Again they stand back.
My mouth goes dry. He’s always had a powerful presence, but dressed in these beautiful clothes with his hair unfairly awesome, even mussed from trying on clothes, he feels larger than life. He charges the air. He steals the air.
One of them is talking now, making him decide on colors. He glances down.
I take a few more photos and forward one to my editor. It’s low-res—nothing he can use for much, like tossing out a bit of meat to keep the shark busy. I’ll make Murray pay through the nose for the high-res version, and the money goes to Kiro.
Quickly I pocket it.
The sunglasses are off him now. Another clerk comes up with two shirts for him to choose between. He takes them, eyes again boring into mine—invasive, unapologetic.
Angry. Why?
I think about going over, but they’re almost done.
I busy myself at the rack of rain slickers. I hold up a large one. What did Kiro do in the rain all those years out there?
A male clerk comes up and slips a thick card into the frame on the top of the rack that shows the price. Fifty percent off. “Fall outerwear sale starts up today,” he says.
I finger the sleeve of one. “These are probably too heavy. He might need more of a layer than a coat.”
“We have shells along the wall.”
Motion from the corner of my eye. I turn and see Kiro strolling over in his hot new outfit. The jacket is plaid, the insulation is the latest in heat-reflective fabric, but the gaze is pure barbarian. He walks up and stands between me and the male clerk, invading his space.
“Kiro—”
The guy is already backing off. “Let us know if you can’t find something.” He walks off.
I turn to Kiro. “He was just giving me some sales information.”
“That’s not what it was.”
“Of course that’s what it was.”
He glowers at the guy’s back. The atmosphere is full of testosterone and heat. “We need to go,” he grumbles.
“We have to finish this.”
Kiro continues to glower, but this time it’s kind of at everything.
“Please, Kiro. We’ll finish it and go. And you’ll never have to come back here.” The saleswoman who seems most in charge comes and holds a jacket up to Kiro’s back.
“Let’s wrap this up,” I say to her.
“He needs a shell. This is an XXXL. I could go a size larger, but we’d have to order it.”
“We need it now.”
A low rumble. I give him a pleading look. He needs to last a bit longer. We need clothes and outdoors supplies. We can’t be stupid. “We’re almost done.”
He sighs.
I trace the line of his dark gaze. There are a few other shoppers in here now, and I notice that they’re all stealing glances at Kiro. It doesn’t really surprise me; Kiro’s not just hot, he has a brutally commanding personal presence.
They’re really looking at him a lot. It occurs to me they think he’s somebody famous.
Is that what he’s noticing? Is that what he’s grumbling about?