The next morning Sarah attended to her morning rituals, washed her face and brushed her teeth and exited the bathroom to find clothing laid out on the end of the bed. She pulled on the soft gray breeches that fit as snuggly as her leggings. I am totally calling these tights from now on, I don't care what he thinks! The white poet's shirt hung just to her mid-thigh, so when she wrapped the black belt around her waist it could almost pass for a mini-dress. She pulled on the black ankle boots before examining herself in the mirror.
"Yep, I am one eye patch away from being a pirate," she told her reflection. She left her hair down for the time being and headed to the kitchen. She liked how the boots clicked down the hallway. Actually, she realized as she continued down the hall, she felt acutely aware of her newfound clothing. The way the texture of the breeches rubbed over her thighs as she walked. How the lace around her cuffs tickled the inside of her wrists slightly. Sarah stopped in midstride.
"What is wrong with me?" she muttered, running her hands through her hair and stopping halfway. It was his smell. That's what's driving me nuts! Instead of pushing Jareth out of her mind she had practically wrapped him around her. "Oh, that bastard did this on purpose!"
His clothing couldn't smell like fabric softener, or better yet, NOTHING! No, she ranted mentally, it had to smell like him. Sandalwood and that underlying musk that resonated so sharply with her memory of dancing with him that for years after, anytime she thought she caught a hint of it her heart would seize up. Now her pheromones were practically zinging off her skin. She stormed into the kitchen to grab some coffee and snatched the chocolate croissant from the pile, biting into it with as much vengeance as she could muster. Sarah knew she had to calm down, act as normal and nonchalant as possible before leaving that morning, but every time she moved she could smell a hint of Jareth and her pulse started racing.
She heard the kitchen door open behind her and without even turning around she stated, "If you are wearing a matching outfit I will mock you until the end of time."
When there was no response Sarah turned to find Jareth staring at her ass and grinning like the boy who just caught Santa delivering presents. To his credit, he was wearing a dark red, tailored shirt and black pants.
"Dark to my light, I see," she commented dryly.
"Well, I would hate to steal your thunder," he smirked, sauntering over to pour his own coffee. Sarah continued sipping from her mug and staring straight ahead. When his movements stilled she took a moment before glancing over at him. The wolfish grin from the night before had returned, she noticed. He was no longer staring at her like a present; no, this was more like his next meal.
"And just what, may I ask, do you find so interesting?" Sarah arched an eyebrow at him, refusing to acknowledge the flush she could feel growing from her chest to her cheeks.
"I just knew that shirt would look better on you," he murmured, reaching out to brush a bit of her hair behind her ear. "There's something though…" he paused, looking her over before leaning in to her neck. Sarah could feel his breath along her collarbone and instinctively leaned her head onto his shoulder. The contact, unconscious though it was, startled them both. Jareth pulled back just far enough to see her eyes. "You are intoxicating, my dear," he whispered.
Sarah's eyes flashed, "And you are just vain enough to be excited by the scent of your own laundry."
Jareth chuckled low in his throat. Slipping one hand around her waist and sliding the other through her hair, he leaned back in, running his nose along the curve of her ear. "Hardly, love," his hand tightened its grip in her hair, "I think your body should always smell as if it had recently been close to mine."
His lips were so close that if she moved at all, she would feel them against hers. Sarah realized he was waiting, just a half-moment away, for her to make the final move. She couldn't form a coherent thought around the overwhelming desire to do very bad things on the kitchen floor. Before she could make a move, though, the kitchen door swung open.
"Majesty, the dwarf's here!" the pudgy goblin announced as loudly as possible, one hand covering his eyes in a ridiculous attempt at a salute before turning on his heel and going back out.
Sarah used the interruption to place one hand against Jareth's chest, not pushing him away so much as bracing herself. He looked down at her to see she was staring fixedly into his chest as if trying to regain her balance. "I…I should go meet Hoggle," she told him.
"Sarah, wait," Jareth said as she moved towards the door. Taking the amulet from around his neck, he placed it over her head, his hand following the chain to where the symbol rested between her breasts. Gently, he tucked it inside the low-cut collar. "Whenever you're ready to come back, just clasp the amulet and say my name." Sarah nodded, still not meeting his gaze. He ran one finger down her cheek, bringing her eyes back to his, "Come back to me soon, Sarah."
She marched out without another word. She knew she had been flirting with something dangerous, but now the rules had definitely changed.