The changing room is just a curtained-off section with a mirror propped against the wall, but it’s enough privacy to let me breathe.
Get it together. Focus on work. Ignore the hormone magnet standing out there.
I strip quickly and pull on the outfit, the jeans hugging my curves like they were tailored specifically for my body. I drop into a half-squat automatically, checking range of motion the way I do with any new gear. Can I ride in these?
Unfortunately I catch sight of the price tag on the jeans and my breakfast drops to my toes.Holy, what the hell?
Caleb is going to be footing the bill for all of this.
“Diesel!”
His footfalls are immediate and sure, crossing the warehouse floor in seconds. “You okay?”
I poke my head out from behind the curtain, holding the fabric closed so only my face shows. He’s right there, Mr. Protector himself, and I do a double blink when I realize he’s still wearing that ridiculously attractive pink shirt.
“I can’t take this stuff.” I shake my head, trying to find the words that will make him understand. “It’s nice… I mean really, really nice, but my brother is a SEAL. You know what kind of income he makes. He makes decent money, but he’s already paying for security I don’t want, and now this...”
The tightness in my throat gets worse, and I have to stop and swallow before I can continue. “He’s not paying to dress me. That’s where I draw the line.”
Diesel’s expression, already tight, cranks down further into something hard and immovable. “You’re taking the clothes.”
“You can’t make me take clothes I don’t want.”
“Those clothes are going with us whether you like them or not.” He pauses, and the narrowing of his eyes sends a clear warning. “We clear on that? Or do I need to spell out why you’re not going naked?”
He’s got a point, but stubbornness runs deep in my family.
“Diesel, I do have clothing at home. Just not the specialoutfits I had made for the riding competitions—those were in my truck. I was planning to wear things I already own for the parties and meetings.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. “Are you dressed?”
“Yes, but?—”
Before I can finish the sentence, he reaches past the curtain, wraps his fingers around my wrist, and pulls me out of the changing room in one smooth motion. I sputter a protest, but he’s not dragging me across the warehouse like I expected.
Instead he goes completely still, his entire body locking up as his eyes track over me with an intensity that makes heat prickle across my skin.
“What?”
“Nothing.” His hand finds the small of my back, heat blasting me through the thin fabric of the shirt. “Not a damn thing.”
He guides me toward the mirror where Dee Dee is waiting, and she positions us with efficient hands on our shoulders, angling us toward each other.
It looks like we’re about to dance.
Can he dance?
She tugs me away, moving me like a mannequin to stand in front of Diesel so we’re both facing our reflection.
Oof. I’m a little winded.
Diesel, tall and untamed-looking in that pink shirt. Together we look like something out of a western take on a Disney fairytale with a dark twist.
“When you walk into that event Friday night,” Dee Dee says, studying us with a critical eye, “every person in that room is going to believe you’re madly in love.”
I glance at Diesel’s face in the reflection and immediately regret it. Why is he looking at me like that?
“River.” Dee Dee whispers.
