Trevor
What the actual fuck?
My mouth opens, closes, and opens again. I consciously force my lips to close, afraid if I don’t, I’ll risk calling out her name or even make a bigger fool of myself by drooling.
Holy shit!
She’s everything I remember and more.
Then again, maybe I’m hallucinating.
Maybe the vision before me is my imagination. Maybe it’s induced by the alcohol we consumed last night. I’m sure after the quantity, there’s still some coursing through my bloodstream. Maybe this is a mirage, a vision that doesn’t really exist, one I’ve concocted out of desire. After all, Shana Price has been in my thoughts daily—and especially nightly—since our one secret night.
Whatever is happening...I approve.
This fashion show just got a lot better!
The rest of the models disappear as I concentrate on the blonde. She’s not as tall as most, but damn, she’s more beautiful. High heels move below the long flowing nightgown. Fuck that. It’s not a nightgown. My grandmother wears nightgowns. This one is sexy and hangs perfectly from small straps over her slender shoulders with a lace trim that barely covers her breasts. The long skirt has a slit that allows her long and determined steps as she moves in sync with the rest of the models.
I’m certain this woman in the white negligee isn’t the same model who wore the black negligee earlier in the show. I know it was black because when we entered, we were all given tablets with information on each showcased piece. Yet my reasoning mind can’t come up with a plausible answer as to why they made the change. My heart tells me the woman of my dreams is onstage. The woman I can’t seem to forget. The woman who stars in my fantasies. The woman who broke open my shell with only her smile.
The one I let get away.
Onstage is Shana Price.
But how and why?
I continue to struggle, my analytical brain searching for answers.
Maybe the world is filled with doppelgängers?
No. I’d know if it weren’t her, and damn, I can’t take my eyes off of her. She’s beautiful and confident and fits right into the show without fanfare.
I’m awestruck.
As the realization settles in, murmurs of approval from the men around me fill my ears, filling me with dueling and equally powerful emotions. The first is pride mixed with amazement. It’s not as if I know her that well; however, from what I do know, I can’t fathom why the top buyer for Saks’s junior department would be onstage for a lady’s lingerie show, but damn if she isn’t stunning. Like many others in the audience, I’m blown away by her presence.
It’s the other people in the audience—their presence and their eyes on her—that fuel my second strong reaction. Gripping the arms of my seat, my pride in her ability is the only thing tempering my growing need.
I’m overwhelmed with desire to rush the stage, wrap the woman of my dreams in my jacket, and carry her off like a prehistoric caveman. My skin heats at the thought that as gorgeous as she is, I don’t want others looking at her. Yes, I know it’s barbaric. I even have a split-second image of myself beating my chest and telling the world she’s mine.
It may be insane, but nevertheless, it’s real. Never before and with none of the other models have I felt such a strong urge to protect someone. It makes me wish that we weren’t in a room filled with others. Instead, I wish I was the only one to see Shana in that negligee.
Whichever emotion I concentrate on, I’m mesmerized by the woman before me.
And then...she turns and looks my way.
Our eyes meet for the first time since our weekend so long ago.
Her expression changes for only a second, but as it does I know with everything within me that none of this is an illusion. The model in the white nightgown isn’t a doppelgänger. She isn’t a mirage. Ignoring the rest of the women onstage, my gaze follows her every move as she works her way to the rear of the stage, mixing with the rest of the models. Her steps are flawless.
The music reaches its climax and all the models stop. Like statues of Greek goddesses, they stand perfectly still. People around us are using their tablets to mark the items they want to order. Even those of us who are here not as official buyers have the opportunity to order. It’s one of the benefits of attending the show. Fingers fly on screens as sales rack up.
Yet the only thought in my mind has nothing to do with lingerie. My thought is getting to Shana Price.