Page 43 of Crushing Clover

“Damn—turn for me.”

I turned, peeking at him over my shoulder and enjoying the way his gaze licked my back’s revealed skin.

“You like this one?”

“I’d love to chase you through the mall and tear it off you in a service hallway.”

I blushed and scanned the area for the saleswoman, but she was at the front of the store folding T-shirts.

“You can’t say things like that in public!”

“Are you that afraid of the mall police?”

“Don’t laugh. Those dudes have guns.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t complain about watching me fuck your tight little pussy.”

“Lucky!”

He chewed his lip ring and made a sound like he was planning to make a meal out of me.

“Behave!”

“Never.” He swiped for my wrist, but I stepped away and darted back into the change room.

One of his big hands came over the top of the door, feeling for the slide lock. He flicked it up and down, letting me know he could let himself in if he chose to.

“Put on something else that makes me want to fuck you up against a wall,” he murmured, but not quietly enough.

“Shh!”

I chose another black dress, but this one draped over my breasts, hanging from my hard nipples in a teasing cascade. The peekaboo of skin underneath made it look like it would be easy to tug down, and the skirt was short and flirty.

“How long was culinary school?”

“Ours was four years. Saint’s family wanted him to do something more prestigious, but he refused to do anything else.”

“More prestigious than owning a thriving, upscale restaurant?”

“I think his father was hoping he would take over the family business.”

“Which is?”

“They’re in pharmaceuticals,” he said almost too smoothly.

“If he’s so rich, how did you guys end up going to the same high school? Were you a rich kid, too?”

“My family is comfortable, but we look like peasants compared to his family.”

“The house you guys live in is nice but not a mansion.” I hoped my voice sounded neutral.

“We don’t take money from family. That’s rule number one. The fact that his father managed to convince him to take the loan for the restaurant is something Saint hasn’t gotten over. Warren holds it over Saint’s head all the time, but we are this close to paying him back.” Lucky’s hand rose above the dressing room door to show me his thumb and forefinger very close together.

“Is thumb and forefinger a standard unit of measurement for debt when you go to culinary school?”

“Absolutely. We covered it in fourth year.”

I laughed and opened the change room door. This time, his gaze wasn’t only appreciative—it was hungry.

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