I handed them to him. “Try these.”
Kieran glanced down at the pile, then back at me. “You say that as if I have a choice.”
I grinned. “You don’t.”
His smile lit up his face. Then he stood and headed for the bathroom.
“You’re not going to get changed in front of me?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “No.”
I rolled my eyes. “Kieran, I’ve seen you naked.”
“Well, you don’t get to seethisuntil I’m ready.” And with that, he closed the bathroom door behind him.
I allowed myself to anticipate his reaction. My gut said he would look good.
What willhesay?
The door opened, I looked up, and forgot to breathe.
It wasn’t the leather—it was him.
The way it sat on him as if it had been waiting, the way his body carried it without effort, without pretence. It didn’t look borrowed.
It fit, perfectly.
Kieran stopped inside the bedroom doorway, glancing down at himself, then across at the mirror. He turned, as if checking the angles, taking it in piece by piece.
God, the light in his eyes…
“Is that me?”
The wonder in his tone undid me.
I stepped closer, slow enough not to startle him. “Yes.” Except that wasn’t a good enough answer. “No,” I corrected. “That’s you without hesitation.”
He stilled, and I couldn’t miss the shift in his posture. It wasn’t confidence—not yet—but recognition.
“I don’t feel any different,” he said after a moment. The tremor in his voice belied that statement.
“You will.”
He glanced at me, uncertain, and I stepped closer again, adjusting the collar of the shirt, a small, deliberate gesture.
“You’re not putting something on,” I said quietly. “You’re allowing something through.”
His breathing caught at that. “I look…” he began, then stopped.
“Go on.”
His gaze flicked back to the mirror. “Like I belong here.”
And there it was.
“Yes,” I said with a smile. “You do.”
Kieran met my eyes in the mirror, and for a moment, neither of us looked away.