Page 41 of The Reluctant Mate (Shifters of the Three Rivers #5)

Chapter forty-one

Sofia

T he car jolted to a stop, waking me from an uneasy sleep. We’d pulled into a mall parking lot, its fluorescent sign buzzing faintly.

“What are we doing here?”

Derek killed the engine, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. “We need supplies. And you need clothes.”

Supplies. Right. I opened my mouth to argue, to insist that we didn’t have time for detours, but then I caught sight of my reflection in the side mirror. My shirt was smeared with soot from the club, my jeans had a tear near the knee—I had no idea how that had happened—and my shoes… well, one of them had a burn mark near the toe. Not exactly the outfit of someone ready to take on the world—or Kane’s army.

I sighed. “I don’t have my cards on me, and you got rid of my phone, remember?”

Derek’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You weren’t gonna pay for any of it.”

“Derek—”

“Come on, we don’t have time to argue about it.”

He was right. Annoyingly. I unclipped my seatbelt and slid out of the car. The mall was quiet; the early hour meant it was mostly empty except for the occasional jogger or those grabbing coffee.

Derek guided me into a clothing shop, the kind with racks of overpriced items and soft ambient lighting. I made a beeline for a shelf of plain black T-shirts, determined to get in and out as quickly as possible, but Derek’s hand on my elbow stopped me before I could start picking through sizes.

“Let me,” he said simply, with the kind of confidence that didn’t leave room for debate.

I watched, half-amused and half-bewildered, as Derek walked the aisles with the efficiency of a soldier on a mission. He didn’t ask me my size. He didn’t consult me on colors or styles. He just started grabbing things—jeans, T-shirts, a cute waist-cut jacket.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself,” I said, crossing my arms as he tossed a pair of combat boots into the growing pile in his arms.

He didn’t pause, just glanced at me over his shoulder, one brow raised. “I noticed. But you’ve been rocking the post-apocalypse look for hours now, and if we are going to do this, you’re going to need the right clothes.”

I scowled. He remained infuriatingly unaffected.

“Besides, you’ll argue with me if I ask your opinion on every item, and we’ll be here all day. This is faster.”

My eyes narrowed. He wasn’t wrong, and that was part of what made him so annoying.

I trailed after him, my arms itching to wrest the pile of clothes away from him and do things my way, but there was something calculating about the way he moved through the store that piqued my curiosity. He wasn’t just guessing, wasn’t just grabbing things at random—he was choosing items deliberately, like he’d memorized my entire body.

“How do you even know my size?”

Derek paused, holding up a pair of dark-wash jeans as if to confirm his choice. He didn’t look at me when he answered. “I pay attention. Especially if it has anything to do with you.”

And there was that unfurling feeling again. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked it. I’d held tight to my rock, to the belief that I could only count on myself. It was scary to think of someone else knowing me so well.

“Here, try these on,” Derek said as we passed a changing room. He opened the door, hung up the clothes, and gestured for me to go inside. I hesitated for a second. Derek grinned.

“Not convinced I know your measurements, huh? How about we make this interesting?” His voice dropped to that register that made my skin tingle. “If I got it right on every single item in there, you have to tell me one fantasy. Something you’ve always wanted to do sexually but never admitted to anyone.”

I froze, the possibilities flashing through my mind. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading up my neck. “A fantasy?”

His eyes darkened. “The kind that keeps you up at night. The kind you think about when you’re alone.”

My mouth went dry. The look in his eyes told me exactly what he’d do with that information.

“And if you get even one thing wrong?” I managed to ask.

“Then I’ll tell you mine.” His gaze traveled slowly down my body and back up. “In explicit detail.”

The thought of confessing the things I imagined him doing to me made my heart pound wildly. I wasn’t sure I could say those things out loud, but I absolutely wanted to know his fantasies.

“Deal,” I said, surprised at how steady my voice sounded.

I slipped into the changing room and shut the door in his wolfish face. We didn’t have much time, so I flew through the clothes as quickly as a girl could, getting more and more annoyed. The clothes fit me perfectly. Every single fucking one of them. How did he do it? Was this some sort of previously unknown werewolf superpower? Derek could make a fortune as a personal shopper. The image of him striding around a department store, pointing at items and saying, “That one!” to a long line of assistants who hurried after him, arms full of clothes, popped into my head, and I had to stifle a laugh.

“All good in there?” His voice was smug. He knew he had everything right.

Damn it.

By the time I came out wearing dark blue jeans that clung to my hips like they were custom made, Derek was leaning against the opposite wall, typing into his phone.

He looked me up and down as I came out, then did a twirl motion with his finger. I obliged.

“You look beautiful.”

I smiled.

“So?”

“You got everything right.”

His grin turned smug.

“Except the white T-shirt. It was too small.”

Derek’s eyes flickered to the shirt in my hands.

“Show me,” he ordered.

“We don’t have time, Derek.” I went to walk past him, but he caught my arm gently.

“I got a lot riding on this. We have time.”

“Fine.” I stomped back into the changing room and swapped T-shirts. The white one fit perfectly. I examined myself in the mirror. Was there any way to make it look smaller?

Nope. Damn it!

Alright then, there was only one thing for it. I flung open the door and twirled faster than a ballerina on her sixth coffee of the morning.

“You see? Too small, Derek! Just admit it, you lose. I win. Now I get to hear your fantasy in all its glory.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That eager to know what I think about late at night?”

“Yes. I need all the details.”

“As much as I would enjoy sharing that, I don’t think so. Turn around and look in the mirror, gorgeous. The T-shirt is a perfect fit for your perfect body.”

Mmmm. I did like it when he said that.

He moved up behind me, close enough that if he breathed, his body would touch mine. His voice, when he spoke, was all deep and growly, and it sent a pulse of pleasure right to my core.

“Looks like I win, Sofia. I know exactly how that body of yours fits in clothes. Now I want to know exactly what you imagine me doing to it when no one’s watching.”

I felt my panties get wet. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I lost.

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms.

In the mirror, I saw his grin widen. “You don’t have to tell me now. But when I ask—and I will—I expect the truth. Every. Delicious. Detail.”