Page 33 of Lady and the Hitman

The shop was small. Local. Cool air met me just inside, thick with notes of sandalwood. A woman behind the counter gave me a quick smile, distracted, before returning to her phone.

“Pick something,” he said. “Something that fits like sin.”

My fingers grazed silk and linen. I found a short, body-hugging slip in a deep, ocean green. Low back. Thin straps. No bra required.

“Fitting rooms are in the back,” the clerk called, without looking up.

“I’ll be watching,” he said.

I hesitated.

Then went.

The fitting rooms were small, curtained, dim. Mirrors lined the narrow hallway outside. I stepped into the second one, hung the dress on the hook, and let the curtain fall mostly shut—mostly.

“I want the curtain cracked,” he murmured. “Two fingers wide. No more.”

I obeyed.

Heat bloomed low in my belly.

“Take your dress off. Slowly.”

I peeled it down my body, inch by inch, my skin pebbling as the cool air hit. I was completely bare beneath—just as he knew. I draped it over the chair.

“Now try the green one on.”

I stepped into the green slip. Pulled it up my thighs. Over my hips. It clung. Barely covered anything. I adjusted the straps and turned toward the mirror.

He was there.

Outside the fitting rooms, just past the end of the hallway, watching me.

Tall. Still. Like a shadow that had decided to become flesh.

I froze.

“You see me now?” he said, voice still in my ear.

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t look away.”

I didn’t.

I turned slightly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The dress slid over my curves, whispering against my body with every movement.

“I can see your nipples through the fabric,” he said.

“They’re hard,” I whispered.

“I know.”

His eyes never left mine. Not in the mirror. Not in the periphery. He was watching everything.

“Take it off.”

I hesitated.