Novel & Cerita Steve Harrington Costume

Seems to be," Alex muttered to himself. She was uneasy about this startling reality. A new piece of the picture has emerged since she believed she started to understand her place in this household. The ballroom doors opened and a man of considerable height and stature emerged before anyone could think about it any further. Harrington, Nathaniel. Everyone's attention was immediately drawn to him. His silver hair streaks, blue eyes set deep into his face like Jonathan's, and his immaculately designed black suit made him stand out from the others; there was something more stern about him. It was unusual to see Margaret Harrington looking so stunned for the first time in a long time.

Nobody can know that I was sniffing the seat. “Miss Harrington? You are still here?” My head snap up to see him in a grey T shirt and sweat pants. His hair was wet and a small towel hung around his neck. I swallow as I watch him. I thought the man was gorgeous before, now he was something else. He was sexy, the kind of sexy that makes you want to run into his arms and just do nasty things to him. “Miss Harrington?” “Roxanne.” I whisper. “Right. Roxanne. Is everything okay?”

“If he ever escapes his fan club.” “Is this the line for Reagan hugs?” a deep voice said from behind her. She turned and grabbed Steve in a bear hug. He returned her hug enthusiastically. She couldn’t help but notice how great those strong drummer arms felt wrapped around her body. Even though the concert had ended two hours before, he still wasn’t wearing a shirt with his low-cut leather pants. “Are you two having a guitarist meeting over here?” Steve asked. “I noticed Dare has erected his invisible barrier of cool to ward off the ass-kissers. I hope you don’t mind me crashing your private party.” “We’re just talking,” Reagan said.

Logan did the same, and we just bore into each other eyes, licking our lips and thinking I'm our heads about what we wanted. Logan wore the Hawaiian sarong skirt part of the Maui costume, shitless revealing his tribal tattoos wearing the necklace that came with the package and his six packs. His hair was loose, and I couldn't help myself think I was actually looking at a god. Although he doesn't have Maui's hair, he looks perfect. Like a cut-out magazine cover. My heart is racing. A cough made Logan and I cringe, reminding us we weren't alone. I felt my face heated to my ears.

* * * I receive curious stares from the entourage sitted at the wedding ceremony as I take long confident strides to my way towards the front seat. I'm on a black hoodie which hides my long blonde hair, black leather short skirt topped with my gold sandals. Hands tucked inside the pockets of my hoodie as I smack on my gum loudly in my mouth, blowing tiny bun size balloons into the air, with 'Daya's Insomnia' blasting from my earphones. I make sure I catwalk to rhyme with the sound of song. I finally sit in front on the first row of seats. "Isn't that Steve Jones's daughter?"

Now, as I made my way down the hidden staircase to the basement playroom, my thighs rubbed together with every step, sending fresh sparks of arousal through me. I pushed open the heavy door. Jeff was already there, standing in the center of the room in nothing but a pair of black trousers. His broad, muscled chest was bare, every ridge and valley of his abs on full display. The massive bulge in his trousers was already prominent, straining against the fabric. He looked up as I entered, and that sly, dangerous smile curved his lips when he took in the costume. “Well, well,” he drawled, voice low and amused. “Officer Harrington. Here to arrest me?”

The faint smell of rubber mats, metal, and sharp cologne. No one at the front desk. Just the low hum of the air conditioner. I’m still looking around when I hear boots—heavy, deliberate—coming from the hallway that leads to the offices. The next second, Steve appears. No gym shirt this time. Just black joggers slung low on his hips and nothing else. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm continues across his chest—one long thin line under his left pec, another across his lower ribs. He doesn’t smile. He just looks at me.

He was here, and I had to face him. With a deep, shaky breath, I turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open. As the door swung wide, the reality of his presence hit me like a physical blow. LucasHarrington stood there, his tall, imposing figure filling the doorway with a presence that was both terrifying and magnetic. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his suit—custom-tailored to perfection—clung to his powerful frame in a way that emphasized every inch of his authority.

My mind is somewhere else, spinning with thoughts I can’t control. After breakfast, I get up and go to the room to grab my bag. I changed back into my clothes, the same ones I was wearing yesterday. They’re wrinkled and torn in a few places, but I don’t have anything else to wear. When I come back out, Steve takes one look at me and frowns. “Wait here,” he says, disappearing into his room. A few minutes later, he comes back holding a pair of joggers and a loose-fitting top. He hands them to me without saying a word.

Selena’s POV I knew that face. Dante Harrington. The first son of the Harrington family. Their heir. The one the tabloids called The Devil of Eastbridge. He stood at the far end of the hall like he owned the oxygen. Even with the buzz of conversation around him, the air felt… still. Heavy. His presence sucked the noise out of the room like a vacuum. Dressed in a tailored black suit that looked like it was stitched from silence itself, he was tall, sharp-jawed, and cold-eyed. Those eyes, steel gray and merciless, looked like they’d watched empires burn and felt nothing.