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“If I do this, you owe me.” He moved closer, crowding her but not touching.

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“Oh, do I? And what exactly will I owe you if you agree to try on jeans...for you?”

“You have to wear something I buy you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

He grunted and walked into the fitting room, kicked off his boots, then started stripping out of his jeans. As soon as she could drag her gaze away from his taut stomach and the vee of muscle leading downward, she slammed the door closed and held it, since he apparently he had no qualms about people seeing his dick.

“Show me the pair you like best.”

He didn’t answer.

“Did you hear me?”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to try the skinny jeans. You might have too much muscle to fit in those.”

A pair of jeans came sailing over the top of the fitting room door and landed at her feet.

“No skinny jeans.”

“Hey, they’re sexy on the right guy.”

“I’ll never be the right guy for skinny jeans, Miss Korsgaard.”

He pushed the door and she stepped away. He was wearing the same jeans he’d had on when he went in.

“None of them fit?”

“These are fine.” He handed a pair to her.

“Do they fit?”

“Close enough.”

“You could try on a size smaller?”

“No.”

Just no. No argument. His patience had apparently timed out.

She grabbed five other identical pairs of jeans, about twelve T-shirts he didn’t say no to, and then paid after he handed her a wad of cash and stalked out of the store. When she came out with the bags, he was standing alone against the far wall of the hallway, watching her.

“You okay?” she asked.

“It’s loud in here and it smells weird.”

“You spend all day hammering metal and breathing in fumes from your forge and you find the mall loud and smelly?”

Then again, people didn’t stare at him when he was in his garage. And people were staring – women in fascinated horror, men with distrust or aggression. She’d gotten so used to him that sometimes she forgot what other people saw. To her, he was just hot. His attention was focused only on her, even though a leggy redhead with a tight dress walked between them. It was like he hadn’t even noticed the woman, even though she’d given him an appreciative once over.

“Where to now?” she asked. “What else do you need? Boots? A coat?”

“Sutton wanted me to get a haircut, but not today.”


Tags: Sparrow Beckett, Sorcha Black The Dominant Bastard Duology Erotic