He ran his hands into her hair, lifting it and kissing the back of her neck.
An eerie combination of arousal and discomfort ran through her. "Anything I could help you with?"
"Abby." He turned her towards him, his hands on her shoulders. "You help me just by being with me."
"I love you, Zac. Don't you think you should share your concerns with me?"
He gave a sad smile. "I will. Trust me. I don't want business to spoil our weekend, that's all."
She tried to shelve it, but as she dressed the thoughts raged on. He did seem to have a lot of money for an up and coming entrepreneur. He could be a Columbian drug baron for all she knew. She shook her head, chastising herself for letting her worries run her imagination ragged. She was deeply in love with him. Last night she couldn't have been happier, and yet she was so easily creeped out. It had been a hell of a week, crazy. Tom Robertson and his dodgy interest in her had made her overly suspicious. But she didn't know Zac from Adam, she had to admit that. She looked at him as he poured out coffee and drank it, his body taut and infinitely masculine as he moved.
Who are you? A desperation to know had taken root in her. Could she do as Marcy had suggested, and let it unfold in due course? Yes, I can keep my head. That's what I'm good at.
Her instincts told her that he had a dangerous, wildcard side to him—and that was undeniably what had attracted her—but she also felt that he wasn't fundamentally bad. However, a level of self protection moved into place. She'd lost her heart, but she hadn't lost all her faculties. Then he stepped toward her, so darkly handsome and desirable, smiling at her, reaching out for her, and suddenly she wasn't so sure.
* * * *
Three sculpted marble female torsos stood in the window of the shop, exceedingly beautiful and each wearing a corset. One was a traditional Victorian garment, the second a velvet and lace affair, the third a shiny synthetic fabric, almost futuristic in design. It was like looking at a history of corsetry. Abby was fascinated.
"Looks interesting?" Zac squeezed her against him.
She nodded.
He opened the door and ushered her inside.
Abby felt as if she'd been swept into a decadent boudoir, a place that suggested fantasies could be made real. Elegant baroque furnishings broke up the rails of sumptuous fabrics hanging around the walls. The space might just as well have been a gallery as a shop.
A woman was working on an inner display. She set down the fabric in her hand when she heard the door chime, turning to greet them. She was slim and elegant, wearing a fitted jacket and skirt that was reminiscent of the 1940's. Cinched in at the waist, it was inset with panels that were laced and corseted into the outline of her body. The
dove gray fabric was soft, the laces around her midriff a contrast in the finest leather cord. Her narrow heels were at least five inches high.
"Hello," Zac said, when she smiled their way. "Bonjour."
"Bonjour. English, yes?"
Zac nodded.
The woman put out her hand. "I am Gabrielle, the proprietor. Welcome." She shook both their hands in turn, her demeanor pleasant and friendly. "Is there something in particular you are looking for, or would you like to browse?"
Zac answered her. "We're looking for a special outfit for Abby, something eye-catching."
Gabrielle smiled, her gaze quickly scanning Abby as if she was measuring her up for an outfit already. "You have the look of a fiery mistress."
"How astute," Zac commented.
Abby flashed him a warning glance, but couldn't help smiling.
Gabrielle gestured with a finely manicured hand. "If I might make some suggestions?"
Abby nodded. "Yes, thank you."
Gabrielle directed Zac to a velvet-covered chair nearby and drew Abby to the rails of clothing. It was as if they had been taken into the woman's domain, a citadel of sexually-charged sophistication. She selected an outfit and hung it from a bar suspended by chains in the center of the room. It looked like something an acrobat would use in circus, but suited the purpose perfectly. Abby was tickled.
The item she had selected was a black velvet dress, corseted and edged with red lace, hinting at the bordello look.
"I never wear red," Abby murmured, her hand automatically going to her hair.
"Ah, but you should, you are strong enough to match up to your hair." Gabrielle spoke with surety.