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“Tough.”
“You can’t make me.”
Rounding the vehicle, I lay my arm against the roof and lean over her. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t make you. But maybe I am tired enough to try. Either you come inside and help me, or I’ll guess at your size and pick out what won’t embarrass me myself. Per our agreement, you’ll then have to wear what I choose or go back on your word, which would crumble the frail foundation of trust you’ve built.” My eyes narrow. “And that’s the last thing you want…right?”
She searches my eyes and swallows before letting her gaze dart off me. “I don’t like this ultimatum.”
I lift my hand and splay my fingers.
Her skin meets mine, but I don’t let the sensation register before I’m turning on my heel and sweeping us up the parking lot aisle. “I don’t understand what the big deal is,” I mutter as we pass other people with carts full of groceries. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“I can protect myself where it concerns your men.”
“What about where it concerns me? While you’re asleep? In my bed?” I cut a look back at her as we enter through the double set of automatic doors.
Blush tingeing her cheeks, she stares at our joined hands. “Of all the men I’ve met, you are among the least of my concerns. You barely qualify for the title of man.”
Something in my chest turns over, so I force myself to plow ahead toward what appears to be the women’s clothing section. “I’m…honored you don’t think of me as a man, but I can’t exactly say I don’t think of you as a woman, and you’re staying in my room, and I don’t have that much faith in myself—especially not with the way you behave. I don’t want to do anything either of us would regret.”
“For a mafia boss, Rowan, you’re just a little too pure.”
“Consider it one of the meager ways I’ve found to rebel.” Releasing her hand once we’ve made it to the center of the clothing section, I stretch my fingers and watch her.
Her lips pinch.
She turns in a slow, disgusted circle.
Her nose scrunches when she’s facing me again. “I’m surrounded by polyester,” she whispers. “This is abuse.”
Sighing, I pull a peachy floor-length dress off a rack and hold it up to her. High neckline. Long sleeves. Shapeless. It’s perfect. And the abject horror on Briar’s face somehow makes it a thousand times better.
“What century do you think that was in style? It looks like a petticoat from Jane Eyre.”
“I’m pretty sure Jane Eyre was set in the eighteen hundreds. So nineteenth century.” I toss it over my shoulder and scan for something else. Jeans. Wonderful.
Briar’s disgust heightens. “Those are plus-size. I’m not plus-size. Have you even looked at me?”
“I try not to.”
“Those jeans won’t fit. They’ll fall off, and then I won’t be wearing any pants. Is that what you want? A half-naked fiancee?”
I already have a half-naked fiancee. We are here with the express purpose of remedying that. Before I lose my mind. “Oh look. A belt.”
“Rowan.”
I snatch a t-shirt with a smiley face plastered across it in some kind of plastic material. In big, bubbly font, it reads: YOU ARE EXACTLY WHERE YOU BELONG
Ew. Perfect.
Briar rips it out of my hands and shoves it back on the rack. “I’m beginning to understand why everything you own is monochrome. You have no sense of style.”
“And you have no sense of modesty.”
She scowls. “Modesty isn’t the problem, you idiot.” Fanning her fingers, she says, “Give me the dress.”
Keenly aware that her next move might be setting it on fire and throwing it on a mannequin, I hand her the peachy garment. She rips it out of my hand, finds the dressing room, and marches inside. Moments later, she emerges, and my heart thuds. The skirt flows past her ankles, around her bare feet, and her toes peek out with every step she takes toward me. The blouse hangs loose on her shoulders, sleeves billowing, but the full coverage does nothing to obscure her figure.
In some ways, it’s more seductive than what she was wearing earlier.
