in front of a full-length mirror in the bra and matching white satin panties with thigh-high lacy stockings and heels. It was a good look for her.
She hadn’t worked more than a normal, healthy forty-hour workweek in six months, leaving her time to have a real life, which meant she had a little tan to contrast nicely with the white satin.
She’d been able to see Rafe on a nightly basis.
And oh, baby, how they’d used their time wisely. She sighed in blissful pleasure just thinking about all that they’d done together in the past six months.
But now she had to focus. “I need help getting into the dress…” Emma looked at her beautiful veil hanging off the side of the mirror and had to let out a smile. She couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle toward the rest of her life, toward the best thing that had ever happened to her-Rafe.
“They came,” Amber said.
“What came?”
Amber hoisted the box she held until she had Emma’s full attention. Then, still grinning, she ripped into it and pulled something out.
It looked like-
“No,” Emma whispered, but Amber only laughed.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “Our fantasy calendars have arrived.”
Emma took the calendar from her sister’s fingers and opened it up, gaping like a fish out of water at the sight of the tall, leggy brunette wearing nothing more than white filmy material in a lush Hawaiian rain forest. Glowing skin, captivating smile and the eyes…full of so much it took Emma’s breath.
She couldn’t stop staring. “My God. This is…me.”
“Yep.”
She flipped to the next page, having to smile at the red halter top and denim shorts that made her look…well, hot. “Wow.”
“Look at the rest. It’s amazing.”
Emma turned the pages and examined each one. By the time she was done, she was grinning. Laughing, she set the calendar aside long enough to step into her wedding dress-with Amber’s help. Grabbing up the calendar again, she said, “Let’s go. I want to show Rafe.”
“Not before the wedding! It’s bad luck.”
That had Emma laughing even harder. “Are you kidding? This calendar is our good luck charm. I bet he’s in his dressing room swearing at his tux as he tries to get into it after months and months of never wearing more than a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt. Are you coming?”
Amber linked her arm into her sister’s. “And miss out on the chance to see the groom, and hopefully his best man-soon to be my groom-in their skivvies? Let’s go, sis.”
And off Emma went, calendar in one hand, her sister in the other, to see her husband-to-be. Off to the rest of her life.
Jill Shalvis
