For right now, anyway, all is well in my world.
Like most of the shops on the pricier section of the Strip, the ones that fill this mall are high-end, full of designer goods and hefty price tags. Those extravagant items are balanced with markdowns so that the overall result is a store full of products for both the lucky and not-so-lucky gambler.
We pass by a window display overflowing with diamonds and emeralds, along with price tags that make clear that this is not the store for part-time gamblers and two-bit winners. This is where the high rollers come to shop.
Ryan takes my hand and leads me inside.
“That would look lovely on your wrist,” he says, pointing to a diamond and platinum bracelet that costs more than my condo.
“You’re insane,” I say.
He grins at me. “Not your style?”
“No,” I admit because my taste tends toward funkier.
He eyes me critically, his gaze skimming up and down. “No,” he murmurs, “you’re right. You need something more...” His voice drifts off as he walks the length of the glass counter. A clerk comes by, apparently sniffing a sale, but Ryan waves him away with a flick of his hand. “Like this,” he says, pointing to a circle of lovely pounded silver. It is a choker-style necklace made so that it catches the light at a variety of angles. There is a hinge on the back with a pin that fits through a corresponding cylinder to keep the thing in place. At the center there is a single loop upon which one could hang a charm.
“It’s lovely,” I say.
“It’s practical,” he says.
I raise a brow in question.
“The loop,” he says. “So simple to attach a leash.”
Oh. I swallow. “It’s like a slave collar,” I say, then lick my lips. “Is that why you think it suits me?” I say in a voice full of challenge. “Because right now, I belong to you?”
He looks straight at me. “Yes.” The word is simple and direct and so full of meaning it makes me tremble. I think of the way he bound me back in Malibu. The pleasure of surrendering to his mercy.
I remember, and it makes me wet.
I turn, then leave the store, going back out into the mall, my breath now shallow.
He follows me, and when I look up to meet his eyes, I find I cannot read his expression.
“Did you leave because the idea makes you uncomfortable?”
I consider lying. It would be so easy to just say the words and walk away.
But I don’t want to. I want the truth between us. I want to see where we go. “No,” I say. “I left because I like it.”
His expression doesn’t change. Only the slight increase in the tension of his jaw lets me know that my answer has gotten to him. “All right,” he says, and then continues to walk down the wide, store-lined corridor.
I follow, a little on edge. I’m not sure he understands my confession. Or, if he does, what that means for me.
As far as I can tell, though, the subject is dropped.
“So what are we shopping for?” I ask after five minutes have passed in silence.
“You, of course.” He gestures to the jeans and T-shirt I’ve been wearing for two days now. “You can’t live in those clothes.”
The man has a point.
“At the very least, you’ll need something for dinner tonight,” he says. “And something for tomorrow’s interview. Here,” he says, pausing in front of a store wherein every item probably costs more than my entire credit card limit.
“I can’t afford this,” I whisper as we step through the door.
He shoots me an amused expression. “I can.”
The store is apparently arranged by layer, and the first thing I see when we enter is a bin with lingerie. He reaches in and pulls out a pair of thong-style panties. He looks at them, then looks at me. I try to keep a straight face, but the whole idea of him picking out my panties is amusing me. “Why bother?” I finally say. “I’m just going to take them off.”
“I certainly hope so,” he replies with at least as much humor. “But that’s part of the fun.”