She stared up at him and begged silently. His eyes darkened with something that looked like compassion. She didn’t care if he thought she was crazy or even if he pitied her. At this point, she would take a month in prison rather than face going into the store in front of them. She couldn’t do it again. Her last shopping trip, an impulsive stop she’d made on her way from the airport to the cabin, had been a disaster. She’d bought that hideous frilly blouse and full skirt. Just thinking about how awful she’d looked made her shudder. She wanted to burn those clothes and all clothes like them.
She glanced down at her casual attire of jeans, a shirt and a blazer. This was as feminine as she was likely to get.
“I thought you wanted to find balance,” Zach reminded her. “Shopping is a part of being normal.”
She grimaced. “I thought you were going to say shopping is a part of being female.”
“I have a lot of flaws, but sexism isn’t one of them.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t want to.”
“I know, but it will be good for you.”
He took her arm and started to pull her toward the store. She resisted, wishing they were standing on soft earth instead of a concrete sidewalk so she could really dig her heels in.
“Jamie.” He sounded impatient.
“Just tell me why I have to do this.”
“Because we’re going out to a nice restaurant tonight, and you don’t have the right clothes.”
She fingered the lapel of her blazer. “I look fine.”
“You look great, but you’ll look even better with a cocktail dress. If you behave, I’ll even give you a surprise later.”
That caught her attention. She wondered if this surprise would take place in bed. They hadn’t been intimate since arriving in the city. Although her body was still pleasantly sated from their time at the cabin, she wouldn’t complain about a repeat performance.
“What’s the surprise?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“I want to know now.”
He glared at her. “Have you always been this stubborn?”
She nodded once. “It’s my best quality.”
“Sanders, get your butt in the store. Now!”
There didn’t seem to be any way of talking him out of the situation, so she gathered the little dignity she had left, pulled her arm free of his grasp and pushed open the glass door.
The interior was terrifying enough to make her knees quake. Frighteningly elegant furnishings, complete with antiques, subtle lighting and carpet thick enough to hide a cat. The pale walls were a neutral but warm color between white and gray. Racks of clothes stood in small collections. Jamie couldn’t tell if they were bunched by size, function or color. In her entire thirty years, she’d never been in a place like this.
There were other women shopping. Well-dressed women in coordinated outfits. Pants with fitted jackets, dresses with stockings and high heels. Well made-up women who wore jewelry and scarves and probably had an entire dresser covered with perfume bottles.
Jamie felt as if she were from another planet. A place where ugly, stupid people hid out until they were forced into landing on earth. She knew the saleswoman and other customers were going to know instantly she was inept. If she was lucky, they would just throw her back into the street and tell her to come back when she knew what she was doing.
“May I help you?”
She spun toward the voice, feeling oddly guilty, as if she’d been caught reading someone else’s mail.
“No,” she said quickly.
“Yes,” Zach said just as fast. He frowned at her, then turned his attention to the clerk. “We’re looking for a cocktail dress.”
The woman was in her midforties, with perfect, pale skin and red hair swept back into some kind of twist-bun-looking style. Jamie was sure it had an unpronounceable French name. The clerk glanced between the two of them, but her gaze never dipped below the neck. If she noticed Jamie was dressed worse than the cleaning lady, she didn’t let on.
“This way,” she said, and turned toward the back of the store.
She was dressed all in black. Slim dress, stockings and midsize pumps. Jamie wondered how she kept from falling on the thick carpet.
She walked to a gilded arch, then motioned with one outstretched arm. “Our evening wear is here. May I show you a few things, or do you know what you want?”
“I just want to look around,” Jamie muttered. It was humiliating enough that she had to find something to wear. She didn’t need witnesses.
“Very well. My name is Monique. Please let me know if I can be of assistance.”
She left them alone.
Jamie stared at all the fancy dresses. She didn’t know where to begin. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.
Zach shrugged. “Something pretty. Are you going to be okay by yourself? I have to go talk to Monique.”
She looked at him. “You’re leaving me here?”
“Is that a problem?”
She would rather be in a roomful of snakes. “No problem,” she said tightly. “I’ll be fine.” She’d been alone on mountaintops in hostile territory and survived. She could do this. Of course, on the mountaintop she’d had a gun.
She pressed her lips together when Zach actually smiled at her and walked away, leaving her in the torture house of beads and baubles. Damn him.
She fought against a feeling of helplessness. She didn’t know what to do or what to buy. She didn’t even know exactly what size she would wear in this expensive boutique. Were designer clothes bigger or smaller or the same? She vaguely recalled overhearing a conversation on the subject once, years before, but she couldn’t remember the details. She hadn’t been interested.
She circled one of the larger racks, trying to gather her courage. Thousands, millions, of women bought clothes every day. How hard could it be?
She focused on the clothing. There were mostly dresses. She saw a couple of pants outfits but didn’t think that was what Zach had in mind. She stared at the different fabrics, some soft, some beaded, some sequined, some smooth. There were too many choices.
