Shadow gives me a confused look. “What did I do?”
I laugh. The fact he’s so oblivious makes it even more sexy. “Nothing,” I say with a giggle. “Forget it.” He shrugs; his brow furrowed like I’m speaking another language.
The assistant hurries back with a stack of boxes, nearly tripping in her rush. She drops them at my feet, cheeks flushed. “Here, let’s start with these.”
I glance at Shadow, rolling my eyes as he crouches before me. “Let me,” he tells her until she stumbles back, allowing him space.
He slides his hand down my leg, cupping the back of my ankle like I’m Cinderella. I shake my head, almost laughing as he slips off the trainers I’d borrowed from Kasey.
His big hands dwarf me, callused fingers careful against my skin as he slips my foot free. It does something to me that I don’t want to admit.
He takes a white trainer, simple but trendy, and slips it on my foot. I bite my lip, trying to act like it’s no big deal, but when he looks up, a grin tugging at his mouth, my heart flips.
“Fits,” he says simply.
The shop assistant sways a little, like she might faint. I want to laugh, but instead, I clear my throat. “Thank you, Logan,” I murmur, just to test it on my tongue again.
The way his smile sharpens, slow and deliberate, makes my cheeks burn hotter than the fluorescent lights overhead.
He hands the trainer box back to the assistant. “Heels next,” he says, voice low but firm. She nods quickly, tapping a stack of boxes.
He rifles through them, discarding pair after pair until he finds a red set with a wicked little shine.
I eye them warily as he crouches before me again. “Why do I need heels?”
The look in his eyes as he slips them onto my feet tells me everything I need to know. They burn with hunger, possessive and unashamed.
When I wobble upright, he steadies me, one big hand sliding to the small of my back then lower. He pulls me close enough that my breath catches.
“These,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear, “are for my eyes only. Got it?”
I nod, too breathless to manage words.
He presses against me, hard enough that I feel exactly what those heels are doing to him. “Now, get them off before I embarrass us both.”
A startled laugh escapes me, and I slip them off, setting them carefully back in the box. He snatches it up without hesitation and hands it to the assistant, whose face matches the colour of the shoes.
We leave the shop with three bags swinging from his hand. Trainers, boots, and heels. I’d argued for flats over the wedged boots, practicality winning out, but he still looks smug about the heels he chose.
“You have no idea how uncomfortable heels are,” I say.
He chuckles, that deep, dangerous sound that curls heat in my stomach, and squeezes my hand as we stroll through the centre. People still stare, but with his fingers laced through mine and him carrying my bags, I feel less exposed, almost proud.
“Clothes,” he declares suddenly, steering us towards another shop.
I groan. “Really? You’ve already spent too much.”
His palm swats my backside, playful but firm. “I’m enjoying myself. Don’t ruin it.”
Shadow
Shopping shouldn’t be this fun. I’m not built for crowded shops and racks of overpriced clothes, but watching Remi roll her eyes and laugh at the stuff I shove into her arms is worth every second.
“This one,” I say, holding up a tiny black dress that looks like it’d barely cover her thighs.
Her brows shoot up. “That’s a napkin, not a dress.”
I grin. “You’d look good in it.”
