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“Ria,” he whispered.
“Don’t.” She shook her head, her voice hoarse. “I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I don’t hurt like this.” Her voice became ragged, angry. “Leave me alone. Please. Let me control this. I have to control this.”
He stepped in behind her, enclosed them in the steamy warmth and pulled her to his chest. Where she belonged, and he let her cry. He bent his head over hers and closed his eyes, knowing how hard this was for her. Feeling it. Sensing it.
“I love you, Ria,” he whispered against her hair. “I can’t give you any more assurances than that.” He wouldn’t give them to her, because he knew right now she wouldn’t hear them.
She sobbed harshly, her arms going around his waist, holding on to him as her tears branded his chest.
“I didn’t want to love you,” she cried brokenly. “I didn’t want to hurt like this.”
“I know, baby.” He kissed her hair, stroked her back. “I know.”
He let the storm rage inside her, and he stroked her as it eased. When she stood silent against him, he moved back, snagged a washcloth and he washed her. Gently. He cleaned the tears from her face and touched her lips with his, holding back the need that thickened his tongue, that burned inside him. For the comfort.
He gave her the only comfort he knew how to give her. His love.
Sanctuary’s heli-jet whisked them to Buffalo Gap hours later, after Mercury slung her over his shoulder and deposited her in the back area, beneath the pilot’s amused gaze.
She was furious. So mad she could barely breathe, and once they landed at the mall, she had no choice but to behave with decorum. She wasn’t about to get into a screaming match with an arrogant Breed for the press to get hold of.
And Mercury capitalized on it. He even went so far as to allow her to choose an outfit and try it on. She had no sooner undressed than he jerked open the door and stole the clothing she had worn into the store.
And she heard him—he was a dead man—she heard him tell the salesclerk to get rid of her jeans and sweater. He was dead. She was killing him.
She stepped out in the clothes she had chosen. Black slacks and a gray sweater. He took one look at them, flexed his fingers and growled in disaproval as he asked her, very quietly, “Do you want to leave this store naked?”
She left the store dressed in butt-hugging, leg-caressing blue jeans that drew more male eyes than she had drawn in her life, and he dared to snarl at the men watching her. Paired with the jeans was a crimson—crimson for God’s sake—figure-hugging, boob-conforming shirt that she hid beneath the leather coat he’d allowed her to keep for some reason.
He did the same thing at the shoe store. She left in a pair of flat, leg-flattering ankle boots that in no way resembled the ones he had trashed. And shoes. So many shoes the store was having them delivered that afternoon to the cabin. High heels, shoes so expensive even she winced; high-heeled boots, leather boots, shapely, sexy boots that sent a surge of panic inside her as he stood over her, intimidating her, all but forcing her to try them on and stand up. To walk in them. To feel the pure erotic feel of footwear designed not just for comfort, but for wicked sensuality.
Store after store. The exclusive mall, attached to the even more exclusive hotel built for Sanctuary guests, held every conceivable store. They were there for hours. From store to store, as Mercury shoved clothes into the dressing room, growled, threatened a scene and pushed her farther into the dark little corner where the feminine woman she hid shouted out in glee.
She wasn’t pleased. When he forced her into the makeup salon, she dug her heels in, only to have him whisper insidiously that he had no problem giving the press a story that would keep them talking for months.
And the press was there. Mercury was a known figure with the Bureau of Breed Affairs. One of their top enforcers. He might not be dressed for duty, but the leather pants and black T-shirt he wore did nothing to hide the powerful male animal he was.
Black leather for God’s sake. Displaying those powerful legs and the heavy boots on his feet. A T-shirt that stretched across his chest and forearms. His hair was tied back at his nape, showing off the proud, lionlike features that had other shoppers watching him warily.
She came out with makeup, hair accessories and a perfume so sinful she wanted to try it now. This instant.
He forced short dresses on her. Leather pants. A leather vest. Who knew he was so damned wild? Leather?
She should have known. She had known. There were infrequent pictures of Mercury out of uniform, and those pictures had made her wet, long before she met him.
There were simple business dresses and skirt outfits, but short ones, figure-flattering ones. Silks and soft cottons, sweaters that stretched over her breasts and displayed cleavage, and so many damned pairs of stockings, push-up bras and matching panties that she wanted to faint at the thought of the cost. He was spending a fortune and wasn’t even wincing.
“I hate you,” she muttered as they left another store. He had let her keep her simple leather coat until there. He pulled it from her shoulders, tossed it to the clerk with an order to burn it, then pulled a shorter, hip-hugging black leather jacket with a thin advanced insulate over her arms.
The soft interior felt like heaven. The leather conformed to her body, as the other clothes did, and drew the gaze to her ass in the back, her thighs in the front. Another damned reason for him to growl.
She wished she could protest his taste. She wanted to. But she would have had to lie, because he had exquisite taste in everything he chose.
“You’ll love me again in a few hours,” he promised her, inhaling slowly, grinning at the proof he found of her arousal. “Perhaps sooner.”
“I really hate you,” she hissed.
“I hear love in your voice, Ria.” He kissed her quickly. “Come on, one more stop to make.”