Finally she thrust her hand in and grabbed a dress. It looked short, maybe too short. It had broad, padded shoulders, a deep neckline and lots of hanging beads. What she liked most was the color. A pale cream at the top, darkening to the color of fire at the bottom, as if the garment were a flicker of flame. She walked to the three-way mirror and held the dress up to herself.
Her eyes changed to a muddy shade of gray. All the color left her face, and her mouth looked small and pinched. She stared in astonishment, then put the dress out to one side. The color returned to her face, and her eyes were once again a pleasing shade of hazel. With the dress close to her face, she looked as if she were coming down with malaria. Without it she was fine.
“Obviously not my best color,” she said softly, and put the dress back. She felt oddly pleased, as if she’d just made an amazing discovery.
She reached for another garment. This was a two-piece outfit, a tapestry jacket with a long, soft, flowing purple skirt. Pretty, just as Zach had requested.
She returned to the mirror and held it up to her face. Her eyes deepened to blue, and her skin took on a luminous sheen. “Perfect,” she said, and glanced around for a dressing room.
Several gilded doors stood at the far end of the room. Jamie approached them cautiously, bending over to make sure one was empty before pulling on the handle.
The dressing room was nearly as large as their bedroom back at the hotel. There were mirrors on three walls, a small vanity, a wing chair and a long rod for the clothing. She hung her single dress there and tried not to think about having to go out and find something else. Surely this was going to work. Then she could pay for it and leave.
She quickly stripped down to her bra and panties. The plain cotton undergarments looked out of place in the elegant surroundings. She reached for the skirt and stepped into it. The button at her
waist was a little loose. Maybe she needed a smaller size. She glanced in the mirror and smiled.
The filmy skirt fluttered around her legs like Monet’s water lilies come to life. The beautiful fabric made her feel special, feminine even. She looked at the hem falling halfway down her calves. What kind of shoes would she wear with this?
She didn’t have a clue, so she pushed the question aside and shrugged into the tapestry jacket. It was also too loose. She buttoned it up the front and stared at her reflection. She looked boxy and formless in the thick jacket. Her head seemed to shrink, and she felt old.
“It’s the fit,” she said, frustrated that something so pretty on the hanger would look so ugly on her. She reached behind her and grabbed a handful of fabric, pulling the jacket tighter in front. It still looked bad.
She sank into the chair and dropped her head into her hands. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t do it. She didn’t know how to shop or buy. She could spot jeans that would fit from halfway across a store, but real clothes were beyond her. She would have to tell Zach she was hopeless.
Her eyes began to burn, but she blinked the sensation away. This was a really stupid thing to cry about.
There was a knock at the door. “Jamie, it’s Monique. Your young man suggested I check on you. How is everything?”
She opened her mouth to lie but instead blurted out the truth. “Horrible. I look like a geek.”
Monique opened the door and stepped inside with a surprisingly kind smile. “No geeks are allowed in the store. Didn’t you see the sign? Only beautiful women. If they aren’t beautiful when they come in, they’re beautiful when they leave.”
She motioned for Jamie to stand up, then walked around her in a slow circle. “This is all wrong for you.”
“I know.”
Monique wasn’t listening. “Very nice color, but the style, the shape. It hides what you should flaunt. This—” she touched the thick sleeve “—this is for the romantic type. The woman who is all soft lines and ruffles. Not you. Take off the dress and let me see what we’re working with.”
Jamie undressed quickly. Monique studied her for a second and sighed. “You work out, don’t you? You’re in fabulous shape. Flaunt it while you still have it.” She patted her own narrow hips. “Time and gravity are not our friends. Stay right here.”
She threw the tapestry jacket and filmy skirt over her arm and disappeared. Less than a minute later, she was back with a little black dress—little being the key word. It didn’t look big enough to fit a dress-up doll, let alone a grown woman.
“It’s too small,” Jamie said.
“It stretches,” Monique told her. “Trust me.”
She set the dress on the hook, then tossed Jamie a black teddy in silk. “The key to a good fit is the right foundation.”
Jamie stared at the teddy. It had an underwire bra built in that looked more like scraps of silk cloth than actual support. But Monique was the expert.
Jamie put on the teddy. It was a low cut, as she expected. The silk came up over her nipples and stopped. The design was different than she was used to, forcing her breasts together and up, giving her more cleavage than was legal. So much for not having support. The rest of the undergarment slipped over her torso like a lover’s touch.
“Are you sure about this?” Jamie stroked the soft fabric. It felt positively decadent. She loved it!
Monique just smiled.
Next came the dress. She pulled it on over her head. The stretch material clung to her like a wet shower curtain. She pulled the hem down and found it ended a good eight inches above her knees.
Monique stepped behind her and pulled up the zipper, then smoothed her hair down the center of her back. “You see. It’s perfect.”
Jamie stared at her reflection, not quite willing to believe what she saw.
The dress hugged every curve. She looked like a model, all long legs and cleavage. Her breasts threatened to spill out of the heart-shaped neckline. The black lace was see-through on her arms, but lined everywhere else. She looked like someone other people would turn to stare at.
“I’ll take it,” she said without thinking, then giggled.
“I thought you might. Do you have shoes?”
Jamie shook her head. “I don’t have stockings, either.”
