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“Oh, it’s not for the ring.” I grin. “It’s so you can watch me.”
Another blush, this time accompanied by an eye roll. God, she looks good when her cheeks flush pink. I pause, then tug my jacket off, watching her eyes sweep over my shoulders, my chest, down to my waist. I…I like having her watch me.
Miss Piggy turns her heated face away, nods, and pulls her phone out of a tiny purse slung over her shoulder.
I walk around the edge of the railing and climb down to the marshy ground below. My feet sink into the muck, squelching with every step.
I guess these shoes are a write-off. Good thing the royal budget accounts for healthy wardrobe spending, although I’m sure my sister wouldn’t believe me if I said I’d ruined this pair doing something good for once. Shining my light in front of me, I make my way to the front of the deck, where Miss Piggy stands. She leans over the railing, her wig falling forward in bright yellow strands.
“Here?” I ask, making a wide circle with my hand.
“I think so. I didn’t see it fall. My hand was like this.” She rests her wrist on the railing, fingers dangling down. Long, delicate fingers that I long to catch between mine and bring to my lips. Her skin glows silver in the moonlight.
Clearing my throat, I look away. I’ve never been attracted to a woman’s hand before.
We work slowly, methodically, looking through rushes and weeds for the ring. The growth is thick here, and I try to ignore the thought that tells me we’re never going to find a ring in the dark on the bank of an old, overgrown creek.
But Miss Piggy’s eyes brightened when I told her I’d help her, and something inside me refuses to give up. Plus, if there’s even a chance she’d give me a kiss in exchange, well…here I am. Ankle-deep in mud, wading through an overgrown creek on a wild goose chase.
When we’ve done the entire bank, she lets out a sigh. “I… It’s okay. Maybe I can come back in the daytime. You must be cold down there.”
“This is my natural habitat,” I answer, grinning up at her.
There it is again—that laugh. I’d walk through marshes dressed like a frog every day if it earned me that kind of laughter. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and we stare at each other for a long moment. Then I turn back to the thick grasses and do another pass.
By the time I look up at the deck again, she’s gone. I frown, until I see movement next to the tall deck posts. In her skin-hugging black dress, yellow wig, and pig’s nose, Miss Piggy is walking through muck to get to me. She gives me a smile. “I felt useless standing up there.”
“I was trying to save your shoes from the mud.”
“I’m not afraid of getting dirty.”
Her words send a jolt of heat straight between my legs. I clear my throat, turning my light back to the creek, but not before stealing a glance at my mystery woman. She pulls off her wig and snout in one motion, tossing them over the edge of the deck before pulling her hair out of its low bun.
As she combs her hand through her hair, it tumbles down her back in black-brown waves, and…damn, I want to wrap my hands around it. I want to pull her close and bury my face in that hair, tug it back to expose her neck and devour every inch of her skin. See how it looks twisted around my fist.
She turns back to glance at me, and I see her face for the first time.
She’s…gorgeous. An unreal kind of beauty. All sharp angles and harsh features that somehow make her look more than human. Dark eyes, dark hair. Red, berry lips. Without the pig’s nose, it’s like a whole new face is revealed. There’s a thin red line where the elastic from her snout dug into her cheeks, and her makeup is still smudged all over her lower lash line, but she looks like a goddess. Like she’d make artists want to paint her and carve her and put her very essence into a bottle.
I wish I had my camera with me. I’d ask her to turn her head to the light and try to capture the harsh beauty of her features. I’d photograph her for hours, just studying her face to watch how the light catches her angles.
I know her. Something trills at the base of my skull, and I know I’ve seen her face—but then again, I see lots of faces. She could be an actress, or a singer, or a socialite.
All I know is I haven’t met her before. I’d have remembered her, and given the chance, probably tied her to my bed so she never left my side.
A lump forms in my throat as she takes a step toward me, her shoe squelching in the mud. I look away, because if I stare at her too long, I’m afraid of what my heart might do. I don’t… I’m not used to feeling things like this. This intensely. This fast.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the ground. Every sense is tuned to her, though. I hear the way the grasses shift and crush beneath her feet. How her dress swishes over her skin. How she shifts her arm and sweeps her long, dark hair over her shoulder.
“You never told me yours.” There’s something new in her voice—lightness. She’s no longer panicking about the ring. I like the easiness in her words and the thought that she might feel comfortable here with me.
I arch a brow, stealing a glance at her. That feeling hits me in the gut again, and I have to look away. She comes to stand next to me, her scent winding its way around me, ensnaring me. She smells like sugar. Like cold lemonade on a hot summer day. Like a piece of chocolate melting on your tongue. She smells decadent and sweet and so fucking delicious I can’t think of anything but her, her, her.
I shine my phone’s flashlight toward the water, trying to think of something to say, when a glimmer of gold catches my eye. Letting out a grunt, I squelch my way to the edge of the water. As I crouch down and shine the light at an angle that lets me see just below the surface, I see it.
There, three feet away, is my mystery woman’s ring. Gold, with a pea-sized ball sitting on it encircled with tiny diamonds.
She lets out a sigh, making to step in the water.
