“Well, it’s true,” she muttered at his back.
Turning to her car, she told herself she did not need a dress, and most certainly not a dress like that—
The meter had thirty minutes left on it.
Glancing over her shoulder, she pictured herself wearing it in front of Balthazar. Except that was crazy. They weren’t going on any dates.
She needed to be practical and just let it go. God, one good night of sex and she was reimagining her whole life. How ridiculous—
Erika froze. At first, she wasn’t sure whether she was seeing things right. But a blink later, and nothing had changed: That guy with the blond-and-black hair, the one who had helped her save Balthazar’s life, was standing right next to the front entrance of the Ann Taylor store. He was unmistakable, really, and not just because of his size.
There was a glow about him, a shimmer that seemed to emanate from him.
He was staring at her… and then his eyes made a slow scan of her body, traveling from her head to her feet. When they returned to her face, his expression changed, shifting from a reserved mask to someone completely brokenhearted.
As if somebody close to him had just died.
Or he’d figured out she had terminal cancer.
Forgetting all about both parking and dresses she had no business buying, Erika pulled her coat closer to herself and started forward toward him. An uneven lip on the sidewalk caught the toe of her shoe, though, and she pitched forward, nearly pulling a pratfall on the concrete.
When she recovered her balance, the man—or whatever he was—was gone.
Dear God, what did he know about her that she didn’t?
* * *
Ten minutes later, Erika had thrown off that weird exchange she’d had out on the street, and she was in an Ann Taylor dressing room with not just the red dress, but two skirts, a set of leggings, three shirts that did not have a “t” in front of them, and a “kicky, fun wrap” that Kelley, her “sales associate,” had told her was just perfect for the transitional weather of April and May.
Transitional weather for Erika was rain before it turned to snow.
Apparently here in this store, however, it meant something altogether different—and further, all of the “transitional” clothes had to be color-coordinated to her “palette.” Which was not what you tasted dinner with. Oh, and she was a winter? What the hell did that mean?
She was a cold fish?
Ha! Balthazar had proven that one wrong. And then some.
Feeling like an idiot for trying anything on, she dumped her jacket, stripped off her pants and her fleece and shirt, and then shivered as she took the red dress off its hanger. It took a little more effort than she’d thought to square it on her shoulders and her waist, but then the thing was on her right. At least, she thought it was on right. Bending over to give the skirt another pull, she—
“What the hell?”
With a frown, she put her right foot up on the little chair in the corner of the changing room. On the inside of her ankle, there was a dark bruise that ran up to the base of her calf. Lifting the skirt higher, she found another on her knee.
Well, if that was the price she had to pay for the best sex she’d ever had? She’d wear the contusions with pride, damn it.
And hey… check her out. For once, she wasn’t running to Dr. Google to find out what dreaded disease she had. Ordinarily, she’d be convinced it was a sign she was—
She thought of the way that man had looked at her outside on the sidewalk. As a shiver of unease returned to her, she tried to push all the hypochondria away.
“What do we think?” Kelley asked on the other side of the privacy curtain.
Dropping her foot as well as the bottom of the dress, Erika smoothed things and refocused on her reflection. Of course this was going to be a no. Why would she think otherwise?
“It’s really low-cut.” She ran her fingers over her scars. They might as well have been a set of pearls she was trying to show off. “I don’t think it’s for me.”
“May I see?”
“Ah…”
After a moment, Erika pulled the curtain back mostly because the girl had been cheerfully pushy and she had a feeling that if she didn’t show the problem, there was going to be a lot of long, hypothetical discussions involving necklines.
Kelley smiled. “Oh, it’s—”
And then it happened, as of course, it always did. The drop of the eyes. The frozen expression. After which would come the symphony of sympathy that grated in the ears.
She should never have come here—
“The size is perfect for you,” Kelley said. “The waist is amazing and I wish I had your legs. Would it be okay to suggest something?”