Page 11 of Gorilla in the Groove (Shamrock Safari Shifters #3)

Sorcha's Boutique was tucked into a corner of an alley off a side street, not that far from the opera house but down enough little streets that they seemed worlds apart.

It didn't make a fuss about itself, with a plain storefront and nothing to say it catered to people with money to spend except the quality of the dresses and suits in the window.

But as Mick pushed the door open with a quiet jangle of bells, he was struck, as always, by the subtle but obvious signs inside that this was a place to drop a lot of cash.

The carpet was soft, plush, quieting; the air was cool with a faint citrus scent and the richer scent of fresh coffee, and the seating was generous and comfortable.

The shop also went back for absolute miles , which was one of the hidden gems of Irish storefronts: they were small and narrow from the front, but could be as deep as the whole block.

A smaller floor upstairs was reserved for menswear, but the first floor was rich with fabrics that rustled with the door's breeze, and with dresses that caught the eye all the way back to the expansive changing rooms. Irina, a step behind him, inhaled with a sound that suggested she was ready to back right out again.

Mick couldn't quite blame her. He'd kind of felt the same way the first…

well, several times, honestly, that he'd been there.

Before Irina could make an escape, though, Sorcha, the owner, said, "Mick!

" in delight, as she appeared from an office just off the main floor.

She was a rangy woman who fell into the age range of 'old enough to be his mother,' but whether that meant she was forty-five or sixty was a mystery to Mick.

Her thick hair had artful grey in it, her clothing was impeccable, and her eyes lit up as she caught a glimpse of Irina.

"You've never brought me a woman to dress! It's about time, Michael Mahoney!"

Irina, who still had the vibe of somebody prepared to bolt, was taken aback enough to laugh and relax. "'Michael?'"

"Mick is short for Michael," Mick mumbled. "Nobody calls me that except me mam when she's mad at me, and Sorcha here. Sorcha, this is my friend Irina. I'm taking her shopping."

"Oh, well done," Sorcha said to Irina. "He's got a good eye, this one. What is it you're looking for?"

Irina looked slightly mortified, saying, "Affordable but cute?" as Mick said, "The perfect dinner dress."

Sorcha's gaze bounced between them, humor sparkling in her eyes. "I think we can manage both. You're a size ten?" she said to Irina, who now looked taken aback.

"Six?"

"Americans," Sorcha announced in a tone of despair, and as Irina's eyebrows drew down, gentled her tone with a smile. "We've different sizing conventions, that's all. A six in the States is a ten here, generally."

"Oh." Irina's eyebrows went up a little. "Then I'm impressed that you were able to eyeball that."

"It's my job," Sorcha said cheerfully. "Let's talk about color, length, and fabrics."

Irina eyed Mick as if this was all beyond her ability to cope with, and he couldn't help a smile. "You get used to it," he promised. "But can I take a guess?"

"Oh, be my guest." Irina sounded as if she couldn't decide if she was amused or horrified. Somewhere in between, maybe. Nervous , Mick thought.

She has no need to be nervous, his gorilla said calmly. We're here to protect her.

I know, but remember how nervous I was the first time I tried shopping for something better than Marks & Spencer's, Mick reminded it.

It's a whole new thing. She'll be fine. Sorcha's grand so.

But it's kind of nerve-wracking at first. Aloud, he said, "Short dresses, clear colors, no muddy tones.

Room to move a little? And I don't know at all what kinds of fabrics you're into," he admitted.

"Neither do I, but you're right about the rest of it." Irina gave Sorcha a nervous smile. "I don't like that scrunchy fabric that feels like grit when you rub it, but I don't even know what it's called."

"Acetate," Sorcha said with confidence. "I don't care for it my own self. And," she said more carefully, "what do we consider affordable? Just so we're working within the same range here?"

"Two hundred euros," Irina said promptly, while Mick made a little face that indicated he thought it could be more, but that the lady's wishes should be honored.

