Page 19 of Kane

He nods, brusque. “Great. Put, like, ninety percent of your jewelry in there.”

“Oh. I see.”

He tugs at my lower lip with his thumb, grinning. “Just for safekeeping. No one wears that much on a normal basis. The head thing especially. It’s fuckin’ incredible, but it draws the eye and we’re going for incognito.”

I think he thinks I am more attached to the jewelry than I am. But then, he does not know why I am running. Perhaps it is time to tell him.

I pull off the armbands, most of the rings, as well as the headpiece, leaving only a couple of rings on my fingers and the stacked bangles on my wrists. I have to fix my hair after that, but fortunately there is a mirror; he waits impatiently while I do this.

I smile at him. “I am ready.”

His gaze moves over me, head to toe; my smile fades under the intensity of his scrutiny. “You look hot, Anjalee.” His eyes tell me he is not telling stories.

I shake my head. “I look plain.”

His eyes go molten again, and he gets close. “You couldn’t look plain if you tried, darlin’. Don’t matter what you wear, you’ll always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

I swallow hard. “Really? You think this of me?”

“Yeah, I think that of you.”

“Thank you,” I breathe.

He shakes his head, not disagreeing, and I do not quite know why. “Come on.” His eyes flick down—to my chest. I see his pupils dilate, his nostrils flare. “Shit. Missin’ somethin’ kinda important, huh?”

I frown. “What?”

“Bra.”

I realize I am not wearing one. I did not wear one under the saree, as is normal. But in a T-shirt? It is most apparent I am not. No one—no one, except my mother and other women—haveeverseen me like this. His eyes touch there, and my nipples harden as the thrill of his gaze sends that shiver into my loins. I should be embarrassed. More than embarrassed. I should burst into flames of horrified mortification. Yet I am not, I do not. Something in his gaze erases all that.

“Oh,” I breathe. “I…yes.”

He closes his eyes, as if summoning some sort of inner willpower, for reasons I cannot fathom. And then he tugs me into a walk again, hauling me to the undergarment section. He waves a hand. “Go on.”

“You do not wish to choose this for me as well?” I am teasing him. I wonder if he realizes.

“No, I don’t.” It does not seem as if he does.

“Are you sure?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Don’t fuck with me, Anjalee. Holdin’ on by a thread, here.”

“What are you holding on to, please?” I frown in confusion, which is becoming a normal thing with this very confusing man. “I do not know what you mean.”

“I’ll bet.” He shakes his head, blowing out a sigh. “Just grab a bra, babe.”

I find one in my size—he has picked what I would consider to be plain, cheap, uninspiring clothing for me. If I am choosing my bra, I will choose one which appeals to me.

The one I pick is satin and lace, thinly padded, no underwire. Black, to go with the theme. It is appealing, and intimate. Not at all plain. Not atall.

Perhaps it is even…sexy.

A foreign word in my mind.

I bring my selection to him, show him.

His jaw clenches, the muscles at either side pulsing. “Fuckin’ hell, Anjalee. Told you not to fuck with me, and you pickthat?”