“Suit yourself. But if you’re not coming, you need to get out of here so you don’t give away my hiding place.”
“I’d hate to be the one to bring you down,” he said thoughtfully.
“Then don’t bring me down.” When they reached the entrance, the attendant smiled and asked if she could help.
“Can I try these on?”
“Of course,” the attendant said, reaching for the hangers. “How many do you have?”
“Five.”
The woman counted them twice before handing Vivienne a tag with the number five printed on it. “Here you go. The room on the end is empty.”
Vivienne checked the labels on a pair of leggings. “Oh, crap. I didn’t grab the right size in these.” She lifted the hanger. “Would it be possible to try them in a small? I’d ask my boyfriend, but he’d take forever to find them.”
The woman took the leggings. “I totally get it.” Was she winking at Vivienne or at Deacon? “I’ll be right back with a small.”
“Thanks.”
The moment the woman left, Vivienne pulled Deacon to the changing room at the end of the corridor. The hooks on the walls of the small stall were filled with haphazardly hung tops, jeans, and dresses.
She dropped a few random items on the floor, then hooked her hangers over the door.
“Climb on the bench so no one sees your feet,” she whispered, kicking off her shoes.
Deacon’s eyes widened, but he did as she said. “What are you doing?”
“No one’s going to come in if they think I’m changing.” She tugged a black skirt from behind him.
Someone knocked on the door, and they exchanged worried looks.
“Hello?” It was the attendant. “I have the small leggings for you.” The leggings appeared over the top of the door.
Vivienne thanked her, pulled the leggings down, and threw them at Deacon.
“My name’s Magda,” the attendant said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Through the tiny gap, Vivienne saw Nicola waiting at the entrance. “Close your eyes,” she whispered to Deacon.
“Do I have to?”
She smacked him in the arm, and he closed his eyes with an exaggerated sigh.
Quickly, she traded her pants for the skirt, then walked back and forth in front of the mirror like she would if she was actually deciding whether or not to buy the skirt. It was way shorter than it had looked on the hanger.
Behind her, Deacon started laughing.
“What is it?” she snapped, checking the skirt was zipped correctly. It’d be just her luck to have her underwear hanging out.
Instead of answering, his laugh grew louder.
She put her hand over his mouth and glared at him. “What’s so funny?” she mouthed.
He pressed a kiss to her palm, then moved her hand away. “Are you planning on giving me a fashion show while we’re here? Because I want you to try that one on next.” He indicated the forgotten hangers that she’d grabbed. A frilly black negligee dangled from one of them.
Her face flushed, and she wished the pile of clothing next to her would swallow her whole. “Obviously, I didn’t realize what I was taking.”
He ran his fingers along the lace hem and raised an arrogant brow. “Perhaps your subconscious chose for you.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Deacon thought it best to keep the racier scenarios running through his mind to himself. “You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me.” Vivienne’s fists ground into her hips, balled up tight and prepared to strike.
She asked for it . . . “First, I was thinking of how great your ass would look in that negligee. Then I was thinking of seeing that skirt bunched around your waist. And then I started thinking about what color knickers you had on, and then—”
“Okay. Fine. I get it. You can stop now.”
“Really? I was just getting started.” He loved the way she blushed. And the way her breathing hitched when he said things he probably shouldn’t.
“We decided we should just be friends, remember?”
“No, you decided that you wanted to be friends,” he said, reaching for the waistband on her skirt. “I, on the other hand, want to peel you out of those clothes and take advantage of you.”
She didn’t fight him when he tugged her closer or when he dropped his legs from the bench and settled her between his knees. She bit her lip and watched him undo the bottom button on her shirt. And the next one. And the one after that.
“Deacon…”
When he pressed a kiss to her navel, she sucked in a breath and chills broke out on her lilac-scented skin.
“You can stop me any time you want, friend.”
Her response was to lose her fingers in his hair and drag his mouth to hers.
He forgot about the game—the whole world—when she climbed onto his lap, molding her warm body to his. His focus was on his hand sliding up the back of her shirt, tracing her spine to the clasp on her bra. And her hands dragging his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and finding the button and—
“I’ll be just a sec,” a girl in the next stall said. “Wait here for me so I can show you this.”
Vivienne stiffened and started to push away.
“No.” He didn’t care if he was begging. “Give me five minutes. Please.” It’d be quick, but he’d make up for it the next time.
“I’m not doing this with you in a dressing room,” she hissed, pressing one hand to her forehead and one to her heart. Her breaths were coming in gasps, making her chest rise and fall and rise and fall—
He couldn’t think straight with her standing half-naked in front of him, so he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the sounds of her getting dressed and focus instead on breathing and getting the blood back to his brain.
She was right. She deserved better than this. She deserved more.
“I’m done.”
Vivienne was back in her jeans and top, looking perfectly composed except . . . “You may want to fix your hair.”
“What?”
He pulled on the end of her displaced red wig. She took it off altogether and shoved it into their bag of purchases.
“Feet on the bench and stay quiet,” she demanded. When he complied, Vivienne popped her head into the hallway and called for the attendant.
“Did you need something else?” It sounded like the girl was right outside.
“Do you have this in any other colors?” Vivienne reached toward the pile of clothes behind her. Deacon unhooked the silky black number and slipped it into her hand.
The attendant cleared her throat. “I think we have it in white.”
He could see Vivienne’s neck turning red. “Can you grab it for me?”
“No problem.”
When they emerged from the dressing room, their reflections in the mirror at the end of the corridor looked as haphazard as the clothes in the heaps around them. The only way to keep his hands to himself was by tucking them into the pockets of his jeans. Vivienne kept her eyes forward, ignoring him all the way to the exit.
Screw this. He didn’t want to be her friend.
Deacon wanted more.