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As she changed into the next dress, I ground my molars together, thinking about Finnan’s ridiculous desire to show Sloane off when there was clearly more than one threat hovering over our heads.
When the curtain rippled again and Sloane drew the fabric back, I eyed the dress I’d picked out for her. It was a horrible shade of dark yellow, so it clashed with her pale skin and nearly silver hair. The yards of fabric helped hide her body, and with that, it also saved me from shooting people in the face.
“That one,” I said.
She arched a brow. “Did you get hit on the head while I was in there?” She plucked at the fabric over her stomach. “This is hideous.”
“Maybe, but it’ll mean people won’t stare at you.”
She blinked at me, cocking her head to the side. “You want me to look ugly so people don’t stare?”
My jaw bulged with a barely restrained desire to push her up against the mirror and fuck her into submission. Instead, I shifted in my seat again. “Yes.”
Sloane shook her head. “That’s messed up… even for you, Grayson.” Enclosing herself once more, she tried on the other dresses but refused to come out and show me.
Maeve started dropping off jeans and t-shirts, skirts and jackets—carefully building her a more complete wardrobe. When Sloane finally emerged dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt and with an armful of clothes, she took them to the counter. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that she’d left the yellow dress behind.
Fuck, this woman was going to be the death of me.
“You left something behind,” I told her.
She flicked her gaze in the direction of the changing room then back to me. “No, I didn’t. I’m not wearing that dress. I’d rather go naked.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, desperately trying to keep my cool.
Maeve gave me the tally for everything, and I paid her in cash. As soon as I got outside, I gave the bags to Torin, leaving my hands free in case I needed to reach for my gun.
“I need new panties and bras,” Sloane said.
Torin’s head turned at the sound of those two keywords, and I slapped him over the back of the head. “Gobshite,” I muttered. Then to Sloane, I said, “There’s a lingerie store across the road.”
Turning to Torin, I told him, “Take the bags to the car.”
His dark eyes flickered to the front door of the lingerie store. “I just got a wicked feeling of déjà vu.”
I grunted. “Me too. I’ll make sure—”
His phone rang, and he looked at the number, the color draining from his face.
“Do you have to take that?”
“Yeah,” he replied, still staring at the screen. When he looked back, he added, “I’ll take these bags back and come back for you in thirty.”
Before I could respond, Torin started hurrying up the road.
Scanning the street, I escorted Sloane to the shop, stepped inside, and locked the door. The young woman manning the counter glanced from Sloane to me—her eyes widening when she realized who I was.
“G-good m-m-morning, Mr. Kent,” she stammered, wringing her hands together in front of her. “Can I help you find anything today?”
“Not me.” I jerked my chin in Sloane’s direction. “Her. Get her whatever she needs. No limits.”
The girl dropped into a curtsey. “Of course.”
There was another one of those plush chairs for waiting husbands, and I took a seat. My cock stirred and thickened behind my zipper as I remembered the last time Sloane and I had been in a lingerie store together.
The women moved around the perimeter of the store, picking out different panties and bras and then hanging the selections up to try.
As soon as Sloane stepped into the changing room, I dismissed the girl, telling her to lock the store behind her.