Sorcha smiled at both of them, then swept Irina back through the shop. "How much time have you?"

"Um. Until dinner?" Irina looked around as if she was searching for a clock, but there weren't any in the posh little salon. It was only about half three, though, and Sorcha nearly clapped with delight.

"Hours, then. I won't try to sell you a thing outside of your budget," she promised Irina, "but if we've the time, and you don't mind, I'd love to dress you up just to see what we can make of you.

I ought to call Sal in and have him shoot you, in fact.

You'd be a grand petite model. Though then I'd need a whole employment form, as I'd use them for advertising and I wouldn't have you do that for free. "

By the time she'd finished speaking, she'd also swept at least a dozen dresses off the racks that they'd gone by, and now held an armful of cloth. "I don't suppose you're wearing an excellent bra."

That was a question Mick would love to know the answer to, but wouldn't have ever thought to, or had the nerve to, ask. Irina, though surprised, also laughed. "We were doing a photo shoot this morning, actually, so yeah, I am. I skipped the shape wear, though, is that okay?"

"If we need to smooth any bumps out I'll wrangle you into some of our own," Sorcha said airily, and ushered Irina into the changing rooms while Mick, feeling slightly unneeded, took a seat.

A few minutes later a shriek of laughing delight emerged from the changing room, and then so did Irina, wearing a frothy pale pink concoction that floated around her as she spun.

"I have absolutely nowhere to ever wear something like this," she said happily, "but it's pretty."

"It's…" Mick had no words. The bodice was fitted, but sleeveless, showing off her strong slim shoulders and arms, and her hair was down, falling around her shoulders in dark waves. "You're only gorgeous," he said helplessly. "A man would marry you in that dress."

A blush rushed up Irina's cheeks, but she gave him an impish smile. "A man wouldn't fit into this dress as well as I do."

Mick burst out laughing. "You know what I mean!"

"I do," she said, shyly now, and spun around again in a cloud of skirts before turning back toward the changing rooms.

"No, you don't!" Sorcha cried. "Pictures first! Mick, make yourself useful, lad!"

"Oh! Do you want me to use your phone?" he asked Irina. "Or is it all right if I've copies of the pictures too?"

"This was your idea," she told him with a smile. "And we're…friends," she said, clearly replacing the phrase 'fated mates' with the single word. "I don't mind if they're on your phone."

Mick breathed, "Brilliant," and feeling more useful, happily took pictures while she posed and laughed.

Then she disappeared back into the changing room, where more giggles rose before she came out again in a completely different style of dress—this one fit into little black dress categories perfectly, all snug and slinky and mature—to pose for the camera again.

Every time she showed off a new dress, Mick felt himself fall a little deeper in love.

Even an absolutely awful yellow thing that did her no favors at all was great fun, just because it suited her so badly and was so unexpected.

An orange dress in a similar style actually worked incredibly well, though, and Mick realized it was the color, more than the dress itself.

Irina bounced in and out of the changing room, followed each time by a smugly pleased Sorcha, who was clearly enjoying herself just as much as Irina was.

Actual hours passed unbelievably quickly, everyone having a good time, though Mick was sure he saw the dress she wanted most go by quite early in the fittings.

There was something about the way she'd brushed her fingers over the skirt and the hopeful look in her eyes as she'd exited the changing room.

As they finally wound up, he said, "Could I see the red one again?" and Irina shot him a look, somewhere between grateful and startled, that made him that much more certain he was right. She went back to change again, and came out a final time in the dress with an expression of pure shy hope.

It was just this side of fancy: if it had had any adornment on the bodice, Mick thought, it would have become a short, semi- formal gown instead of a casual dress.

Instead, the plain, deep, square-cut neckline and sleeveless bodice of rough silk, with a full but uneven-length skirt in the same fabric with a layer of chiffon silk over it, walked the line between formality and informality perfectly.

With Irina's hair down, as it currently was, the dress was perfect for a casual dinner out.