Monique asked her shoe size and disappeared for a few minutes. Jamie stared at her reflection some more, unable to believe she’d actually found a dress she liked and that liked her. She turned around, admiring herself from every angle. She looked great and she couldn’t stop grinning like a fool.
When Monique returned, she had several packages of panty hose and three boxes of shoes. She set them in the chair. “These are what I would usually give customers to wear,” she said, pulling out black lace pumps with four-inch heels.
“No way.”
“That’s what I thought.” She opened the second box. These were also lace, but a two-inch heel. “Could you survive in these?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
“Put them on.” Monique set them on the floor.
Jamie stepped into the shoes. She wobbled a bit, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought. “I think I could manage.”
“Good. When was the last time you wore panty hose?”
Jamie tried to recall. It had been years. No doubt her parents had made her dress up to go to some formal event in high school, but she couldn’t put a date on it. “Um, I can’t really remember.”
Monique smiled. “I’ll send you home with three pairs,” she said. “In case you run the first couple putting them on. Now about your hair.”
“My hair?” She touched the long strands. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. It’s beautiful. Curl it.”
Jamie stared blankly. “How?”
Monique was a professional. Not even by a flicker of a lash did she let on that the question was strange. “Electric curlers. The drugstore on the corner will have them.” She mentioned a brand to look for. “Don’t worry about getting fancy. Brush your hair, then start rolling it up. You’ll love the look, I promise. Do you wear makeup?”
Jamie thought about her failed efforts at the cabin. “I’m not very good at it.”
Monique pulled a small pad from a pocket in her dress. She wrote for a few minutes, then tore off the sheet. “This will get you started. You’re going to knock his socks off.”
“I hope so.”
“Trust me.”
Jamie smiled. “I do.” Monique merely nodded as if this wasn’t unexpected, but for Jamie it was a moment of revelation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been willing to trust a stranger. Okay, this was shopping and not a matter of life or death, but she felt as if she’d taken a giant step on the journey to normal. She turned back to her reflection and grinned. Why had she ever thought shopping was a problem? She hadn’t even needed her gun.
Jamie stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like one of those “before” pictures in the magazines. Curlers hung to her neck. The hot edges kept touching her skin. She’d finally had to drape a towel around her shoulders to protect herself from the heat. It had taken her about a dozen tries to get all the curlers to stay in her hair, but she’d finally managed.
She glanced at the bottle of foundation, then at the streaky mess on her face. Okay, so that wasn’t going to work. At least the color had been better than the one she’d bought on her own.
She wiped her face clean with a damp washcloth and figured Zach had seen her bare skin enough to not be offended by it. She picked up a smoky gray eye shadow. The label proclaimed it to be foolproof. She wasn’t convinced.
A diagram on the back showed where to apply the shadow. She closed her right eye and squinted with her left. The sponge applicator was made for small leprechauns with short fingers. She could barely hold on to it. But she managed to get a streak of the cosmetic across her eyelid, right at the crease. It looked a little stark, so she smudged it with her finger, the
n opened her eye.
Amazing. She couldn’t really see the shadow, but her right eye looked bigger and mysterious.
“Cool,” she said, then repeated the procedure on the other eye. She skipped the eyeliner. It looked way too dangerous. Next came mascara. She only clumped her lashes twice, but she’d bought a lash brush, which corrected the problem. She dabbed her nose, forehead and chin with face powder, then used a neutral shade of rosewood lipstick on her mouth.
She stared at her reflection. Not fashion-model beautiful, but not a half-bad job, either. She was quite pleased with herself. Next came the stockings. She got the first pair on with no mishaps. The teddy went over the stockings. The dress slipped on easily, although she had to shimmy to reach behind herself to zip it up. She pulled and tugged until it was in place. Last she uncoiled the curlers from her hair.
She’d never done anything but trim it or pull it back in a braid, so she wasn’t sure if it would even curl. Amazingly it did. Monique had told her to bend over at her waist and brush her hair from the underside, making that smooth but leaving the rest of it alone. The advice had sounded stupid, but Jamie did as she was told.
When she tossed her head back, curls tumbled onto her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes widened as she stared at herself. She looked great. She looked better than great. She looked fabulous.
Curls were everywhere. The slight disarray made her look sexy. The tight-fitting dress and abundance of curves added to the image.
Jamie fluffed her bangs, then grabbed the bottle of hair spray. She spritzed her curls in place, then slipped into her shoes. Where an inept thirty-year-old tomboy had been, stood a stunning, elegant woman. If Monique had been there, Jamie would have hugged her close and probably broken down in tears.
“Zach,” she said through the door, then had to clear her throat because her voice had gone all husky. She tried again. “Zach, I’m ready.”
She heard the rustling of plastic.
“Give me a second.”
Nerves fluttered in her stomach. She couldn’t believe what they were doing. When she’d come out of the dressing room prepared to buy the dress, Zach hadn’t been around. He’d shown up a few minutes later with a plastic garment bag over one shoulder. He’d told her if she was willing to get all dressed up for him, he was willing to do the same for her.
Surrender in Silk Page 17