“Do you have a preference for theme for your costume, Lord Grayson?” she asked, adjusting a mirror. Whenever she tilted it in his direction, he shifted out of the way, as if he didn’t want to see his own reflection. Strange behavior for a man so vain.
“I thought I might be a wolf, and you could be a lamb. You would look lovely in a soft pink,” he said. “Perhaps the color of your lips.” He lowered his voice. “Or your nether lips.”
The blackguard was intent on seducing her in the middle of her shop. She abandoned trying to capture him in her mirrors and spun around. “That’s enough, Lord Grayson. You will behave.”
He winked. “You would deny an old man his fun?”
“Old man.” She snorted. “You cannot be more than three-and-forty.”
His eyes crinkled. “As you say.”
What an odd response. Before she could consider it further, Alyssa returned, holding several pairs of trousers. She placed them on a stool before quickly vanishing. It took a moment for Kitty to realize why.
Cordon placed his hands on his hips. “I believe your assistant is shy.”
Kitty shuffled backward. “It is entirely inappropriate for either of us to help you change, my lord.”
He chuckled. “You might want to turn around, then.”
In the time it took her to realize what he meant and avert her eyes, he had slid his trousers to his knees, and she was given a lovely view of his backside.
“Cordon!” she whisper-shouted. “You are not wearing drawers!”
“I find them restrictive.” There was a shuffling sound. “I am now decent.”
She reluctantly turned and forced herself to look only at the trousers he’d donned. They fit reasonably well at the waist but were too large at the thighs and pooled around his feet. Before she finished that thought, she crouched before him, gathering the fabric and pinning it into a better position.
He might only have visited to flirt, but she fully intended to make him a costume that would impress his wealthy colleagues.
“I had hoped to have you to myself,” he said. “Alas, your assistant is listening to everything we’re saying.”
She tugged the fabric around his thighs. Frowned. Tugged again.
“Problem?” he asked.
“Quiet,” she said. There was something wrong with the bias. Had she sewn the fabric inside out? She shuffled on her knees until she was standing in front of him, then uttered a squeak.
She was eye height to his crotch and the prominent tent in his trousers.
Chapter Twelve
“Iwas thinkingabout you,” Cordon said.
Kitty seemed not to hear. She was still staring at the evidence of his arousal with her mouth open. It wasn’t quite the reaction he’d expected, but it would do. What he really wanted was for her to touch him, ideally without clothes, but that was not possible in such a public venue.
He could close and lock the door to the dressing room, but Alyssa was still listening. She was quiet for a human, but not enough to hide from his vampiric senses. Not even with the intoxicating scent of Kitty’s blood as a distraction.
“I-I insist you control yourself,” Kitty said finally. Her eyes were so wide, he could see the whites all around her pupils. But despite the scolding in her tone, the scent of her arousal betrayed her. It wreathed around him and had the unfortunate effect of worsening his engorgement.
“It is not something I can control,” he said. But to spare her further embarrassment, he reached beneath the waist of the trousers and tucked himself away so that his erection wasn’t so obvious. Teasing her was entertaining, but he did not wish her to order him to leave. They still had twenty tasks to complete together.
She pushed upright with jerky movements. “Thank you.” Then she tugged the lapels of his jacket rather harder than necessary, forcing him to lean back to avoid toppling over. Asif that indignity weren’t enough, she grasped his elbows and spread his arms apart. When she stepped back, he lowered his arms, only to have her force him back into position.
“I think there’s a broken thread in one of the back panels,” she said. “Don’t move.”
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You didn’t even make this jacket.”
“Quiet.”
