Page 14 of Hostage with Benefits

“Everything.” He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. “Unless you plan to wear the same clothes until this situation resolves.”

“And how long will that be?”

His expression hardened. “Longer than we initially expected.”

“So we’re going shopping?”

“No.” His voice was flat, but his eyes said something different. “We are going to a store. You will get clothes. Then we return. This isn’t a shopping trip.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

“Then you can continue wearing the same outfit and washing it in the sink each night.”

I sighed dramatically, suppressing a smile. “Fine. Then shopping it is.”

I tried not to think about how bizarre this was: shopping with my kidnapper.

“Get whatever you need,” Mikhail said, trailing behind me at the mall with thinly veiled discomfort. He clearly wasn’t a mall person.

I headed straight for the basics. I got a few plain t-shirts, a pair of jeans, a pair of sweatpants, leggings, and several pairs of underwear. As I sorted through my options, I felt Mikhail’s eyes on me, tracking my every movement.

“You’re not getting anything nice?” he asked as I sorted the stuff I wanted to try on and the ones I would get without trying on.

“Thesearenice.”

He frowned. “I meant something…” he gestured vaguely, “notsweatpants.”

“I don’t need cocktail dresses. I’m a hostage.”

His frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. I headed for the changing rooms. Mikhail settled into a chair outside, looking comically out of place among the bored boyfriends and husbands.

I tried everything on quickly, but when I emerged with my selections, Mikhail had disappeared. I found him across the store, walking towards me with a white and blue flower-patterned sundress in his hands.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Something that isn’t sweatpants.” He handed me the bag. The blue color almost matched his eyes.

“I don’t need?—”

“Try it on.”

It wasn’t a request. I sighed andreturned to the changing room, slipping into the dress. It fit perfectly… how did he even know what size to get? I barely knew what to pick out for myself.

When I stepped out, his expression changed to one of hunger as he took me in.

“Turn,” he said, voice low.

I turned, the dress swishing below my knees.

He moved behind me, his hands finding my shoulders. “The zipper is caught.”

His fingers worked the zipper, deliberately slow, his breath warm on my neck. We were hidden from the main walkway but still in public.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the dress. His eyes met mine in the mirror.

Something reckless stirred in me. Here we were, as if he hadn’t kidnapped me, as if I hadn’t spent the morning snooping through his office, as if last night hadn’t happened.

I turned to face him. “I need to try to take it off. Help me with this?”

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