“Clothing.”
“Oh.” She licked her suddenly dry lips as she glanced toward the elegant clothes displayed in the large window. “I…I don’t think it’s open.”
Stepping forward, Jagr pressed his hand against the door. For a moment nothing happened, then with a low squeak, the door swung inward.
“It is now.”
“What about the alarms?”
“They’ve been disarmed.”
“Security cameras?” He regarded her with that flat stare. At last she threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine, but if you get shot again, I’m not offering a vein,” she muttered, marching forward.
She had barely reached the door when Jagr wrapped an arm about her waist to haul her against his hard chest, whispering directly into her ear.
“You didn’t seem to mind while I was feeding.”
Regan wasn’t sure what infuriated her more. Being manhandled by the brute, or the delicious heat that licked through her body at being manhandled.
“One more word about that…feeding, and you’re going to get a lot more up close and personal with those daggers you’re carrying,” she hissed.
His lips brushed over the curve of ear, making her pulse leap and proving his complete lack of fear at her threat. She shuddered as his fangs lightly scraped down the curve of her neck, swallowing a moan as a thousand pinpricks of excitement tingled through her.
“You can get up close and personal with anything you want, little one,” he murmured, his lips teasing at her skin.
“Damn you.”
Wrenching free of his grasp, Regan stormed into the dark interior of the store, heading toward the back racks that held the expensive designer jeans and T-shirts.
What was wrong with her? Jagr was nothing more than an oversized, over-smug, obnoxiously gorgeous pain in her ass. So why did she keep letting him get under her skin?
Because she was an idiot.
Gritting her teeth, Regan forced herself to ignore his large form leaning against the doorjamb watching her every move with that too perceptive gaze. By God, this was her first, and perhaps only, opportunity to actually enjoy what most women took for granted. She’d be damned if the guardian from hell was going to ruin the moment.
Flicking the hangers around the circular stand, Regan occasionally paused to pull out whatever happened to catch her eye. Any of them would do, of course. The jeans were all faded and looked like they had been put through a meat slicer, while the shirts were cropped to show more than they covered.
Ah, the wacky world of fashion.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from fingering the various materials and imagining how each would feel against her skin.
Studying a tiny pink sweater with a metallic star stitched on the front, Regan stiffened as she felt the cool brush of Jagr’s power as he stepped behind her.
“Do they not have your size?” he demanded.
Regan deliberately replaced the pink sweater and selected a tiny white T-shirt.
“Of course they have my size.”
“Then the clothing isn’t appropriate?”
“It’s fine.”
“Why do you keep searching?”
Heaving a sigh, she turned to glare over her shoulder. “Give me a break, will you? I’ve never been shopping before. I want to…savor it.”
He stilled at her confession. “Never?”