A few paces behind him is Otis, walking with Saint’s same long stride. Malcolm signals at his driver to get my tiny bag and then he looks down at me.

“She’s ready for your yacht, Saint. She’s got the perfect bikini. But unfortunately she’s not ready for anything else,” Gina says.

“That’s not true!” I groan.

Gina chuckles and waves at us dismissively as she heads off to where she was meeting Wynn for brunch.

When I turn back to my green-eyed devil, I see he’s just looking at me. “You didn’t buy what I told you to.”

I scowl in confusion when I realize he’s walking me back toward the store.

The salespeople seem startled enough that I deduce Saint doesn’t come here often, but they seem to know him or about him. Oh yes, they do. The level of chatter around this man starts to spread in hushed tones across the store.

He leads me into the women’s department and then into . . .

The lingerie department.

My heart stops as he winds through the racks, his big, muscular body contrasting with the flimsy bits of nothing hanging all around him. He brushes his lips over my ear. “Let’s get you some things.”

“Malcolm,” I say, as his voice in my ear leaves a lingering earthquake in my tummy. I shake my head. “I already bought the bathing suit, I’m not comfortable buying anything else.”

He’s already scanning the articles on a panty table, his brow furrowed as he hunts down the perfect pieces for me. “You won’t be buying it. I will.”

God.

He doesn’t waste time.

“How about this?” He’s dangling a red lace thong between his fingers.

I shake my head and feel myself flush.

“This?” His eyes begin to light up when he notices I’m beet red, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Play his game, Livingston!

“Too mainstream.” I dismiss it with a flick of my fingers. He lifts his brows.

“Well, in that case.” He hunts around the tables for another pair of lingerie. He picks up a yellow thong with a bow on the back, which I assume would be perched right between the tops of my butt cheeks.

I take it between my fingers. It’s made of lace, and the bow is soft silk.

“You want me to look like a present or what?” I playfully tease, gesturing to the bow.

He teases right back, his adorable smile part devil and part saint. “If I get to unwrap you? Yes.”

My body temperature is suddenly too high for what I assume is healthy so I step away toward the bra area, finding the matching one to the yellow thong he seems to like so much.

I walk around the store, picking up other stuff. I’m playing along, a little excited and more than a little reckless. Some black lace stockings with a matching garter, a white silk cami set, and Malcolm brings three more thongs (dark blue, white, and purple), and a tiny-looking corset, oh god.

“This has to go on you.” Now he’s being just wicked.

“If you want a corpse in your bed. Saint, these don’t let you breathe.”

He discards that and goes to find a pearl thong. “All right. So this.” He looks at me coaxingly.

“That’s sooo uncomfortable. I like my pearls on my neck and soft things between my . . .” I go up on my toes and add, “Cheeks.”

He catches me by the hips and pulls me close. “Try it on for me.”

“Nobody tries on underwear before they buy.” I walk around when he follows me and wraps his arms around me.

“Then let’s buy it. Try something on for me. A nightie. Sheer and pretty where I can see your blush just beneath.”

I scan the store quickly. “I don’t see any nightie here with that description . . .”

He produces a flimsy-looking gauzy thing from behind his back, eyes glinting.

“Malcolm.” I groan, and though I keep rummaging through the offerings, now I’m just looking for things to tease him. I grab a pair of huge granny panties. The kind that cover you up to your breasts and cut unattractively down on your leg. “This looks comfortable.”

“Like hell.”

“And this.” I pull out the plainest, biggest bra I can find. “Would you let me buy these?”

“Yeah minx. And we’ll use them for a bonfire.”

His eyes turn devilish and he grabs the big panties, the big bra, and the little nightie, and then tugs me to the dressing rooms, and I’m acutely aware of the salesladies possibly watching us. He yanks open a velvet dressing-room curtain, and when I go in, he follows me inside.

“Sin! What if they see you in here?”

“Trust me, they know I’m here.”

I stand there, dumbly holding the panties and nightie to my chest. Dressing-room lights are always so bad. Though Saint looks glorious as usual. He’s leaning back against the wall with his legs spread and his hands in his pockets. The top three buttons of his polo are unbuttoned and he’s looking at me with laughter in his eyes.

“Can you at least close your eyes?” I plead.

He shakes his head no.

When I just stand there, shy like I shouldn’t still be feeling with him, he lowers himself to the only seat available and crooks his index finger at me. “Come here.”

I walk toward him, entranced by the gleam in his eyes right now. I hold my breath when he puts his warm, strong hands on my hips and places me between his legs, the top of his head reaching just below my breasts.

He eases my blouse off first, then he unbuttons my jeans slowly.

My throat starts to close at the utter sensuality of the moment. I focus on a spot on the wall behind him, trying to calm myself down. He slowly pushes my jeans down until they’re a puddle on the floor. I step out of them automatically then toe off my shoes, and he runs his hands slowly up my legs until they’re resting on my hips again.

I’m standing in my top and light-blue panties. He looks up at me with his green eyes and I know in this moment that he could do whatever he wanted to me and I would let him. Wholeheartedly, I would let him.

I’m scared of how reckless he makes me. I can feel my breathing get faster as he hooks his thumbs in the edge of my panties and slowly starts to pull them down. His eyes stay on mine the whole time, until my panties are on the floor. I step out of them and he reaches for the nightie, taking my arms and sliding them into the flimsy, fluttery sleeves. I fasten the bow at the center as he watches. By now, I am a horny mess.

He leans over, and parts the already-wide parting of the nightie and places a kiss on the top of my navel. Edging the bow up and kissing my stomach softly before turning me around in his hands so I can see myself in the mirror.