With her hair up and jewelry dripping from her ears, it would be something she could wear to any formal occasion.

Mick breathed, "It's perfect. You're beautiful. "

"Isn't it pretty?" Irina asked wistfully. "I'm sure it costs too much, though." The wistfulness disappeared as she shot Sorcha a wry look. "I've never shopped anywhere that didn't have price tags. 'If you have to ask, you can't afford it,' you know?"

"It's not that bad," Sorcha promised. "And you do look wonderful."

"Thank you." Irina actually curtseyed, then went back to change into her regular clothes, calling, "I'm not sure my clogs are formal enough to wear with it, though, and I don't want to go shoe shopping, too!"

Actually, her backless clogs with their thick platform soles and black leather tops were perfect for dressing the dress down, in Mick's opinion.

Heels would do the same thing putting her hair up would: move it into the realm of formality.

As she changed, Sorcha approached, voice lowered.

"She's right, mind you. It's three hundred forty quid, and that's well over her budget.

But I've no problem ringing it up at two hundred and trusting you on the rest later. "

The impulse to agree sizzled through Mick, but he quashed it with a reluctant smile. "I'd love to say yes, but I don't think I ought to start out by lying to her. She deserves the truth."

Sorcha gave him an appraising look and patted his shoulder.

"You're a sound lad, Mick Mahoney. I hope she appreciates you.

" She went up to the front of the shop, leaving Mick to wait for Irina, who came out a few minutes later in her own clothes and a still-wistful smile on her face as she carried the red dress with her.

"It's too much. I know it is."

"It is," Mick admitted. "More than half again what you were hoping. But it's perfect for you, Irina. Will you not let me buy it for you?"

She squinched up her face like that had been actually painful. "How much more than half again? That's not a way of saying it costs three thousand euros, is it?"

Mick laughed, startled. "No, though I suppose that would be more than half again. No, it's under three fifty, but not by much."

Irina eyed him. "Three forty nine ninety nine?"

He laughed again and shook his head. "Three forty."

Irina groaned and sat with the dress in her lap. "That's much less than one of my costume dresses. Why do I feel like it's way too much for a regular dress?"

Mick sat beside her, trying not to loom or be overwhelming with his size and presence.

"I'd say it's because the costumes are for something," he said slowly.

"Part of your ambition, like. You work hard and those dresses are meant to help show off the work you've done.

But when something is 'just' for you—" he made air quotes around the 'just'— "then it feels like an extravagance.

Like it's not been earned. And it's harder for us to spoil ourselves than it is for us to work. "

"Wow," Irina said after a moment. "That was…that was really good. That made a lot of sense."

"If it helps," Mick said hopefully, "also, it's not spoiling yourself now, is it? It's me spoiling you!"

His fated mate gave a soft laugh. "There's that, too, I guess, yeah." She brushed her palms over the dress, then cast him a cautious glance. "…you're sure you can afford it?"

"Would it help if I showed you my bank balance?

" Mick asked wryly. "I can, yes. Not to brag like, but I could afford it at five times the cost without noticing it, if you want to know the truth of it all.

" He could afford it at considerably more than that, too, but he was a little afraid the thought might make Irina seize up.

As it was, she hesitated a long while, gazing down at the dress before finally biting her lower lip and nodding. She whispered, "Okay. If you're sure," and glanced up at him again.

"I'm positive," he promised in a murmur. "There's nothing more in this world that I want than to spoil you a little. I think you might need it."

"Oh, I'm fine," Irina protested, but Mick gave her a slightly stern look and her resistance mostly melted.

"I am," she insisted. "I'm in Ireland, for heaven's sake.

I'm taking place in a dance competition I've spent my whole life working toward.

It's a dream come true, even if I hadn't also met someone amazing. I don't need anything else…"

"Well, let's try, and then you can decide."

Irina laughed and stood, the dress still gathered in her arms. "All right. When you put it like that…all right. I'm willing to give it a try."