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“You have to buy something.” Ciara held up a scrap of lace with an improbably ridiculous price attached to it and smiled. “This would look fabulous on you.”
“I can wear it to read in bed,” I said dryly.
“No one caught your eye last night?” she pressed, her gaze darting over to me as she passed the scrap of lace to the salesperson Saks had assigned upon our arrival.
Had Lachlan mentioned something? Mercifully, he had not been in his quarters by the time I’d finished getting ready, which meant I had a few more hours to mentally prepare myself for the humiliation of facing him. If he was a gentleman, he would pretend like nothing had happened.
I wasn’t holding my breath.
“I prefer that my boyfriends come from books,” I said breezily, holding up something that claimed to be underwear. I had my doubts.
Ciara snatched it from me and threw it in her ever-growing pile.
“I really don’t need that,” I argued with her.
She snorted and rolled her eyes, tossing her glossy black hair over her shoulder. “Not if the only men you sleep with are fictional. But if you come back empty-handed, Lach will kill me.”
“Lach?” I choked on his name. He better not know what we were shopping for.
“Did I forget to tell you? He said to buy whatever you want.”
I grabbed the lacy nothing from her pile and tossed it back on the table. “I don’t want that.” Especially not if he was footing the bill. “And I really don’t want to be in any more debt to him.”
“You’re not indebted to him.”
“It feels like I am.” I crossed my arms and leaned against a display of stockings. “And I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”
“Because you were an orphan,” she said frankly.
I shrugged. So she had sorted out my personal trauma? A college dropout with one semester of Intro to Psychology could have done that. I wished it could have been an easier lesson for me to learn. As a child, it had taken me far too long to realize that most adults, even the ones who claimed to care, weaponized everything from food to shelter to attention. It was a life lesson that had been burned into me like a scar: always be helpful but never need anything or anyone. And never, ever accept a gift. There were always strings attached. My bargain with Lachlan had only reinforced that belief. But the worst lesson…
“Did Lachlan say anything else about last night?” I asked, suddenly very invested in learning about the sizing of Wolford hosiery.
“Only that he caught you in a dark corner with Oberon.”
I dropped the package I was holding. “Nothing happened.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she reassured me. “Oberon is yummy. If he wasn’t such a prude, I might have gone for him.”
Oberon had been nearly as uncomfortable as I was, but I wasn’t certain if that made him a prude. He had been kind. Funny. Very different than my first impression of him. But even if I was interested, which I wasn’t, it wasn’t like a relationship was possible. Not when Lachlan owned my nights. Not when he’d made it quite clear that regardless of his claims about wanting me to let loose, he wasn’t going to make that easy. Not with the way his eyes followed me, checked me, claimed me.
After a moment, I looked up to realize Ciara was watching me, sadness glinting in her eyes. I forced a smile, and she responded in kind as she scooped the entire contents of the medium thong drawer from Agent Provocateur up and deposited them into her pile of purchases.
“Those better not be for me.”
“It’s a gift,” she said softly. “From one friend to another. I’m buying. No expectations.”
I swallowed and finally managed to nod.
“Good.” She beamed at me and winked. “Because you’re going to need them. Fae love to rip off a pair of panties.”
I did not demand further clarification from her, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about it while we finished our shopping. It distracted me almost enough that I didn’t hear the absolutely insane price tag attached to our little shopping trip. Almost. But Ciara didn’t bat an eye as she passed the salesperson a thin black credit card and signed away more money than I would make in my entire lifetime. But try as I might, and I was really trying, I couldn’t stop picturing a pair of strong fae hands gripping flimsy elastic lace and snapping it with ease, tattoos swirling over his knuckles as he did it.
I nodded as Ciara debated if we should get étouffée at Galatoire’s or take the car to Gautreau’s for the privacy. But I was so preoccupied with my fantasy that I walked into a wall.
The wall growled.
I looked up, my hands still planted on the wall, which was not a wall but a broad, hard chest that continued into a breathtaking face and a set of green eyes that threatened to undo me. I jumped away from Lachlan before he could growl again, before I could feel it vibrating under my skin, before it got into my blood and traveled to the deepest parts of me. His faded blue jeans were worn into a work of art that showcased his muscular thighs. I couldn’t imagine what they did for his ass. I almost asked him to turn around to sate my curiosity. The rolled-up sleeves of his thin, white Henley revealed his inked forearms, the shirt clinging to every dip and ridge of his impressive upper body. But it was his face, so brutally beautiful, that stole my breath along with every thought in my head.