but before I could climb in, he caught my wrist and tugged me back against him. His mouth brushed my ear.
“Tonight, I don’t want to think about the past or the future. Just you. Me. And the way that dress moves when I spin you.”
A shiver rolled through me as I slid into the passenger seat.
God help me, I was already spinning.