He followed her outside.
With her nerves humming with awareness of the very male male standing behind her, Kari unlocked the passenger-side door. She expected him to get into the car. Instead, he walked around it, pausing to run his hands over the trunk, the roof, the hood, the tires, the windshield.
He looked at her over the roof of the car. "How does it work?"
Kari shrugged. "I don't know. I'm a graphic designer, not a mechanic."
"It has a motor, yes?"
Nodding, she unlocked the driver's-side door, leaned inside, and popped the hood, then stood back while he peered at the engine. Kari stood beside him, thinking that she didn't know any more about how the motor worked than he did.
"Seen enough?" she asked after a few minutes.
He ran his fingers over the engine block. "It looks complicated."
"You think?" She closed the hood, then slid behind the wheel.
After a moment, he got in beside her, his gaze intent as he watched her put the key in the ignition and start the engine.
His hands clenched when the motor purred to life.
"Don't be afraid," Kari said as she backed out of the driveway, then wondered if vampires were capable of fear. "In case you're worried, I've never had an accident."
"Good news, indeed," he muttered.
"So, where do you want to go?"
"The mall."
Kari glanced at him. "The mall?" She wasn't sure what she had expected. A trip to the blood bank, maybe, but the mall?
"It is the place to shop, is it not?"
"Well, yeah, but how do you know that?"
"Television," he reminded her.
She grunted softly. And people said TV wasn't educational. "So, what do you want to buy?"
"Ah, yes, buy," he murmured.
"I guess you don't have any money," she remarked.
"No."
She had a feeling he expected her to pay for whatever he wanted. "So, what are we looking for?"
"New attire," he said, glancing at his shirt and trousers. "Something a little more up-to-date."
Kari nodded, though she couldn't help thinking that his loose-fitting white shirt and tight breeches suited him perfectly. She wondered what he had done with his cloak.
"Graphic design," he remarked a few minutes later. "What does that mean?"
"It's a way of communicating thoughts and ideas with graphic media. Pictures. Images."
He frowned.
"I work for a printing company. We design catalogs and brochures and corporate stationery, as well as posters and advertisements, that kind of thing. I also design Web sites on the side. There's good money in that."
He nodded, though she wasn't at all sure he understood what she was talking about.
Leaning over, she opened the glove compartment, pulled out a full-color brochure advertising a new iPod, and offered it to him. "Here's a sample of what I do."
Rourke ran his hand over the paper, then read it, front and back.
Kari glanced at him, wondering what he thought of her work.
"Impressive," he said.
"Do you know what an iPod is?"
He tapped on the brochure. "According to this, it is the best way to play music."
Kari grinned. Every job had its perks. Her cousin worked for the electric company and got a discount on his bill. The company that made the iPod 5000 had sent her one so she could try it out. Word of mouth was still the best kind of advertising.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of the downtown mall. It was the city's newest addition. Three stories high, it housed just about every retail store and food chain in existence.
Rourke followed her inside, his preternatural senses assaulted by a plethora of sights and sounds and smells. There were people everywhere. Men, women, and children, old and young and in-between, in a variety of ethnic backgrounds. He smiled inwardly. A veritable feast, his for the taking, he mused. Various shops lined both sides of the vast building, selling everything from jewelry to footwear, food to fashions, cutlery and housewares and anything else a mortal could possibly want or need. Truly a remarkable place, he thought, his mind reeling as he took it all in, amazed by the wide selection and abundance of goods and services.
He followed Karinna into something called Sam's Big and Tall, which proved to be an establishment that sold men's clothing. Numerous racks held suits, coats, jackets, trousers, and belts in a dizzying array of sizes and styles. Counters and shelves were filled with dress shirts, sweaters, T-shirts, and vests in a wide array of fabrics and colors.
A tall man with a thin red mustache approached them. "May I help you?"
"We're just looking, thanks," Kari said.
"Certainly. If you need help, my name is Dirk."
Kari smiled at the man. "Thank you." She waited until they were alone, then looked at Rourke. "So, what kind of clothes do you want?"
"I have no idea. What do you like?"
She studied him a moment. "You don't seem like a jeans kind of guy," she remarked. But she liked men in jeans, so she steered him toward a rack of Levi's. She picked out several pair, then moved through the store selecting shirts, T-shirts, briefs in blue and black and white, a dozen pairs of socks in assorted colors, a pair of navy sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, a brown leather jacket, a pair of dark brown dress pants, and a brown sports coat.
She found an empty dressing room and thrust the pile of clothing she had collected into his hands. "Go in there and try those on."
"You will be here when I come out?"
"Where would I go?" she asked with a shrug. "You know where I live."
He regarded her a moment, then went inside and closed the door.
Kari waited outside the dressing room. Standing there, she couldn't help wondering what he wore beneath his tight buff-colored breeches. She had no sooner dragged her mind away from that line of thought when she found herself imagining him standing in front of the mirror wearing nothing but a smile.
Alarmed at the turn of her thoughts, she walked briskly to the front of the store and spent the next twenty minutes looking at neckties and wallets and key rings, none of which Rourke needed at the moment.
She knew he was standing behind her even before she turned around.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Does this attire suit me?"
She could only stare. He wore a pair of snug blue jeans that outlined his long, muscular legs, and a dark blue T-shirt that emphasized his broad chest and shoulders and revealed long, muscular arms covered with fine golden hair. He was gorgeous, though that word seemed woefully inadequate to describe him. A dim corner of her mind noticed that he had kept his supple brown boots.