CHAPTER 27 #2
“Properties,” she murmured. “Interests. Investments. So many things . . .”
My stomach tightened.
“I don’t think that’s any of my business,” I said, though it came out softer than I meant it to.
A corner of her mouth lifted. “That’s usually how it begins.”
Before I could press further, male voices drifted in from beyond the curtain. The change in her was subtle but immediate. Her shoulders straightened. Her hands stilled against my waist. For the briefest second, tension flickered across her face before it vanished beneath professional composure.
When she spoke again, the accent was gone entirely. “This color suits you,” she said as she stepped back. “He’ll like this one.”
Before I could respond, she turned briskly and began pulling more pieces from the rack for me to try on.
Her movements were efficient now—no more commentary or hints.
I stood there in the blue jumpsuit, staring at my reflection and trying to shake the strange feeling pooling low in my stomach.
Had she been warning me?
Jagger
I was halfway through my second coffee and pretending I wasn’t staring at the dressing room curtain longingly when the boutique door chimed. I glanced up and nearly launched the cup across the room as I shot to my feet.
“Absolutely not,” I growled.
Cruz stopped mid-step, one hand still on the door, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair like he was on vacation instead of trespassing into my morning.
“Wow,” he said lightly. “No hello? No hug? You’ve lost three bestie points for your tone, Jags.
” He took another lazy step forward, hands in his pockets.
“You would think you’d be glad to see me. I’m always glad to see you.”
“You have five seconds to leave,” I told him flatly.
He glanced around the boutique, taking in the polished floors and the staff who were already fawning at him. “Relax. I was in the neighborhood.”
“You don’t shop.”
“I don’t,” he agreed cheerfully. “But when I saw you were here, I knew this was my chance to meet your girl.”
“Not happening.”
He grinned. “Protective. I love this version of you.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
Cruz’s eyes flicked down. “What are you doing?”
“Finding wherever you hid the tracking app,” I said through my teeth as I swiped through my settings.
He collapsed into a chair, amused. “Why do you think it’s on your phone?”
I froze, and without meaning to, my hand went to my neck.
Cruz’s grin widened. “What are you doing now?”
I ignored him, pressing along the side of my throat as I searched for a tiny surgical scar. Jace’s voice echoed in my head. When I realized I wanted to put a tracker in her neck.
Cruz watched me panic and actually laughed. “You think I injected you?”
“You’re unhinged enough,” I muttered.
He took a glass of champagne from a simpering sales associate and waved it at me. “Relax. If I did tag you, it won’t hurt you, and if I didn’t, never say never.”
“You’re going to tell me how you’re watching me,” I said evenly.
He lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Am I?” he asked.
I pointed at him. “I will figure it out.”
He winked. “But will you?”
His eyes flicked toward the dressing room curtain. “She in there?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re just . . . waiting?”
“I’m exercising restraint.”
Cruz studied me for a long second, then leaned forward with exaggerated seriousness. “You want me to go in there and give feedback? I have a strong eye for silhouettes.”
“If you take one step toward that curtain,” I said evenly, “I will remove your kneecaps.”
He held up both hands. “Okay. Okay. Touchy.”
The curtain rustled, and before I could do something, like kill Cruz and hide his body, Eden stepped out in a red dress.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
The silk clung to her as though it had been poured on.
It hugged her tits, and her waist, flaring just enough at the hips before the thigh-high slit revealed a long, smooth leg with every step.
The back was open almost to the dimples above her ass, a single thin strap crossing between her shoulder blades like it was daring me to snap it.
The neckline plunged low, framing cleavage that made my mouth go dry and my cock twitch painfully against my zipper.
She looked fucking gorgeous.
Cruz made a low, appreciative noise beside me. “Okay. Yeah. I get it now.”
I shot him a look that promised violence and stepped in front of him so I was blocking his view.
He snickered behind me like an asshole.
The saleswoman cleared her throat delicately. “It’s a very popular style. The silk is—”
“Wrap it up,” I murmured. “All of it. Everything. And whatever else you think she’d look good in. Shoes. Lingerie. Everything.”
Her lips curved, I’m sure seeing dollar signs floating above my head. “Of course.”
Eden’s gaze flicked to Cruz, and she tilted her head toward him, clearly trying to place him.
I exhaled, already irritated as I stepped aside so they could see each other. “Eden,” I said, forcing myself to sound civil. “This is Cruz. My best friend. And my business partner.”
