Page 38 of Hero Worship

"We should unpack," I murmured, though I made no move to leave his embrace. "Check our equipment. Go over the—"

"First, we're going shopping."

I turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Shopping? That's not in the mission brief."

"Consider it prop acquisition." His thumb traced my lower lip, rough calluses catching on sensitive skin. "If you're going to play the pampered spouse in those clubs, you need to look the part. Besides," his smile turned predatory, "I want to see you in something special. Something that reminds you exactly who you belong to now."

Heat pooled in my belly. I knew that look. That was the look that meant I'd be wearing bruises under whatever pretty things he bought me.

"What did you have in mind, handler?"

"You'll see." He released me, stepping back. "Get changed. Something subtle but expensive. We're going to Avenue Montaigne."

My heart skipped. Avenue Montaigne wasn't just any shopping street. It was where Roche's flagship store was located. "Are you sure that's wise? If someone from their circle sees me..."

"We're not going anywhere near Roche's store." Ash's tone left no room for argument. "This is about making sure everyone at those clubs knows exactly how precious you are. How thoroughly you belong to someone." His eyes raked over me. "Even if they think it's Asher Verity doing the claiming. We need the right kind of attention from Roche's circle."

I swallowed hard, my BPD brain immediately flashing between craving that possession and terrified of how much I wanted it. "Yes, daddy."

He stepped back, professional mask sliding into place. "You have fifteen minutes."

I hurried to the bedroom, heart racing. As I opened my suitcase, my fingers brushed against the false bottom where my weapons were concealed. A reminder that this wasn't just a kinky Parisian getaway. We were here to do a job.

But as I slipped into my most expensive casual wear—a silk shirt that cost more than my first car—I couldn't help but thrill at what was coming. Because while Ash might be focused on marking his territory before we hit the clubs, he wasn't the only one with plans.

After all, the best honeypots knew how to make their handlers just as desperate as their targets.

Avenue Montaigne glittered inthe late afternoon sun, designer storefronts competing for attention like jewels in a crown. I kept my stride loose and confident, channeling the pampered trust fund baby I was supposed to be. But inside, my heart was racing. Not from nerves. I'd pulled off far more dangerous covers than this. No, it was the way Ash guided me past Roche's striking window display without even a glance.

The mannequins wore Roche's latest collection—all flowing fabrics and bold lines that blurred the boundaries between masculine and feminine. I'd studied every piece, preparing for this mission. But Ash steered me firmly toward a different boutique, one that made my breath catch.

Maison de Nuit was infamous in certain circles, the kind of place that catered to Paris's most exclusive clubbing scene.The window display mixed high fashion with subtle hints of something darker: leather harnesses peeking out from under designer jackets, silk shirts with strategic cutouts, accessories that could double as restraints. Everything spoke of money and very specific tastes.

"Really?" I arched an eyebrow at Ash. "Shopping here in broad daylight?"

His answering smile was pure sin. "Problem, baby?"

The shop assistant who greeted us was perfectly coiffed and professionally discreet, exactly what you'd expect from a high-end Parisian boutique. She took one look at at the way Ash's hand stayed firmly on my back, at my carefully curated outfit and launched into rapid-fire French.

I caught maybe one word in ten, something about collections and welcome, but Ash's answering French was flawless. His voice took on a deeper timbre in the foreign language, each word precise and controlled. The sound made all my blood rush south, even though I couldn't understand what he was saying.

The assistant—Marianne, according to her nameplate—lit up at his perfect accent. They went back and forth for a moment while I stood there, feeling increasingly out of my depth. It was a reminder of how much control Ash had over this situation, how completely I had to trust him.

Finally, he switched to English, though his hand never left my back. "My husband needs a complete wardrobe for the clubs," he told her. "Both the outer layers and what goes underneath. Something that draws the right kind of attention but..." His eyes . "Makes it clear he belongs to someone."

Marianne's smile turned knowing as she replied in accented English. "But of course, monsieur. We have several collections that would be perfect for such... intentions. Shall we start with the clubwear or the more intimate pieces?"

The way she saidintimatemade it clear she understood exactly what kind of claiming Ash had in mind. I shivered slightly, and his grip tightened in response.

"Show us the club pieces first," Ash decided. "We'll need to build the looks from the outside in."

The next two hours were exquisite torture. Marianne brought out ensemble after ensemble, designer pieces that walked the line between high fashion and fetish wear. I gravitated toward a rack of dresses that caught my eye.

"This one." I ran my fingers over a black dress that would hit mid-thigh, constructed of a material that somehow managed to look both liquid and lethal. The neckline was a study in strategic vulnerability, while the cut would emphasize every line I'd earned through years of training.

Ash's eyes darkened as I held it up. "Try it on."

In the dressing room, I slipped the dress over my head, feeling the familiar rush of power that came with transformation. This was my armor—silk and steel wrapped in a package that made people underestimate me right up until I struck. The mirror reflected back exactly what I wanted the world to see: danger wrapped in beauty, a blade hidden in silk.

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