I jam my elbow into Leonid’s ribs. “Yeah, got anything in ‘kidnapping victim chic’?”
Vivian’s perfect smile freezes. Her blue eyes dart between my bare feet and Leonid’s hand still on my waist.
“Of course.” Vivian’s heels click against marble as she leads us deeper into the store. “We have some absolutely stunning pieces that would be perfect for—” she glances at my bare legs “—yourstyle.”
Leonid’s hand slides from my waist to my hip. “Show us everything.”
“Everything?” Vivian’s eyes light up like she just won the commission lottery. “Well, let’s start with our new collection. The dresses are simply—”
“Pants first.” I yank the hem of Leonid’s hoodie lower. “Unless you want the security cameras to get an even better show.”
“Actually,” Leonid’s fingers trace my spine through the fabric, “let’s start with lingerie.”
I stomp on his foot. He doesn’t even flinch.
Vivian’s already moving toward a display of lace that probably costs more than my car. “We have this gorgeous matching set in black—”
“Red.” Leonid’s voice drops an octave. “Show us the red.”
I spin to face him. “I am not your personal dress-up doll.”
“No?” His thumb brushes the exposed skin of my thigh. “Then I guess we can take our time looking. Maybe try on everything in the store. I’m sure Mitch and Elijah won’t mind waiting another few hours.”
Bastard.
Vivian returns with something that’s more string than fabric. “This is one of our most popular—”
I cut her off, a plan forming. My eyes scan the store. “Actually, bring me every piece of lingerie you have. In my size.” I tap my chin, pretending to think. “No, make that a size up and down, too. Just to be safe.”
Vivian blinks. “Every… piece?”
“Problem?” I mirror Leonid’s earlier tone. Then spot a leather jacket that probably costs someone’s kidney. “That, too. And that entire rack of sweaters. You know what?” I wave my hand at the whole section. “Just bring everything.”
“Everything?” Her perfect smile trembles.
“Did I stutter?”
Her eyes dart to Leonid like a tennis match.
“You heard her.” He doesn’t even blink.
“Everything?” Vivian squeaks.
“You heard her,” he repeats.
Vivian swallows hard, glancing at the growing pile.
“R-right away.”
She’s clicking away on her heels, barking orders at wide-eyed assistants, who start pulling items off racks like their lives depend on it.
As the counter starts piling up with everything from jackets to sweaters to shoes, something catches my eye—a hint of black lace in the chaos. It’s a matching bra and panties, barely there, teasingly sheer.
I grab it before an assistant can whisk it away and dangle it between two fingers, raising an eyebrow at Leonid.
“Vivian,” I say, holding up the lace. “Where’s the fitting room?”
She blinks, caught mid-chaos, before pointing toward the back. “Just over there, ma’am.”
