He steps closer and his fingers brush the scarf where it rests against my collarbone. "I think it would look very good tied around your wrists."
The air between us goes electric.
"That's a bold suggestion for the middle of a store," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
"We're alone in this store." His fingers trace the edge of the silk slowly. "We're alone in this entire mall. No one here but us and guards who are stationed at the exits. And I've been watching you walk around in that outfit for thirty minutes thinking about all the things I want to do to you."
My breath catches.
"Like what?"
"Like taking you into one of those dressing rooms back there and finding out if you're as turned on as I am right now."
"And if I am?"
"Then we'd have a problem. Because I don't think I can keep my hands off you much longer."
I hold his gaze and I can feel my pulse everywhere, can feel the want building between us like something with weight.
"The dressing rooms are right there," I say quietly.
His jaw tightens. "Isabella?—"
"I'm going to walk back there." I keep my eyes on his. "You can follow me or you can stay here. Your choice."
I turn and walk toward the dressing rooms at the back of the store, and I don't look behind me because I can feel him following, can feel the heat of his attention on my back.
The dressing room is large and private with a full mirror and a bench and a door that locks.
I step inside.
He follows.
The door closes and the lock clicks and we're alone in this small space with the mall empty around us and a few days left before everything changes.
He doesn't wait.
His mouth is on mine immediately, his hands in my hair, walking me backward until my back hits the mirror, and I kiss him back with everything I have, with all the desperation of the last days, with the knowledge that our time is running out.
"This outfit," he says against my mouth, his hands already pulling at the hem of my crop top, "has been making me insane."
"Good."
He pulls the top over my head and then his mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, working lower, and I arch into him and dig my fingers into his shoulders.
He stops suddenly and pulls back.
"I want to try something," he says.
"W-What, now?"
He reaches past me and picks up the scarf I was holding, the green silk we left draped over the bench.
"I want to tie your hands."
Understanding moves through me slowly, along with a flash of memory, of being held down, of being powerless.
He sees it in my face.
