Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Boutique is a little bit of an overstatement. The building is a converted shoe store left to Cynthia and her husband, Mark when her grandfather passed away.
The shoe business never appealed to either of them and once they had free reign of the place it became Cynthia’s brainchild to have the biggest bridal store in town.
Mark was an engineer by trade, always saying that a suit was like any other thing. “It’s just a matter of putting it all together.”
They’ve been really kind to me, the closest thing I’ve had to family since moving to the city after college.
I do sometimes spend too much time on my own stuff, but it’s not why I’m zoning out today.
It’s something else.
Someone else that’s kept me up all night, thinking.
Wondering.
I only saw him from behind yesterday as I came downstairs, as he was leaving the store, and I know he never saw me but that one look was enough to send a shiver down my spine.
Something I’ve never felt before. The feeling lingering for a whole day and a night afterward.
Cynthia hangs up the phone with a groan. “Can I count on you to watch this side of things? I’ve gotta go. Flower emergency,” she says in an off handed way, checking her hair and makeup in one of the endless mirrors in the place.
Selling wedding dresses and suits for weddings is one thing, but Cynthia’s also a wedding planner. I do the gowns off the rack or made to order, her husband Mark does the suits for the grooms and groomsmen. Cynthia doing everything else in between so she’s always busy.
I give an eager nod, wanting to explain again that I’m not working on anything of my own right now, but her annoyed look at being called away, as well as having her scold me for the second time in as many days lets me know to leave it for now.
I watch her head over to the men’s side of the store, explaining to Mark she’ll be gone for a few hours at least, past closing time.
He nods absently, looking up from his laptop with a half-smile, and in a few moments, I’m free to think about that mysterious figure from yesterday again.
I feel a newly familiar shiver ripple over the space between my legs and almost gasp out loud just remembering the size and shape of the man from behind.
I stand at the bridal side of the store, gnawing my lip and doing nothing really for the rest of the afternoon because I just can’t concentrate on anything but that man.
Thank god it’s quiet today, even though it’s late spring and we have a dozen clients this week.
I honestly don’t think I’ll be able to do anything ever again until I—
The sound of the door opening and the little buzzer going off breaks my train of thought but finally draws the sound from me I’ve been trying to contain.
It’s him. It’s actually him.
The mystery man has just walked into the store for the second time in two days.
I’ve never seen him from the front until now, but I just know it’s him. No one else could look like this and have the same effect on me two days in a row.
Before he can spot me I dash into the nearest changing booth, swishing the curtain behind me and peeking out through a little gap I make.
My heartbeat pounding in my ears as blood rushes through my whole body, causing nipples to pebble and that spot between my legs to tingle just from the thrill of seeing him again.
With all the mirrors in the place, I have the perfect view of him from every angle too as he approaches the menswear side, greeting Mark in a low smoky voice.
His voice travels through the air, right through the old floorboards under my feet, sending a new kind of shockwave to my pleasure center.
He’s big. I mean, it must be why he’s coming back in, there’s nothing off the rack for a man this size.
At least six eight, and built like a linebacker. His perfect V-shaped upper body is hugged by a t-shirt with a construction company logo on it.
He has beige colored canvas work pants on and matching sandy colored work boots.
There’s no scuffing on his boots and no grime on his clothes so he must be the boss.
It’s in his voice. In the way he carries himself.
He’s in charge.
Each tiny movement he makes shows a new element to the definition of his perfectly sculpted body.
He’s not showing it off either. Doesn’t freaking have to.
Anyone with eyes can see that the man’s a god come down to earth.
I feel my breath catch as he stops mid-sentence with Mark, lifting his head slightly and tilting it like he’s half-listening for something, but really sensing that there’s someone watching him.