Page 7

"Again, do you want to make this work or not, Roisin? "

I blink.

Marco leans over. "You're going to buy yourself some clothes. They're going to be the most expensive, most luxurious versions of the clothes you would want. We're going to meet back here in three hours and you're going to tell me how to get to your brother's fucking house. Got it?"

I nod.

I can't help it. I'm not usually one who likes being told what to do, but the low, throaty command in Marco's voice is...

Electrifying.

The valet is practically knocking on the window now, and I let him open the door. Marco and I get out, and like a shadow, I follow him into the department store.

Inside, I'm immediately reminded that this isn't a regular store. When I was little, my mom shopped at all the bargain shops. When my dad found out about me, he tried to truss me up like his fucking mafia princess.

It didn't go well for him.

I'm an Interpol agent. I don't know anything about walking into a fancy department store.

Marco, however, does.

Within seconds he's greeted by someone who looks like she could have walked straight out of a magazine. Vogue Ireland then proceeds to hug Marco, which makes my blood absolutely boil until he turns around to look at me.

He winks.

Winks !

The bloody nerve of him!

He winks at me and then waves, and before I know it a flurry of people have descended on me.

What feels like an eternity later, I'm sitting in a dressing room. I’ve been prodded and poked and fluffed and stuffed into a million different outfits, and I am about to practice my fucking hand-to-hand skills.

This must be obvious, because eventually the attendants disappear.

I look at myself in the mirror.

"You look ridiculous," I mutter.

I'm wearing some kind of jumpsuit. It fits well... It's flattering enough. I'm by no means a tall, elegant, or even well-endowed woman. I've got wide hips and very athletic legs, and my breasts... exist.

But in this jumpsuit, they look downright plump.

Lovely.

I, however, am overstimulated and...

ugh.

Sad.

I've been fighting off memories of my father, dragging me to see a personal shopper when I was a teenager. He had a thousand critiques of my body then, when I needed them the absolute least.

When I needed my mom to fight them off.

But I didn't have it then.

Suddenly the jumpsuit is too tight. Too scratchy. It's not even helpful, really, because the fucking undergarments they pasted onto my body are also...

The door squeaks open.

Oh, I swear to god if this is that one with the undergarments...."Fuck off," I snap.

"I see that they haven't managed to dress the attitude yet."

I freeze.

A familiar shape steps into the dressing room, the door quietly closing behind him.

I refuse to turn.

So instead, I stare at him in the dressing room mirror.

On the contrary, his eyes are not on mine.

They're staring at the very, very expensive lingerie that's shaping my body.

I'm halfway out of the jumpsuit, so he hasn't seen the sorry excuse of lace that's covering me there, but he can certainly see what's on the top.

I'm kind of afraid to look away.

Also that would mean that I'm the one who looks away first.

"I don't like this shit, Marco," I say, deciding to break the tension.

I'm doing it on my terms.

And definitely not because his eyes are making me heat up like a furnace.

"You don't like what, Roisin?"

"Looking like... this," I say.

His eyes darken. They literally seem to turn an impossibly deeper shade of brown, until his irises are practically black.

He steps forward, and I resist the urge to shiver at the heat rolling off of him.

"You look good enough," he murmurs.

My nostrils flare in the mirror, and I can practically feel my heart beating in my chest.

"I look like a doll."

"If that's what you think," he murmurs.

The low rumble of his voice is enough to make my skin break out in goosebumps.

I don't want it to.

But unfortunately I have absolutely no control over that.

Marco leans down. He smells good. Expensive. He managed to change into a fully black outfit, which is somewhere between formal and murderous, and I can't really tell which direction it goes in.

Because I can't see it at all.

Because I'm trying so hard not to stare, but also to watch him, because his nose is dipping toward my neck...

"I think they look pretty fucking good," he growls.

He growls it.

Holy mother of god, I can't do this .

I go to take a step, but Marco's hands drift over my shoulders. He's not gripping me tightly or anything, I could easily walk away if I want, but...

The illusion is...

I shudder.

"Your skin is so soft, Roisin," Marco murmurs. His eyes catch mine in the mirror, and I lock our gazes. Slowly, his fingers drift up and over my shoulder, trailing down the strap of my lacy bra.

I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.

Slowly, his fingertips glide down toward the place where the lace hugs my breast.

I can't look.

But I also can't look away.

"I wonder how much you'll pretend with me," he whispers. One of his fingertips skates right along the cup, getting perilously close to my nipple, which is poking through the lace at his touch.

"Pretend?" I repeat. Like a total idiot.

Marco's lips curl into a smile. "You want to pretend we're together. Pretend that you and I chose each other. That there was never a lie between us. What else will you have me pretend?" he purrs.

But the edge of his voice has turned hard.

I pull out of his grasp, panting as I spin and stare at him. "You said you'd help," I say.

He nods, tilting his head. "I did. "

"So you need to help."

"I am. "

I shut my eyes. "You're not."

Marco's voice is like silk. "I'm not?"

"No," I whisper. "Because Liam knows..."

I freeze.

Marco stands, his fabric-covered body rustling. "What about Liam?"

No point in telling him a lie. "Liam knows I'd never... date someone like you."

"And you know this how?"

My nostrils flare. I look Marco directly in the eye. "Because I hate mafia men, Marco. With every fiber of my being. So if you want to help, you're going to have to be someone else, or convince Liam that somehow I've changed my entire personality... for you."