Page 41 of Captive of Outlaws
“Yeah. It was too much,” I mumble into my coffee. “Maybe we can forget it ever happened?”
“I’ll do my best.” Will presses his lips together, and looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m probably keeping you from...something.” I have no idea what these guysdoduring the day, but presumably they don’t just hang around in spare bedrooms.
“Don’t worry about it.” Will folds his arms and leans against the wall. “Actually, Rob asked if I’d show you to thegarage once you’re ready. I think he’s eager for you to get started on the cars.”
Thatperks me up even more than the coffee. My heart skips a few beats with excitement. “I’m ready. Show me.”
Will eyes me up and down. “You are?”
I follow his gaze to my outfit and bare feet. “Okay, fair point. Gimme five minutes.” I set down the coffee and step over to the packages, cracking open the one on the top. Inside is a flurry of purple tissue paper, with a handwritten note on top:
Enjoy, Ms. Bacall. xoxo, Jack.
I smile and carefully set the note to the side before digging into the paper to discover what’s within.
To my surprise, it’s none of the country club bullshit I would have expected. It’s like what I’d tried on in the store, but more: finely-woven linen tank tops, trouser-cut jeans with the perfect amount of distressing, vintage band T-shirts, warm flannel button-downs. It’s a whole wardrobe of justMaren.
And I love it.
After digging some more, I toss out a heather gray T-shirt and loose black jeans onto the bed. The second package yields a variety of shoes and socks, from which I select a pair of canvas sneakers—basic, but obviously high quality—and then move on to the final package, which is all underwear.
And not just your six-pack-of-Hanes stuff. This is...lingerie. No doubt about it. But it’s not froofy and ridiculous. It’s...understated. Sexy, but not costumey. There are hints of lace here and there, but mostly simple cuts and styles, with various dark sheens of silky material.
Too late, I glance up at Will, who averts his eyes. But not quickly enough.
“Looks like Jack picked you out some very nice things,” he says, his voice husky. He studiously avoids my gaze as I hurriedly select a bra and matching underwear.
“Yep,” I agree. “Be right back.”
Face burning, I grab the clothes and dash into the bathroom. I strip out of the sweats in five seconds flat, and intend to get dressed just as quickly, but slow when I get to the underwear. They’re both made of matching plum-colored silk, and they feel cool as spring water sliding over my skin. The panties are smooth and soft against my skin—definitely more comfortable than what I’m used to—and the bra is surprisingly comfortable for how...decorative it is. Two sets of straps crisscross above my breasts, the dark purple fabric deep and rich against the paleness of my skin. Absently, I trace a finger along the edge of the cup, and find myself suddenly and acutely aware that Will is just feet away in my bedroom.
What would he think of this, I wonder?
I chew my lip and force myself to snap out of it. I already put myself on thin ice after last night; I’m not going to make it worse by fantasizing.
In another five seconds I yank the tee over my head and pull on my jeans. After a quick tooth brush and splash of water on my face, I reemerge.
“NowI’m ready,” I announce. Will straightens up and clears his throat.
“You...look very nice,” he says. But something about the strain in his voice tells me that maybeniceis a toned-down version of his first-choice adjective.
Still, I hold my head high and accept the compliment. “Not so much a greasemonkey now, huh?”
He smiles. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll be covered ingrease by the end of the day once you get your hands on those cars.” He holds out my coffee mug, and I step towards him to grab it, but then he pauses.
“Hang on,” he says. “You’ve got a...” He spins his finger in a circle, gesturing for me to turn. “Tag. On your shirt.”
“Oh.” I oblige and turn around, trying to reach for it and failing. “Is it—”
“I can get it,” he says. “Hold still.”
I swallow, but obey. “Sure. Thanks.” I turn my back to him and sweep my hair out of the way. His fingertips graze the back of my neck as he untucks the thin thread that attaches the small piece of cardboard to the T-shirt collar. In spite of myself, I suck in a breath.
Because wine or no wine, I’m imagining that hand wrapping around my throat.
Get ittogether, Maren, I command myself, slamming my eyes shut. I stand, frozen, as he snaps the tag off and releases me, his touch evaporating from my skin.
