Demons Like It Hot (Demons Unleashed #2)(19)

“Sorry. He hasn’t gone shopping in a while.” Serah contained her chuckle. “Well, that is if you don’t count the surplus store.”

“Certainly looks like he’s in good hands.” The clerk peered down to where Matthias’s combat boots peeked from underneath the door. With a grunt, Matthias kicked the back wall.

“Might I interest you in some shoes while you wait?”

“Sounds great. Something nice enough to wear with slacks, but still masculine enough to kick ass.”

The clerk’s eyes lit up. “I know just the pair. Be right back.” With that, he jogged off toward the shoe section.

“Damn it!” Matthias grumbled and grunted. Kicking his camouflage fatigues around his ankles, he cursed some more. He mumbled something in Latin. The way it spit from his mouth, she probably didn’t want to know what it meant.

“Everything okay?” she asked in a singsong voice. She ambled toward the stall and leaned against the door.

“I hate shopping.”

“I figured as much.”

“Take off your boots. It’ll be easier.”

“And if there is an issue?”

“I saw you ward the shop.” He seriously needed to lighten up. He was ten times worse than Rafe when he had first landed on Earth. And Rafe—he was pretty bad himself. “I think I’m safe, Matty-boy.”

He snorted in displeasure. “I feel naked without my boots.”

“A few minutes of nakedness won’t hurt.” Her body shivered just thinking about it. What the hell? She never thought the body-builder physique attractive… until Matthias Ambrose poofed into her office.

Now her hormones were roaring. There was no way she could concentrate on anything with him lingering about. Even with his Neanderthal ways, he seeped into her. Damn it. What was she going to do?

With a loud exhale, he dropped his clunky combat boots to the floor. Then down went his camouflage cargoes. Her breath caught. He was getting undressed, and only a thin layer of wood separated them.

She caught a glimpse of his feet as he roamed around the tiny compartment. Large feet. She gulped, remembering what she heard about men with large feet. Not that she should care about that particular myth.

But her mind wandered anyway, wandered up his hard, toned calves, to the rocks of his thighs. Her imagination was out of control. She could feel her hands roving over each cord and tendon, feeling his muscles flex beneath her touch. It was as if she’d touched him before. Like she knew exactly which curve and plane to brush her fingertips across. Every receptor in her body flared.

Her heart thumped in her chest. Waves of hot energy washed over her, like she’d just been thrown in the oven. If she didn’t stop this, she’d surely burn to a crisp.

Her fantasy view traveled upward, to the tighty-whities that did little to conceal the bulges. Especially that particular bulge. Curse her imagination. It couldn’t even imagine him naked.

Man he was good, and a tease to boot. “I know you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his silky smooth voice melting her to mush. He pushed open the door and stepped out. Even the loose khaki cargoes couldn’t hide the rippled muscles that bunched and flexed beneath. He smoothed his hands over black linen, in a futile attempt to straighten the crinkled fabric. Curls of dark brown hair peeked from the open collar, also affording her another glance of the contours of his pecs. Serah swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Not to your liking?” he asked, scrubbing his hands across the stubble on his chin. He turned around to glance in the full-length mirror and raked his fingers through his trimmed hair. Oh God. Not that view. The khaki accentuated the hard planes of his buttocks. Her mind would be off on its wild tangent if he didn’t get out of her sight.

“It looks good,” she finally managed. More than good, but she couldn’t tell him that. She collected her thoughts. “Why not try on a few more so you can choose what you want?”

“I’m not that good with fashion, Serah. I’ll need some help.”

Trust me, you don’t need any help. He could wear a burlap sack and it would look good on him. She was a caterer, not a fashion consultant. Was it her fault her tastes normally ran on the designer side? Not to mention bizarre at times. “Seriously, fashion is overrated. Just wear what makes you feel comfortable.”

“I know what makes me feel comfortable, and according to you, that’s not an option.”

“Touché.” Serah flipped her curls back and raised her chin.

“Miss?” The clerk’s friendly voice broke her thoughts. “How about these?” Several shoe boxes were stacked in his arms, and he held out a pair of Doc Martens. “I’ve got a few different styles to choose from.”

“So what do you think, Matt? Comfortable enough for you?”

“I suppose I can try them on.” He marched toward the clerk and took them from him. With that, he stomped back into the changing room and slammed the flimsy door behind him.

“I hope none of your customers are as brusque as him.”

The man shrugged. “I’ve seen worse, actually.”

“Yikes.” Serah took a couple of the boxes from the guy and sat them on the love seat. “Thanks for your help. We should be all set.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything.” The guy strolled off toward the cash register.