"Perfect." He's already steering me toward the ornate glass doors, that familiar determined glint in his eye. "Don't even start with the price, Red. Let me do this."
"But—"
"Mr. Saint!" A willowy blonde in a perfectly tailored black dress practically materializes before us. "What an honor to have you in our boutique. I'm Vivian, and I'll be taking care of you personally today."
The way she emphasizes 'personally' makes my teeth clench. Her hand touches his arm as she laughs at something he's says, and I resist the urge to throw a stiletto at her head. I eye the display of designer heels just to my right—that red patent leather pump would make such a satisfying projectile.
"Actually," I clear my throat, drawing her attention, "he's taking care of me today."
Vivian's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise as she takes in my paint-splattered jeans and worn t-shirt. "Oh. How... lovely. Perhaps I could suggest something more... appropriate for Mr. Saint's companion?"
The condescension in her tone makes my blood boil. But before I can respond, Ares's arm slides around my waist, pulling me against him.
"This is Isabella Jenkins," he says, his voice carrying that dangerous edge I love. "A talented artist. We're looking for something worthy of her talent."
I bite back a smirk as Vivian's expression shifts from dismissive to calculating. "Of course!" She hurries away, returning with an armful of dresses.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back in the dressing room, surrounded by silk and chiffon after trying on what feels like every dress in the boutique. Through the partially open door—which I definitely didn't leave cracked on purpose to keep an eye on Miss Perfect out there—I can still hear Blondie's tinkling laugh.
"Your girlfriend is... interesting," she says, voice dripping honey. "Though I wouldn't have expected someone like you to be drawn to the... artistic type."
I peek through the opening again, telling myself I'm just checking the fit of this dress in the mirror, not watching Vivian practically purr at Ares. Her manicured hand touches his arm with practiced familiarity, and something hot and territorial flares in my chest.
This is not jealousy. I don't get jealous.
"The artistic type?" Ares asks, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. The fact that he's letting her continue makes my blood simmer.
"Well, you know..." She leans closer, all perfect makeup and practiced seduction. "Someone so... unconventional. Surely a man like you needs someone more... polished."
My hands clench into fists. Oh, that's it.
I smooth the wine-colored silk over my hips one last time, checking my reflection. The dress stops just at my knees, the fabric clinging like a second skin in all the right places. The deep burgundy makes my skin glow, brings out the fire in my hair and the green in my eyes. If Miss Barbie wants polished, I'll show her polished.
I step out of the dressing room, making sure every movement is deliberate, calculated. The silk flows around me like liquid sin, and I channel every ounce of that primal feminine power that makes men forget their own names. "Unconventional enough for you?"
Ares's reaction is instant. His eyes darken to obsidian, jaw clenching as his gaze rakes over me with such intensity I can practically feel it like a physical touch. Vivian's smile freezes, then crumbles as she watches him practically devour me with his eyes.
His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes my skin tingle. "Turn around."
I comply, but slowly. So slowly. Each movement is choreographed to torture, letting the silk whisper against my skin as I pivot. When I glance over my shoulder, his pupils are blown wide with desire, and there's something almost feral in his expression.
"Perfect," he growls, the word more threat than praise.
"Miss Vivian?" Another sales associate appears. "There's an important call for you at the front desk."
The moment she clears the doorway, Ares moves. One heartbeat he's across the room, the next he's stalking toward me with that lethal Saint grace that makes my pulse race.
"Playing with fire, Red?"
"Me?" I widen my eyes, the picture of innocence. "I'm just trying on dresses."
His hands find my hips, yanking me back against his chest. "The way you moved just now?" His breath is hot against my ear. "That wasn't just trying on dresses. That was a declaration of war."
"Maybe I didn't like watching her throw herself at you." The words come out sharper than intended, betraying more than I meant to reveal.
His chuckle vibrates through me, dark and knowing. "Jealous, Red?"
"Please." But my voice catches as his lips brush my neck. "I don't get jealous."
