Serpent's Kiss (Elder Races #3)(79)

Gia searched through the rack of women’s clothes, pulled out a pair of jeans and handed them to Carling along with the Saks package containing the boots. “7 For All Mankind skinny jeans, ankle-cut to show off the boots,” Gia explained. “And here’s an asymmetrical silk crepe de chine flared tank top by Behnaz Sarafpour that I thought would go really well with the outfit.”

“Outstanding,” Carling said crisply. She muttered in Rune’s head, Whatever the hell any of that meant. You know I’m only doing this to humor you, don’t you? He covered his mouth to muffle a laugh as she continued aloud, “Lingerie?”

Gia handed her an assortment of silken underwear. Carling swept out of the room with her arms full. She gave Rune a look from under lowered brows as she passed. Then she disappeared into the bedroom she had claimed. A moment later he heard the bathroom door close.

Rune stood aside as Gia and the bellhops came out of the bedroom, and he signed the invoice the shopper gave him, then dug his wallet out of the duffle to tip all of them. Gia tore off his copy of the invoice and scribbled on it. “I’ll go out now to pick up the rest of the things,” the shopper said. “Here’s my cell number. Call me any time, if you need anything.” He took the paper she offered. Gia held on to it for a moment, and met his eyes. “Anything at all.”

“Got it,” said Rune, with a dry smile. “But I am quite sure after you run your errands, you will have gotten us everything we need.”

“Yeah, I figured,” said Gia. “But you can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Carling could blame a girl for trying. She was paying attention, and of course she could hear the conversation in the living room perfectly from the bathroom. She might have been tempted to go out and kick a girl’s ass for hitting on a man who was, to all appearances, with another woman, except she had already shrugged out of the bathrobe, and she was tired of being other people’s karma. That girl didn’t need Carling’s involvement. She would crash someday on a rocky shore of her own making, because that’s what people did, Carling included.

Carling had something much better to do. She looked at the pile of things she had brought in with her and prepared to be entertained.

First, the lingerie.

Oh. Oh my.

Black silk, French-cut knickers that slid over her thighs as light as a lover’s whisper. A matching silk camisole that framed her br**sts and emphasized her narrow waist.

Carling swallowed, staring at the beautiful feminine body in the mirror. The lingerie gave her a sexy look in an entirely classy way. She turned away from the sight and picked up the jeans. Here’s where she could start to chuckle.

But as she slid her legs into the jeans, the denim felt butter-soft and pliable. As she secured the fastening at her waist, they molded to her like a custom-made leather sheath molding to a hand-forged Spanish steel blade. She twisted, squatted, and lifted each leg sideways, and the butter-soft jeans moved with her easily, like a second skin.

Damn. She might actually love these jeans.

She turned to the black T-shirt with an entirely new respect. She slipped it on, and it flowed over her body, loose yet feminine, with a simple flared shape, a lacy scooped neck, and cut-out shoulder straps.

By the time Carling opened the box containing the boots, she had turned quite thoughtful. And the boots did not disappoint. They were Italian-made, calf-length black suede with wraparound straps and buckles at ankles and the arches. The heels were nearly four inches in height, and the soles were fireengine red.

She stood straight and stared down her legs at the boots. She felt very tall, with every curve on her body exposed. She looked in the mirror. A flirtatious, fashionable, feminine, young-looking, big-eyed stranger looked back.

The woman in the mirror looked . . . Fun?

That couldn’t be right. Carling had never been fun in her life.

She shook her head. “I don’t know who the hell you are,” she told the woman in the mirror. “But you look mighty cute.”

Rune called out, “What did you say?”

“I’m not sure about this,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom. “It’s been very amusing, but—”

Rune was already in the bedroom, clad in black.

Carling jerked to a stop so abruptly she nearly fell off her boots.

He was standing in profile by the bed, in the process of buttoning up what looked to be a hand-stitched shirt that molded to his powerful, lean muscled torso. Clothes hangers and tags littered the top of the nearby dresser. The black highlighted his bronzed skin, and the rich coppery and gold highlights in his hair. The chic cut to the linen trousers emphasized his long, graceful legs. A matching suit jacket hung off the bedroom doorknob. No matter how deplorably he dressed, nothing could disguise the fact that he was already elegantly made and handsome, but these clothes lent him an air of sophisticated severity that came so far out of left field she felt sucker punched all over again.

Her mouth worked. It might be time to say something again. Was it her turn in the conversation? She couldn’t remember.

“Uh,” she said.

“What’s wrong, darling? Are the boots not comfortable?” Rune asked. He turned toward her, frowning, and his eyes widened. “Well, I knew it had to be good,” he murmured. “The reality is so much better than I imagined.”

“You, um,” she said.