Hot, fiery red. Ana gasped, staring at herself in the mirror. The gown was fabulous, magical in every sense of the word. But it had turned redder than fire, stunning and alluring, a princess gown of temptation and sin. It was gorgeous in shades of flaming colors that enveloped her and caught the light from the lamps and overhead chandelier. Every inch of her screamed unadulterated heat. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. Fairy-tale to the max—but not bridal in the least. Not unless you were planning on marrying the devil himself. Speaking of the devil, Ana glanced wildly around, looking for hers. But Dante was nowhere to be seen. She was alone in the attic. Fiona was wrong. Ana hadn’t seen a vision of the man who was meant for her. She was doomed to be alone. That had to be what this vision was telling her! In spite of the fact that she didn’t believe in magic—had only been humoring Fiona, and perhaps her own wistful dreams—the dress had changed itself to a Valentine-ball-fabulous creation of sexy siren seduction—yet there was no dream man to go with it.
