Page 6 of Cashmere Cruelty
It’s a perfect match.
I run excitedly back into the changing room, forgetting everything. When clothes are involved, I tend to forget about the world. “Sir, I think this would look great…”
I did say forgettingeverything,right?Including the purpose of changing rooms.
I don’t knock. That’s my first mistake. I just swing the door wide open, picturing that beautiful tie framed by the lapels of Elias’s masterpiece?—
“… on you.”
And my half-naked customer glares at me.
3
APRIL
That’s when I make my second mistake:ogling.
I can’t help it. All my Good Girl™ resolutions crumble into a pathetic heap once my gaze falls over the stranger’s eight-pack. And I do mean eight-pack. Two, four, six,eight.Taut skin over bulging pecs, a sculpted V-cut barely concealed by his unbuttoned pants, and a washboard I could see myself switching careers for.
I must be sweating away every drop of self-respect, because suddenly, I’m wondering if this guy’s in the market for a laundry maid. Uniform up for negotiation.
Get it together, girl. Get it?—
“Should I get you a picture?”
I snap back to reality.God, can this day get any more embarrassing?“I amsosorry, sir.” Covering my face with both hands, I make a belated attempt at respecting my customer’s privacy.
Which would probably go over better if I hadn’t just gotten a full frontal of his happy trail.
“That was inexcusable. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You were thinking of something, alright.”
I grit my teeth. “I promise I wasn’t.”Grovel, April. Just grovel.“I just… I saw this tie outside and I…”
Suddenly, the tie slips from my grasp. I panic, thinking I must’ve let it fall. So I open my eyes again?—
“Pretty little thing.”
And he’s right in front of me.
I swallow. I know he’s talking about the tie, but the way his ice-blue eyes trail over my frame makes it difficult to remember that. “Smooth,” he adds, thumb drawing circles into the fabric, his gaze still fixed on me. “Silk?”
Close.When did he get so close? “Uhh—yes. Mulberry.”
“Finest there is.”
I nod frantically. Maybe I can still salvage this. “The hue is very similar to the embroidery on the jacket. It would also, uhh…”Bring out your criminally blue eyes.“Compliment your skin color.”
The man hums. I start to sigh with relief: shop talk has never failed to save my ass…
“And yours, I’d say.”
… until now.
His hand circles my wrist. Trapped in that wide palm, my arm looks like a chopstick. It occurs to me that he could snap me like a twig if he wanted to. It occurs to me a moment later that some part of me very much likes that concept.
He lifts my wrist up and holds the tie against it. “Mhmm. Perfection.”