Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(65)

Just out of curiosity, are you on some kind of medication? Or maybe you suffer from a disorder such as bipolar? I’ve read of these things.


Why would you think that?


She knew he was looking down at her, but she refused to look up. I can’t imagine.


An older woman with glasses hanging around her neck like a necklace hurried over to them the moment they entered the stores. Her high heels were on the very edge of being too high, but she walked without the least bit of a problem, as if she’d been born in them. She looked elegant with her very sophisticated suit. Her skirt was just below the knee and houndstooth with a matching short jacket. She wore a black silk shell beneath the jacket. Her nametag said Mrs. March on it, and somehow, even the nametag looked elegant on her.


“Dr. Dawkins, I didn’t realize you were in town. Welcome to my store.” She beamed at him, not bothering to pretend she didn’t know who he was.


“I recently purchased a home here,” Trap said easily. “Out near the Fontenots’ place. Nonny told me you were the one to come to for help. My fiancée needs clothes, jeans, shirts, sweaters, dresses and underwear.”


Mrs. March widened her smile as her gaze swept Cayenne. Trap loosened his hold on her so she could step away from him, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, determined to get through this nightmare as well. She had no idea what to do and Trap wasn’t giving her guidance, but the woman seemed to know what she was doing.


“You’re very small. I’ve got some things in your size, but a limited variety. I can special order anything you need.” Mrs. March spoke directly to Cayenne.


Cayenne took a breath and forced a smile. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” Her voice came out low, but it came out. She didn’t glance up at Trap. She refused to rely on him for any kind of cues. He wasn’t giving them, and Gino and Draden were facing the street, Gino by the door, Draden closer to them. Closer to Trap, she noted, almost as if he were Trap’s bodyguard. She knew Mrs. March noted that, and it only served to make Trap more important to her.


The saleswoman bustled around, pulling out soft blue jeans and little camisoles. Sweaters were thinner and softer even than the other jeans. The sweaters were pullover, one that fell off the shoulder and another that clung to her curves. Mrs. March added tank tops and underwear, beautiful little sexy bras and lacy thongs and boy shorts that Trap indicated without consulting Cayenne.


She noted that Mrs. March remained professional at all times. She didn’t try to be overly friendly. She didn’t fawn on Trap. She didn’t even pull out her cell phone and try to get a picture of him. Most of her conversation was directed at Cayenne. Trap did stay close to her, and twice when she couldn’t think of an answer to Mrs. March’s question, he stepped in smoothly and answered for her, making it seem as though he was just part of the conversation.


The amount of clothing Trap purchased was alarming. She didn’t know if she could wear all those clothes, let alone where she would wear them. Still, she remained silent, not even protesting telepathically to him. She wanted to go home, to her lair. She needed to be alone and think about this side of Trap. This person who wasn’t at all what she thought him to be.


It wasn’t that he was cruel, like her guards. He hadn’t abandoned her – although it felt a little as if he had. It was his aloofness. He was so withdrawn and emotionally gone. That was it. He was without any emotion whatsoever. He could turn it off so easily, while she struggled with unfamiliar feelings in an unfamiliar setting.


Don’t, Cayenne. Let it go until we’re home.


Obviously, she’d been broadcasting her distress, and poor him – she was upsetting him. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done and you’re supposed to have my back. You don’t. Not. At. All.


Damn it, let’s get through this and we’ll talk at home.


She didn’t deign to look at him. She decided if he could show no emotion toward her, or anything else, she could do the same. She was very polite with Mrs. March, mainly because the woman was the consummate professional and made shopping easy. Unlike Alain, she didn’t get any perverted vibes off of her at all. Mrs. March liked doing her job. She enjoyed helping others and she knew clothes. She had confidence in her ability to see what would look good on others and she took satisfaction in making others look good.


Mrs. March insisted on her trying on a short dress with a clingy skirt, emphasizing her curves. She felt a little ridiculous coming out of the dressing room, barefoot, no panties, the dress backless so that she felt the swish of her long hair slithering down her back and pooling in the curve of her buttocks. The material and the silk of her hair felt – decadent. Her heart actually pounded when she stepped in front of Trap. Waiting. In spite of everything, hoping, maybe even needing a reaction.


She got none. No heat flaring in his eyes. No warmth pouring into his mind. He was completely removed from her. From the dress that had felt sexy but now fell flat. She wanted it off. She would have turned to rush back to the dressing room, but he stirred, held up a finger and moved it in a circle, indicating she turn around.


“Beautiful.” Mrs. March breathed the word. “Truly beautiful. That dress is definitely made for you, Cayenne.”