The words tasted reluctant.
Cruz straightened and gave her a small nod. “Hi,” he murmured.
I glanced at him, because what the fuck was that?
He wasn’t even looking at her when he said that, and all his usual charm was nowhere to be found. And I knew it wasn’t for my benefit.
Cruz’s gaze was tracking the saleswoman as she moved toward the counter with an armful of garments. His jaw tightened slightly, a faint crease appearing between his brows.
Eden noticed, too. Her gaze darted between us, then to the saleswoman disappearing behind a staff door.
I cleared my throat. “He’s harmless,” I told her. “Mostly.”
Cruz snorted, but it lacked his usual bite. His eyes stayed on the black door marked staff only a second longer before he dragged them back to Eden.
“You look . . .” He paused, actually searching for words. “You look good. Red suits you.”
Eden gave a small, uncertain smile. “Thanks.”
I stepped closer to her, my hand settling on her lower back possessively. “Ignore him. He’s just here to annoy me.”
Cruz’s frown lingered, though. His eyes went to the door again, then to me. I shot him a questioning glare, and he shook his head.
“Eden,” I said smoothly, keeping my tone casual, even though my pulse had shifted, “why don’t you change into whatever you want to wear out of here?”
Her eyes moved between us, sensing something but not quite placing it. “Okay . . .”
She disappeared behind the curtain, the velvet falling closed with a soft sweep. The second it did, I turned to Cruz. “What’s going on?”
He didn’t answer immediately; his gaze was still on the staff door. “I know her,” he said quietly.
“The saleswoman? Bethany? Cheryl?” I frowned. “I actually have no idea what her name is.”
“I’ve seen her before.”
“That narrows it down.”
He exhaled through his nose. “She was in a picture.”
I went very still. “What picture?”
Cruz’s gaze cut to mine. “A picture featuring Cormac O’Dalaigh.”
Cormac O’Dalaigh . . . also known as the head of the Irish mob.
I stared at Cruz. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “She was standing beside him at a private dinner one of our guys attended last month in Boston.”
“You didn’t tell me you sent someone to that.”
He shrugged. “I think it was right after you spent the night partying with Daniels after their game here. I may not have been in the sharing type of mood.”
I rolled my eyes, making another mental note that Cruz was a psychopath. “You’re positive?”
Cruz huffed out a humorless breath. “I thought she was hot, so I stared at the photo longer than I probably should have. She was wearing her hair different. But that’s her.”
“What’s the plan?” I asked quietly.
Cruz’s face went cold, and he started walking toward the staff-only door without another word.
“Cruz,” I snapped.
“To talk to her, of course,” he said over his shoulder, already stalking forward.
“Give me a second, and I’ll help.”
He gave me a tight nod and pushed through the door, disappearing into the back.
I turned toward the dressing room and pulled the curtain aside just enough to slip my head in—and my brain flatlined.
Eden stood in front of the trifold mirror, wearing nothing but outrageously sexy lingerie that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Black lace. Sheer panels. Straps that crossed her back and front in an intricate web, framing her breasts like they were being offered up.
The bra was barely there—cups so low her nipples were visible through the lace, hard and peaked from the cool air or nerves or both.
The matching thong rode high on her hips, a thin strip of fabric disappearing between the cheeks of her perfect ass.
Lace garters dug into her thighs just enough to leave faint red lines.
She locked eyes with me in the mirror, and her cheeks flushed, her fingers hovering at the edge of the bra like she wasn’t sure whether to cover up or turn around and show me more.
My mouth went dry. My cock went from half hard to aching in half a second. I wanted to drop to my knees right there . . . rip the lace off with my teeth. I wanted to bend her against the mirror and fuck her until the glass cracked.
But I forced myself to breathe and to at least not sound like I was going to die as I spoke to her. “I have to talk to the owner about something,” I said, the words sounding distant even to me. “The shop rents from Paradise. I’ll be right back.”
Her face fell, and I realized my mistake—she thought I didn’t like what I was seeing.
I immediately palmed myself through my pants, obvious and unashamed, squeezing once to take the edge off the pain that had me throbbing so hard I could barely think straight.
My eyes stayed locked on hers in the mirror as I dragged my hand up the length of my cock, letting her see exactly how much she was wrecking me.
“I’m dying, baby,” I rasped. “Literally dying. Keep those on, and we’re going to do something about that outfit when we get home.”