Page 65 of Your Masked Haunting

My eyes can’t stop devouring him. Perfectly styled blond waves. A black knit sweater that has a black cat with an arched back and hair standing on end sewn on the front, his slutty little chain hanging over the collar. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his blue jeans.

Good God, he looks like he could’ve been plucked out of a ’90s fall film. So fucking hot.

My eyes lift back up the length of his body to his face, and my heart sinks when I see his expression—eyebrow pinched, mouth agape.

“Mona, what, umm … are you still getting ready?” he asks gently.

I can’t help but chuckle, my hands immediately playing with the fabric of the skirt. “What do you mean? It’s an outfit that I … I thought it would be fitting to meet your family.”

Oh God, is it not fancy enough? Word vomit pours out of me, and I can’t stop it, my anxiety eating me alive as he takes a step toward me.

“Peyton has other clothes if you think something dressier would be better. I just want to make a good impression, and your family are very businessy people. They probably wouldn’t want their son dating a⁠—”

He closes the distance between us, the anger in his face cutting me off.

Swallowing hard, I completely forget about Peyton and Brett at my back. God, I just wanted this to be perfect, and I feel like I messed it all up somehow.

A soft, endearing smile drifts up his beautiful face. “Mona⁠—”

I cut him off, “I’m sorry. I was just trying to fit in. I’ll pick something else⁠—”

He presses his hand gently against my lips to stop me, not too hard to smear the mauve lipstick. “No, no, no. You look amazing—you always do. But”—his eyes trail down my body—“you don’t look like you.” His golden-brown eyes hold mine, unyielding and loving. “You’re not changing yourself to fit into my world, Mona. I’ll change the world to fit to you.”

Those stupid emotional droplets well in my eyes, and if it wasn’t for the peanut gallery, who, “Aww,” a second later, I’d be sobbing from how much I like this man—although like is incredibly not enough.

Casper smiles at them before looking back down to me, a smirk forming on his lips. “Besides, one of us has to wear this tonight, and I think it’ll look a thousand times better on you.”

Striding away, he picks up a dress bag from my bed that I didn’t even notice. He peels the zipper down, parting the seams and revealing the dress inside.

My lips part on an inhale, my eyes studying it like my life depends on it. It’s a dark brown leopard-print slip-style midi dress with black lace trim on the V-neckline.

It’s gorgeous.

He tosses the empty dress bag on the bed, grabbing something else—a sheer, long-sleeved black mesh top to go under the dress. “I’m going to be honest—Cambrie helped me. But I’m stealing some of her credit because I can.”

“It’s … literally perfect.” I beam, my fingers tingling to rip the clothes from him to put on.

But then I once again remember my two friends are still in the room.

Turning to them, I widen my eyes. “Can I call you guys later?”

Brett shakes his head while Peyton nods, chiming in, “Of course, but we want the full tour another time.”

“You got it.” I chuckle and reach over, unlatching the door.

Peyton peeks around the corner, making sure the coast is clear before she and Brett scurry out.

Casper walks over and pulls the door back into place before turning to me. “Just a social butterfly now, huh?”

“Oh, shove it.” I glare at him. “Gimme.”

Stepping toward me, he holds the clothes behind his back. “No thank you, my king?”

When I roll my eyes, he catches my jaw, lowering his face to mine and slipping his tongue into my mouth, kissing me deeply. My body ignites, humming from his passionate caress.

Rearing back, he wipes the lipstick off and hands the clothes over. “Change, and then do your makeup the way you want. The way YOU want. That’s the only opinion that matters, baby.” He tips my chin up, stroking his thumb across my cheek as a roaring fire blazes in his eyes. “If anyone has anything to say, they can answer to the Ridleys. It’ll be your name soon enough anyway.”

Hot. Hot. Hot. That’s fucking hot.