while his thumbs rubbed delicious arcs over her sides. He lavished comfort, which she soaked up like a desert pelted by rain after decades of drought. Things she’d assumed long dead stretched and blossomed under his care. Content, she allowed the intimate moment linger far too long.
“Okay, Izzy. If you change your mind, you can tell me anything.” His monotone response seized her throat. They both knew she didn’t intend to take him up on the offer.
How could she when confiding in him would put him in danger? Malcolm’s spy could be anywhere. Until she rid herself of her husband, she could never take a chance. Not with someone who mattered more to her with each passing breath. She’d rather weather Razor’s disappointment a thousand times over, even though it made her feel like scum, than place him in the line of fire.
The store manager cleared his throat loudly before reentering the room. She giggled and Razor grinned when the man peeked around the corner as though they might be doing it in the middle of the dressing room. Now there was a thought to tuck away for later daydreams.
“Ready for measurements?”
Chapter Seven
Razor prowled the rows of displays while he waited for the designers to figure out a dress style to flatter Isabella—hell, even a burlap sack would look great on her rocking body—while concealing the evidence of the horror she’d endured at the hands of a man she should have been able to trust implicitly. He rubbed his temples to calm the raging ache there, but knew better than to blame the pain entirely on his hangover.
His blood pressure had shot through the roof imagining someone hurting that girl. In an instant, he’d forgotten everything he’d learned in the past year and surrendered to instinct. He’d barely stopped himself from offering her solace, searing away the world-weary dullness in her beautiful eyes and replacing it with something passionate, something white-hot.
“Why don’t you have a seat? She could be a while longer.” Arthur hovered nearby like a mother hen.
“I can’t. It’s hard enough to stay out here when I want…” He forced himself to leave the thought unfinished.
“Yeah, I can tell. Will you at least take some of this?” The man tossed him a container of ibuprofen from behind the counter.
“If you have some water around here I might even kiss you for this.”
“Only in my dreams, I’m sure.” Arthur smiled as he extracted a plastic bottle from the mini-fridge Razor hadn’t noticed before.
He shook some pills into his palm then chugged them. Hopefully they’d kick in soon. When he held them out in return, the shopkeeper shook his head.
“You better hang on to those. She’s going to need them for that ankle, especially if you two plan to work much more before show time tomorrow.”
“What’d she do to her ankle?” Razor imagined her slipping off one of the hemming blocks in the fitting room.
“I assumed she’d sprained it during your practice session yesterday. It’s wrapped up tight, but she’s favoring it.”
“It was like that when we came in?” How the fuck had he missed her injury?
“Yep. Don’t worry. I imagine it’s hard to concentrate on details around her. Hell, even I can see she’s stunning.”
Isabella’s emergence from the dressing room spared Razor from answering. A huge grin lit her face. “Your team works miracles, you know? If the computer mock-up is anything like the real deal, I can’t wait to wear their creation.”
The wattage of her full smile blasted them both, leaving them putty in her elegant hands.
“Did you try on the shoes, James?”
She’d delegated the task to Arthur, who’d enjoyed Razor’s outraged reaction when he realized the torture devices had heels. As if he was a woman.
“Think of it like this. When she puts on four or five inch stilettos, she’ll be too close to your height for the proper posture. With these, you’ll maintain the optimal differential. You two
“Okay, Izzy. If you change your mind, you can tell me anything.” His monotone response seized her throat. They both knew she didn’t intend to take him up on the offer.
How could she when confiding in him would put him in danger? Malcolm’s spy could be anywhere. Until she rid herself of her husband, she could never take a chance. Not with someone who mattered more to her with each passing breath. She’d rather weather Razor’s disappointment a thousand times over, even though it made her feel like scum, than place him in the line of fire.
The store manager cleared his throat loudly before reentering the room. She giggled and Razor grinned when the man peeked around the corner as though they might be doing it in the middle of the dressing room. Now there was a thought to tuck away for later daydreams.
“Ready for measurements?”
Chapter Seven
Razor prowled the rows of displays while he waited for the designers to figure out a dress style to flatter Isabella—hell, even a burlap sack would look great on her rocking body—while concealing the evidence of the horror she’d endured at the hands of a man she should have been able to trust implicitly. He rubbed his temples to calm the raging ache there, but knew better than to blame the pain entirely on his hangover.
His blood pressure had shot through the roof imagining someone hurting that girl. In an instant, he’d forgotten everything he’d learned in the past year and surrendered to instinct. He’d barely stopped himself from offering her solace, searing away the world-weary dullness in her beautiful eyes and replacing it with something passionate, something white-hot.
“Why don’t you have a seat? She could be a while longer.” Arthur hovered nearby like a mother hen.
“I can’t. It’s hard enough to stay out here when I want…” He forced himself to leave the thought unfinished.
“Yeah, I can tell. Will you at least take some of this?” The man tossed him a container of ibuprofen from behind the counter.
“If you have some water around here I might even kiss you for this.”
“Only in my dreams, I’m sure.” Arthur smiled as he extracted a plastic bottle from the mini-fridge Razor hadn’t noticed before.
He shook some pills into his palm then chugged them. Hopefully they’d kick in soon. When he held them out in return, the shopkeeper shook his head.
“You better hang on to those. She’s going to need them for that ankle, especially if you two plan to work much more before show time tomorrow.”
“What’d she do to her ankle?” Razor imagined her slipping off one of the hemming blocks in the fitting room.
“I assumed she’d sprained it during your practice session yesterday. It’s wrapped up tight, but she’s favoring it.”
“It was like that when we came in?” How the fuck had he missed her injury?
“Yep. Don’t worry. I imagine it’s hard to concentrate on details around her. Hell, even I can see she’s stunning.”
Isabella’s emergence from the dressing room spared Razor from answering. A huge grin lit her face. “Your team works miracles, you know? If the computer mock-up is anything like the real deal, I can’t wait to wear their creation.”
The wattage of her full smile blasted them both, leaving them putty in her elegant hands.
“Did you try on the shoes, James?”
She’d delegated the task to Arthur, who’d enjoyed Razor’s outraged reaction when he realized the torture devices had heels. As if he was a woman.
“Think of it like this. When she puts on four or five inch stilettos, she’ll be too close to your height for the proper posture. With these, you’ll maintain the optimal differential. You two
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