Page 15 of Toxic Temptation
“I don’t need those.”
“Yes, you do.”
Our eyes lock in a silent battle of wills. Eventually, she looks away first.
A saleswoman approaches us, all smiles and professionalism, though her eyes sweep over me and light up with dollar signs like a casino slot machine. “Finding everything okay?”
“We need a dressing room,” I tell her with a charming smile. “My wife has an interview later today, and we’re in a bit of a rush.”
I’ve never had an issue with lying. It’s part and parcel of my profession. This lie, however, slips off my tongue with ridiculous ease, and leaves behind a faint but unsettling simmer in its wake.My wife.Too easy to say that. Way too fucking easy.
The saleswoman softens instantly. “Of course! It would be my pleasure. Right this way.” She spins around to lead us toward the back.
I take one step after her. But when I look back, Vesper isn’t following. “Now what?” I ask. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“We don’t have time for this bullshit.” I grab her by the upper arm and start to drag her along. But no sooner has my hand clamped around her bicep than does she suppress a hissed scream.
I turn back around. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“You women and‘nothing,’” I spit. “As if it’s the only fucking word you?—”
But when I see it, I stop talking. I reach out and peel back the collar of her scrubs. There’s a dark stain spreading across her shoulder, blood seeping through the thin fabric, staining her pale skin with a dark, tacky crimson.
“That’s not nothing.”
She tries to shrug away, tries not to show me her bottom lip trembling. I don’t let her get away with either one. “It’s fine.”
I examine the injury. It looks like shrapnel, maybe from a bullet or the spray of an exploding tile. A tiny prickle of subliminal guilt bubbles up low in my gut. “You should’ve said something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Between being held at gunpoint and kidnapped, I guess I forgot to mention my minor flesh wound.”
I grab a handful of clothes off the nearest rack without bothering to look at it. “We need to take care of that.”
“I’m a doctor, remember? I can handle it myself.”
“With what supplies? You planning to perform surgery with clothes hangers?”
She glares at me. “I don’t need your help.”
“Too bad. You’re getting it anyway.”
The attendant looks up with a bright smile when we join her at the dressing room door. “One room or two?”
“One.”
Vesper’s eyes widen. “Two. We need two.”
I smile at the attendant. “One is fine.”
The woman gives us an uncertain look but unlocks a large dressing room. I push Vesper inside and lock the door behind us.
“Are you insane?” she whispers furiously.
“Take off your shirt.”
