I’m in the dressing room of a tiny Marloe boutique on a village-y street near Quinn’s house. Even though I’m behind a curtain trying on clothes, I’m ultra-aware of him standing outside just as patiently as he did yesterday in the secondhand bookstore. I think he’s going to like what I have on — a white skirt with two tiers of chiffon, along with a delicate light blue top — and I whip open the curtain to show him.

“Ta-da!”

I turn all the way around, modeling for him, and he leans back against the brick wall, loosely crossing his arms over his wide chest as he gives me the onceover. It’s one of those gazes that makes me think of what we did in his shower before we came here.

Melting now.

“Looks like you’re set for the botanic gardens,” he says. “That’s a pretty skirt.”

I glance at the dressing room chair where I tossed a pair of skinny jeans, a bright yellow cardigan, and one of two panties I’m going to buy. I’ve already got on the first pair because I’m not about to walk around today airing out my private bits.

Now I look down at the skirt. “It’s definitely cute, but I’m going to save it and put on the jeans instead.”

He grins. “Hot Stuff, I’ve got only two requests.”

The wild streak in me flares at the nickname. Hot Stuff. My oh my, there certainly was a lot en fuego between us up until about a half hour ago. “What’re you thinking?”

“First off, it’s warm and sunny out there, and you’ve got a sweater if you need it, so why don’t you wear this skirt for me?”

For him. I like how he said it that way, and another flood of hot stuff takes me under. Wow. So this is what it’s like to be in … well, lust, right? Because as fun as this is, I’m still the girl who grew up with a ratfuck dad who constantly shit on my mom, and love isn’t something that seems realistic to me, especially with a man I’ve known for barely a couple of weeks. Quinn is exciting with his dark looks and tattoos and with the way he gets down to it with a girl. He brings out the devil in me. But that’s not love.

I’ll take it for what it is, though.

“What’s the second request?” I whisper, because we’re not the only ones in the boutique. A salesperson is straightening racks nearby, but maybe that makes Quinn’s low, confidential tone even more exciting.

He looks at the lacy white panties on the chair, then lifts one eyebrow. “How about we leave both pairs of those in my truck today?”

Bing! Now I’m blushing so bad that it’s like I’m one big scarlet letter. A for Agog. But it’s in a way that’s got my nethers thumping.

I grab the curtain. “Yes to number one, dare-to-dream to number two!”

As I shut the curtain, I hear him mutter, “Oh, I’ll be out here dreaming. Guaranteed.”

I mean, really. What if the wind blew up this short skirt at the botanic gardens? What if I sat the wrong way at brunch? What the everlovin’ hell? Sure, I got a little crazy last night, but I haven’t entirely lost my head — I even had enough wits about me to send a text to Grace to tell her I wasn’t coming home, and I’ve been ignoring her sassy messages ever since. I’m still well acquainted with reality.

Luckily, there’s enough time in the day for a lot of crazy if I want it.

I can’t stop smiling as I slip on my boots and give myself one last look in the mirror. I’m glowing, and I’ve never seen myself like this before. Great sex is obviously awesome for the complexion. Actually, I think Quinn is, too.

After I scoop up my new clothes plus my sister’s dress that I was wearing yesterday, I tear aside the curtain, then march past him. “You just can’t get enough, can you?” I whisper.

He bends toward my ear as we walk to the checkout counter. “You know that those lacy things are coming off at some point today. I just thought we’d be a step ahead when the time arrives to get down to business again.”

“Cocky. How do you know there’s going to be more business between us?”

“Until I find out exactly what ‘shred it’ means, I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

I smile at the girl behind the sales counter, and she smiles back. Quinn, the big jerk, nonchalantly leans against me, and just the feel of his hard body against my thigh and hip is enough to send shivers over my skin. I also feel something else on him that’s getting nice and ready, and I hold back a tiny, pleased sound.

Tease.

I don’t know what I’m going to do after this thing with us is done, but I’m not going to fool myself into thinking this’ll be something more than short-term. Like Grace said, Quinn is no doubt a ladies’ man, and once Milton’s opens up again, there’ll be no time for days like this. I’m eating it up while I can.

Even though Quinn tries to purchase the clothes for me, I don’t let him. Sometimes a girl has to do some things for herself. Besides, it feels good to buy something new that I earned on my own, and he seems to get that. As we leave the store, slow Sunday traffic passes us by. Around us, there’re more clothing shops, cafés with people drinking coffee and surfing their phones, and big-name stores selling everything from kitchenware to camping gear. I look up at him. “I don’t know the last time I bought anything new for myself.”

“You picked out clothes faster than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“That’s because I know what I like.”

“I know what I like, too.”

When I look up again, his gray eyes have gone dark, just like they did in the steakhouse when he was watching me, just like they did when he ran his hands down my body to bring out those tiny sounds of pleasure from deep inside me, making me voice them so loud that they echoed through his house.

Usually I have to look away from him when he’s watching me like this, but now I only slow my steps and look at him right back. I can’t resist his flirting and admiration any longer because I’m right there with him. Shit, we had sex — lots of it, the most I’ve ever had in one night with a guy, and if that makes me sound like a prude, then so be it. I’m a fucking prude with any guy but him for a good reason.

He just does it for me. He does it for me so much that, as we start walking again, I wonder how many women he’s watched try on clothes. Probably a lot, those bitches. But why should I be jealous of the girls in his past and his future when all of this will be over when he’s done with Climax? The ladies’ man will have even more ladies and I’ll …

Do what? Wish him a happy trip on the U.S.S. Buh-bye?

As we keep walking, my heart feels like a balloon that’s a little too full, and I’m just waiting for it to pop any time.

Maybe even sooner rather than later.