“You ran . . . again.” His voice is low, dangerous, and way too sexy for how furious I still am.
I glare up at him, refusing to shrink back. “What else was I supposed to do? Stick around and let her humiliate me while you stood there looking guilty as hell?”
His eyes darken, heat blazing in them. “Guilty?” He leans in, his nose almost brushing mine, his breath hot and heavy. “The only thing I’m guilty of is wanting you so bad, it makes me insane.”
I swallow, hating the way my pulse skips at his words. “She was pretty, Logan. Way prettier than me. What the hell are we even doing?”
“You think I give a fuck about her? About anyone but you? The second you walked out that door, darlin’, the only thing I cared about was dragging you back to me.” The fury in his voice—dangerous, magnetic,impossible to fight—should scare me. Instead, it pulls me under.He leans closer, his forehead almost brushing mine, his voice dropping rough and low. “And don’tyou ever say she’s prettier than you. You hear me?” His gaze drags over my face, heated and unflinching. “You’re beautiful, Remi. All I can think about is you.”
I blink, my throat tight, torn between anger and something that feels far too much like hope.
“You’re just saying that,” I whisper, though the tremor in my voice betrays me.
His hand comes up, fingers rough against my jaw as he tilts my face towards him. “I can’t think straight with you in that damn dress,” he mutters. “Please put the jeans back on.”
I pout, pretending to consider it, then a wicked smile curls at my lips.Payback’s a bitch.
He must sense it because he groans dramatically, pushing off the wall and letting me slip from his cage. I unzip the coat, confidence shaky but defiance stronger, and step out like I own the place. My hair’s a mess, my cheeks blotchy, but I know one truth—men are fickle. Flash a little chest, a lot of leg, and their eyes betray them.
“Rem,” he growls, pained. “Come on, don’t do this. You’ll get someone killed.”
I laugh, spinning a few steps ahead, the coat flaring open. “Now, where to next?”
“Home,” he shoots back instantly, hope bleeding into his voice.
I pause, tapping a finger against my lips as if I’m actually considering it. Then, I arch a brow, teasing, “Underwear. I need underwear.”
He drags a hand over his face, muttering, “You’re trying to kill me.” But he stoops to gather up the bags anyway, following me like a man who knows he’s already lost.
The bell over the shop door jingles as I push inside, my coat flapping open. The place smells like vanilla candles and new fabric, with soft music humming from hidden speakers. Laceand silk in every colour hang from neat displays, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever owned.
“Hellooo, gorgeous.”
The voice is warm, singsong, and undeniably camp. A man in his thirties, wearing a sharp suit, his hair slicked to perfection, swans over from behind the counter. He clasps his hands dramatically. “Oh, my word, that dress is divine on you. Legs for days. Face like a doll.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I can’t help smiling. “Thanks,” I mumble, instantly standing a little taller.
Shadow steps in behind me, and instantly, the man’s gaze slides over him. He tilts his head, lips quirking. “And you’ve brought arm candy. Hello, handsome.” He actually winks, and a giggle escapes me.
Shadow stiffens. His voice is flat and unimpressed as he asks, “Where’s the female assistants?”
“Oh, touchy,” the man teases, leaning a little too close to me as he gestures towards a rack of lacy sets. “Ignore him, babe. Men get grumpy when they’re outshone. Now, what’s your poison? Satin? Lace? Something that says,I woke up like this?”
I laugh, tension melting off my shoulders for the first time since the shop assistant debacle. “Definitely lace.”
The man claps his hands, delighted. “Lace it is. With your figure, you could wear a bin bag and stop traffic, but lace will make the angels weep.”
Shadow mutters something under his breath, dark eyes narrowing as he watches the man flit around, plucking sets off hangers with flair.
“Size?” he asks, glancing back at me. The second he sees my panicked look, he waves his hand like it’s no big deal. “I’d say thirty-two C, but I can measure if you prefer.”
“Not a chance,” Shadow spits, and the man laughs, rolling his eyes.
“No worries, handsome, my eyes are never wrong.” And he picks out some sets in the size he suggested.
He holds up a red scrap of lace and presses it into my hands. “Try this. Trust me, sweetheart, you’ll feel like a goddess.” His eyes flick to Shadow, sharp and knowing. “He looks like a red kind of guy.”
I giggle. “My god, he’s good,” I say as Shadow’s eyes darken.
