Blackwolf's Redemption

“Sienna?”

She stopped, but she didn’t turn around. “What now?”

“I have a meeting in two hours. It’s business, which means you have a meeting, too.”

She swung toward him. “A meeting? I really don’t want to go to a—”

“I want you ready to go in an hour and a half.”

She looked down at herself. There wasn’t much to get ready. Her sweats—his sweats—had not magically become better-fitting, and now they bore almost two days’ worth of grime.

His gaze followed hers. He looked up, arms folded, one booted foot tapping against the marble floor. “You can’t go to a business meeting looking like that.”

“No.” She smiled, the skirmish won. “I can’t. So go to your meeting, have a great time, and—”

He said something under his breath, something she didn’t understand and probably was better off not understanding, and he hurried to where she stood, grabbed her arm and hustled her out the door.

A while ago, she’d have said nothing this man could do would surprise her anymore.

Taking her to Neiman Marcus blew that conviction out of the water.

“May I help you, sir?”

If the sight of a gorgeous man propelling forward a woman wearing oversized soiled sweats was unusual, you’d never have known it from the sales clerk’s polite smile.

“The lady needs something to wear,” Jesse said grimly.

“Certainly, sir. Of what type?”

“Of what…” Jesse scowled. “Something appropriate for a business meeting. And fast.” The clerk’s eyebrows rose and Jesse took a deep breath. “Please,” he said, and smiled, and damn the man, the smile—sexy, open, charming—made the clerk melt.

She hustled Sienna into a dressing room, looked her over as if she were a chicken waiting to be put into a pot.

“I’m a size eight,” Sienna said, “and I like earth tones.”

Might as well talk to the wall.

“A six,” the woman said, “pinks and blues.” And she left.

Five minutes later, Sienna put the sweats back on, pushed past the sputtering clerk and out of the dressing room. Jesse was seated in a gilt chair. Someone had brought him coffee and a stack of magazines. He looked big and masculine, completely out of place and uncomfortable, which was, at least, some reason for rejoicing.

“Jesse,” Sienna hissed. He looked up. “We need to find a different store. I can’t afford anything here.”

“No,” he said, “you can’t. But I can.”

“I cannot permit you to—”

“This is a business expense.”

“It most certainly is not!”

“And you know that because…?”

“I told you.” She folded her arms. “I took business courses. Intro to Financial Accounting. Clothing is not—”

“Intro to Accounting?” His smile was pitying. “Just choose something to wear, Cummings. And leave financial decisions to someone who knows how to make them.”

She couldn’t come up with an answer that didn’t involve four-letter words. After a moment of icy silence, he looked at his watch, then at her. “Ten minutes. I suggest you get moving.”

Back to the fitting room. Five more minutes went by. He heard female voices and then Sienna was standing in front of him again.

“I cannot possibly go to a business meeting in this!”

Jesse looked her over. She had on a pink sweater with some kind of narrow bands down the front. It was tucked into purple trousers that looked as if they’d started out okay before flaring wide enough to hide a couple of dozen dwarfs in each leg. Topping it all was a long purple jacket with a collar big enough to threaten the wearer with decapitation.

Jesse tried not to laugh. A good plan, because Sienna’s expression was grim.

“Madam wishes for close-fitting trousers,” the clerk said with distaste. “In white, with a white silk shirt.”

“And a black blazer. Calvin Klein. Or DKNY—”

The clerk sniffed. “I’ve never heard of those brands.”

Sienna swung toward her. “No,” she snapped, “I’ll bet you—”

“A dress,” he said calmly. “Something in deep gold or coffee-colored silk, knee length, simple and fitted.”

“Surely such colors are not in vogue, sir.”

“Surely such colors will complement the lady’s hair. And she’ll need—what did she call it? A blazer. Tan.”

The clerk was back to smiling. “You mean, beige, sir.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Shoes. A handbag. The works. Just make it quick. We’re running out of time.”