The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,140
beige wide-legged, halter-topped jumpsuit and strappy sandals. Bronze skin gives her an enviable glow. “Ah, Thierry! Comment ça va, mon coeur?”
“Ça va bien.” Stepping aside, he nudges me toward the beautiful blonde, who I’m guessing is early fifties, just based on the maturity in her face, but the lack of wrinkles makes her appear younger. “Francesca, this is my friend, Céleste.”
The warmth in the woman’s eyes puts me at ease, as I reach out a hand to shake hers. Her gaze lingers on my hunting boots, but she doesn’t crinkle her nose, like most. Instead, she flashes me a bright, white smile and winks. “It’s very nice to meet you, Céleste. Very nice.”
“Enough of that,” Thierry chides, striding toward two, pink velvet couches set before a wall of dressing rooms, with their half-opened curtains. “She needs something decent to wear. Thought you could help us out.”
“Of course! Come with me, chère.” Taking my hand in hers, she guides me toward a rack of clothes that look to be well out of my price range.
A quick glance back at Thierry shows him scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the discomfort rolling through me right now, as I lift one of the price tags on a simple yellow shirt and find it’s more than I made in a week back at Roy’s camera shop. Two weeks, as a matter of fact.
“Um. Do you happen to have anything less pricey?”
Brows winged up, she glances to Thierry and back. “I don’t think you have to worry about that with him.”
“He usually spends a lot on the girls he brings here, I take it.”
“I’ve never seen him with another woman, chère.”
“Oh. I just … assumed that, since he had your card … that maybe …”
“His mother and I were best friends. Grew up together, here on Chevalier. I’ve known Thierry since he was just a p‘tit bébé.”
It’s then that I remember his sister’s name. Frannie. Named after this woman, I’m guessing.
“You choose whatever you like, and don’t you worry about the price, okay?” With a wink and a smile, she gives a soft pat to my arm. “Take your time, and I’ll get you set up in one of the dressing rooms.”
“Thank you.”
After a very lengthy twenty minutes of perusing, I pass off a handful of dresses to Francesca, who carries them back to one of the dressing rooms for me.
As we pass Thierry, his gaze trails after me, before returning to his phone as he answers a call. The conversation he holds sounds entirely in French, given the accent, leaving me completely clueless as to whom, or what, he might be talking to, or about.
“Lingerie?” The question swings my attention back to Francesca, who stands just outside of the dressing room. “Will you be needing some lingerie?”
It occurs to me what prompted the question when the scratch of cotton over my bare nipples brings me to the unflinching awareness that hearing Thierry speak French is a turn on. I’m not wearing a bra. “Um. Yes.”
“Très bien! I’ll grab some.”
With a nod, I wait for her to close the curtain and reach for the first dress. One I actually grabbed as a joke, because of its deep plunging neckline and thigh-high hem that screams a night out in Ibiza, instead of a first meeting with his sister. Adorned with silvery sequins that remind me of fish scales, it’s a bit loud, even for me. And I tend to be forgiving of the ugly things.
Choking back a laugh, I emerge from the dressing room. “What about this?” After twisting around in front of him, I pause to take in the quirk of his brow.
With a huff, he eases back in his chair, stretching his arm over it in a way that makes me want to crawl into his lap. “If that’s the one you like.”
“Seriously? You’re not going to throw one of those possessive and jealous alpha male fits, like something out of a mafia romance?”
“You’re free to wear whatever you like, catin. Just as I’m free to kill anyone who looks at you in it.”
“That has to be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me, Thierry.” Unfortunately, I’m not big on pink. Smiling to myself, I slip back into the dressing room and try on the next.
Too fancy.
Swapping it for the third leaves me frowning, as I twist to see the fabric clinging to my ass.
Definitely not.
The fourth is also a dud, the way it seems to draw all of the attention