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“They’re nice.” I shrug, a bit lost. “Are they for your wife?” I have no clue where that question came from, and I blush terribly when his smile turns wicked.
“No wife.”
“Sorry.” I turn back toward the display and reach for a pair of Dior, if only for something to do.
“For my sister, actually.” He puts them back and pulls another pair out. “It’s Christmas Day tomorrow, and I haven’t bought one present. I’m on an emergency mission.”
“Me too,” I practically screech, strangely delighted that I’m not the only poor excuse for a relative on a crisis shopping spree.
“Then let’s help each other out, shall we? I need a woman’s input.” He turns to me and presents me with another pair. “What about these?”
“Is she showy?”
He frowns, and it’s adorable. “Showy?”
I take the glasses from his hand, and our skin touches briefly. It makes me falter a little before I quickly pull myself together. “These big gold motifs might not be everyone’s cup of tea.” I point to the arms. “Your sister might like them, but I’d prefer something a little subtler.” I take another pair and slip them on, smiling. “As you can see, these are far more understated, maybe for the more demure woman who lives by the saying less is more.” I pout, and he laughs. It’s a gorgeous laugh—low and rough.
“Thanks for the fashion show.” He reaches for the glasses on my face, and I lean back as his hand comes closer and closer, until it stops in midair. Now, I’m virtually bent backwards, Matrix-style, and Mr. Sexy as Fuck has a half-smile half-frown emblazoned across his face, which now that I’ve looked at it for a good two minutes, I have decided is painfully gorgeous.
A long, uncomfortable silence passes before he extends his hand the final few inches and slowly pulls the glasses from my face. “Thought so,” he says quietly when my eyes are revealed.
I dare not ask him what he’s talking about, and quickly clear my throat, shaking myself back to life. “I’d better go. Good luck finding your gifts.” I’m off like a greyhound, rolling my shoulders as I go to rid my skin of the tingles tickling me there. Christ, I have no idea what just happened, but I don’t have time to figure it out. I’m on a mission.
I weave through various departments, disregarding most displays as I go—not suitable, too expensive etcetera—until I find a store guide and scan the list of floors and departments, getting more desperate by the minute.
“Perfume,” I blurt, reversing my steps and dashing to the fragrance department. “This Chanel I can afford.” Or a small bottle, at least. I take a box of Nº 5 for my sister and hand it to the store assistant, slipping it into my bag once I’ve paid. One down, four to go.
I’m at the elevators a few minutes later, on my way to the toy department for my niece, my inspiration now found.
The doors open.
I go to step inside.
And am greeted by a familiar face.
He smirks, moving to the side to let me in. “Are you following me?”
I roll my eyes and reach to press the floor for the toy department, cringing when I notice the button is already lit.
“Going up?” he asks, obviously catching my hesitation over the button. I look at him blankly, already feeling the tension building. The doors aren’t even closed yet. God, when we’re contained . . .
No escape . . .
“Or going down?” His playful smirk widens, and my mouth falls open.
“Did you just say that?”
“Say what?”
“Going down.”
He suddenly frowns, playing confused, but he’s not fooling me. “What are you insinuating?”
I snort as the doors close and the lift shifts, taking us up. Not down. I’m not going down. And with that thought, my eyes drop to his groin area. “I’m going up,” I say quietly.
“Shame,” he counters quickly, and my gaze shoots to his. Twinkling eyes nearly blind me, and it takes me way too long to compose myself.
“I should have you reported for indecency,” I mutter, full of indignation. But I’m actually hot. Stifling hot. I reach for the front of my blouse and flap it a little.
“Please do. It’ll remove me from this hellhole.” His back hits the wall of the elevator, and he looks exasperated, his hand running through his floppy hair until it falls back onto his forehead.
“Not a successful shopping trip?” I ask.
He holds up a small bag. “Actually, I bought the sunglasses you chose.” Nodding at my empty hands, he looks smug. “It’s more than you have.”
“Actually, I bought my sister some perfume.” I sound ridiculously haughty as I tap the side of my handbag. “So up yours, mister.”
“Oh, listen to you all high and mighty with your one gift.”
“You only have one yourself.” I laugh. “And I pretty much chose it for you. Typical man. Clueless.”
