Page 40 of Lured By Shadows

The store fell quiet again except for the soft classical music drifting overhead. I forced myself to breathe normally, though embarrassment still burned beneath my skin. The attendant watched me with flawless professionalism, waiting patiently for instructions.

“Can you help me pick out some outfits?” I asked, forcing a thin smile that didn’t feel remotely convincing.

She nodded and gestured toward the fitting area. I followed automatically, my thoughts lagging several steps behind. My attention kept drifting back toward the door he’d vanished through, and the longer he stayed gone, the more my imagination betrayed me. He was probably dealing with the erection I’d accidentally caused, and that realization alone sent another wave of heat rushing through me.

Then another thought settled in, impossible to shake. If he’d asked, I probably wouldn’t have stopped at touching him. And honestly… it wouldn’t have felt terrible.

He’d held me close like I belonged there, fingers moving through my hair while he kept me tucked against him. He wanted me there. So why did it suddenly feel like I was the one who had crossed some invisible line?

It had been an accident. I knew that.

But accidents weren’t supposed to linger in your fingertips like static. They weren’t supposed to leave your thighs pressed together while you sat alone replaying every second.

And they definitely weren’t supposed to make you wish the other person hadn’t walked away.

Not unless you wanted it again.

And deep down, I knew I did.

11

Istepped out of the changing room with the unfamiliar cling of lace against my skin, thin and bold, whispering confidence I wasn’t sure I deserved. The lingerie felt like a second layer, sheer and intricate, floral embroidery tracing over me like secrets stitched into silk. It fit with unnerving certainty, lifting what little cleavage I had and hugging my hips in a way that felt almost unfair. I turned toward the mirror, letting my eyes follow the curve of my body. My hands drifted instinctively toward my ass, cupping it through the lace as the reflection stared back with smug, sultry satisfaction.

“Hmm, Melody,” I called over my shoulder, her name falling easily from my mouth after all the quiet conversation we’d shared during Culver’s long disappearance. “Be honest. Does this make my ass look good?”

The response didn’t come in her soft, professional voice.

Instead, it spilled into the room like wine poured across polished marble.

“You are quite a pretty tease.”

I turned sharply, my heart stumbling as I searched for Melody and instead found someone else entirely. She was just… there, like a ninja. Tall, composed, unmistakable. Her body looked carved from intention and hunger, red hair framing her sculpted face in loose waves. Electric blue eyes locked onto mine with unsettling ease, as though she already knew me. Everything about her felt calculated, from the barely-there dress revealing endless legs to the slow, feline sway of her hips. Her nails were long and curved like claws, catching the light as her hands rested at her sides.

She looked like a woman who consumed others for sport.

And she was staring directly at me.

“Drink me in, Ira,” she said, my name curling off her tongue like a private indulgence. The sound tightened something low in my chest, leaving me caught between fascination and caution.

I blinked hard and forced my voice to cooperate. “And… who’re you?” It came out far too honest.

But I already knew. This was her.

The woman who made sense beside Culver. The one who belonged in his world. And just like that, I became painfully aware of how out of place I really was, some awkward girl who’d wandered too far into something she didn’t understand.

“I am Anna,” she said, each word slow as she glided closer. Her presence filled the room like perfume, thick and intoxicating. “Culver’s sister.”

Sister?

It bounced around my head, refusing to settle anywhere normal. They didn’t look alike, not even close. Where Culver was cold and stoic and Rupert sharp and erratic, Anna radiated something else entirely. But the name sat there between us, heavy and impossible to argue with.

“I’m sorry—what?” I managed, my voice cracking.

I half expected her to laugh, insult me, or tell me I’d misheard and Culver belonged to her instead. But she didn’t. She watched me with lazy satisfaction, amused by my confusion.

“Does Culver know you’re dressed as such?” she asked, her gaze sliding down my body with casual ownership, stripping without touching.

Warmth spread beneath my skin. Not embarrassment exactly, but exposure. I hadn’t been hiding anything, yet suddenly it felt like I was being measured.